#maybe it was the loft or maybe it was his parent's house (go dark with him being the culprit)

[buckevantommy]

“straight” buck texting tommy on grindr: 

tommy texting buck on grindr: 

[carminecherry]

THE SUMMER HEAT, THE COOL CAFE | mikey sano

this is part one of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART ONE LENGTH: 2.8k words

⇝ PART ONE WARNINGS: N/A (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you go out for coffee with emma after meeting at a mutual friend's house party. a friendship blossoms, but you can't seem to get a certain biker out of your head.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been haunted by this mikey fic for almost a year! I hope you all can enjoy the drama and popcorn fiction of the world of the mikey-verse. we'll keep it fun and flirty and I PROMISE the build up will be worth it ;) it starts off slow, but there is gratuitous smut later in the series. keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

The city has become a concrete jungle. The summer sun roasting the land beneath it. Lavishing in its task; making the hours creep by ever so slowly. Even after the sun goes down, the heat sets into the earth like a deep rot. 

You step out of your apartment, the distant star glaring down. The buzzing of the cicadas makes the heavy, humid air vibrate in an unpleasant way. You always hated summer and summers in Tokyo were a special hell. The way your clothes would cling to your sweaty body. How the muggy, wet air thickened your breath. And that's all before you consider the insects. 

One of the few blessings of living in the city was that there weren’t as many bugs here as in your childhood home. However, you didn’t have a parent here to kill or catch the scary ones that would occasionally make their way into your apartment and you didn’t have the heart or stomach to deal with them. 

A particularly ferocious looking cockroach had been in your sanctuary last night, which meant you had spent the better part of an hour making a very convincing argument for it to walk out of the balcony door. All the while, praying nothing else would fly in. Cursing and mentally tallying the money pouring out into the hot summer night as your AC ran at full blast. Fall couldn’t come soon enough. 

Today was particularly blistering. Your phone already growing hot in the short distance to the train station. If you hadn’t made plans in a better, more social mood, you could still be curled up under your AC. You cursed the gregarious version of yourself from the other night. The crowded train swaying, other passengers bumping into you with each motion. But It was too early in the friendship to flake now.

You had met her through a mutual friend at a house party. You were still relatively new to the city and didn’t have a community yet. Blessedly, it turns out you had a good friend from university living close by. Earlier in the week, out of the blue, he had reached out. The two of you had studied hard and partied harder as undergraduates. While he seemed to be making something of his fashion design degree, if his immaculately curated luxury loft were any indicator of success, you were busting your ass to make ends meet. 

Your job at the small combination cafe and bookshop was aesthetic and cozy but ultimately a placeholder until you found a job in your industry. Maybe you should’ve done Fashion Design after all. 

You wanted to catch up with him the other night, maybe even do some networking at his house party, but you had barely been able to get two sentences in before he was called off to talk to other party-goers. This had left you in your worst, admittedly nicely decorated, nightmare. 

This solitude and anxiety had led to you sipping awkwardly from one too many drinks. But the alcohol had eased your nerves enough for you to talk to another girl at the party. Regrettably, much of your conversion had been lost to the liquor, but meeting for coffee today had been nailed down before you lost too much of your sense. 

You winced in embarrassment, rubbing away the ghost of your hangover from the other night. You hope you hadn’t made a fool of yourself, and if you had, you hope that she doesn’t remember it either. 

Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. Emma, the girl from the party’s name flashes on your phone screen. You tapped it quickly and read, 

“I’m so sorry, my ride fell through but I got another one. I’m running a little late but I’m on my way!” 

Thank god. Your heart had dropped seeing the preview of the message, thinking she was about to cancel. You quickly type back, 

“No sweat! I’ll see if I can snag us any of the good seats ;)”  

You don’t imagine it’ll be too busy since it’s that golden window after breakfast and before lunch, but the “good seats” are always the first to go. The thought of having to sit out on the balcony in this weather makes you cringe. The train lurches to a halt and you get your elbows up, worming your way out of the crowded car. The joys of Tokyo living.

You idly make your way to your destination, wishing there was some sort of breeze to ease the waves of hot air rising from the concrete. The streets are dotted with only a handful of other people; everyone else must be smart enough to stay inside today. There are a few cars on the road, the way the wind shifts around them as they zip past throws off an uncomfortable, hot gust.

You turned the corner to cut back to some of the side streets, there were usually less cars there; more pedestrian friendly. You’d usually opt for a cozier, more hole-in-the-wall type of cafe like the one you worked at, but Emma had insisted that she wanted to try the new seasonal drink at this place. 

This location was often not as busy as you would expect from one of the most popular coffee joints in Tokyo. Well, the world. But ever since tourists started coming back to Japan, it was becoming more difficult to anticipate the crowds. You rounded the corner and neared the big wooden doors. 

The cicadas were noisy as hell, even here. You noticed there was something masked by the buzzing. A revving? The sound rapidly approached and in moments was bearing down on you. You jumped back, securely on the sidewalk as a motorcycle screeched to a halt. The sudden appearance of the two riders on its back catching nearby eyes. 

The driver of the bike was dressed head to toe in black, matching his sleek black bike. You could practically see the heat waves rolling off of the leather biker jacket that stretched across a broad back and tightened over what were sure to be muscular shoulders. 

You questioned how and why anyone could wear that getup in this weather. The smaller figure on the back was more sensibly dressed in light, loose clothes, the outfit accentuating their feminine features. She tugged off her helmet, golden locks tumbled free of their confines.

“Jesus! It’s too hot to be wearing a damn helmet, Mikey! I think it messed up my hair” she whined, shoving the helmet into the hands of the figure named Mikey. She tossed her hair a few times in an attempt to fluff some life back  into what was matted by the helmet. She was stunning regardless. He made no move to take off his headwear, the visor an impenetrable black, betraying no feature of the face beneath. 

“That’s a long way to say thank you.” He returned dully. She gave him a shove as she hopped off the bike. Turning on her heel she offered, “Thank you.” The words dripped in sarcasm. He nodded, seemingly satisfied despite the tone. Emma turned again, eyes finally locking on you. They’re a pretty honey color slightly darker than her hair. 

“EEE! Oh my god! It’s so good to see you!” She squeals, rushing over to hug you. The sudden physical affection catches you off guard. You hope she doesn’t feel how sweaty you are. “Hey~ I thought you were going to be late?!” You respond, giving a gentle squeeze back before slipping from her grip. You continue with a smile, “It’s great to see you too. Thanks for meeting up with me today.” 

She smiles back. She has a pretty smile that crinkles her nose and shows off her straight, white teeth. She’s as beautiful as you recalled from the party, despite your memory being hazy. As you admire the features of the woman in front of you, you feel a prickling on the back of your neck. That feeling when you know someone is watching you and you feel the world zoom in on the space around you. 

Your eyes dart up and land on the figure still seated on the bike. His stance unnaturally still. Despite the visor still blocking your view, you knew those were the eyes boring into you. You smiled awkwardly and offered a small wave to the figure sizing you up. He made no move to respond. Emma registered the situation and turned back to face Mikey. “You can go now.” In a tone so icy you almost forgot you were in the armpit of summer. 

“I’m gonna have Draken pick me up so don’t worry about hanging around.” With that she waved him off dismissively. There was a beat before her words registered and the biker’s head snapped forward, nodding sharply before revving his engine. You felt the reverberation in your bones. Then, in a bolt of jet black, he was gone. Your eyes lingered in the space where he’d been. 

“Sorry about him. He’s not good with new people.” Emma says, shaking her head and holding the door open. You step into the massive cafe, the cold air a welcome embrace. “It’s all good. Was he at the party the other night too?” You ask, eyes surveying the crowded room for an open table. “Nah, he had to work late. He’s also not much of a party person, believe it or not.” She says, lacing the end of her statement with sarcasm. “What?! No way!” You feign surprise. She shoulder bumps you playfully as the two of you make your way up to the second floor. You like her already.

Your mind replays their interactions from before and the dynamic wasn’t giving that of a romantic relationship. “So, how do you know him?” You ask, your eyes turning to the pretty blonde. “Oh! He’s my brother, Mikey!” She said with a hearty laugh. “Sorry! I should've introduced you!” She apologizes.  “It’s all good! He seemed like he had somewhere to be.” Your offer. She rolled her eyes, “He’s always rushing off somewhere, I’m surprised I was able to catch him today to give me a ride.” You look around the second floor for an open table to no avail. You say a prayer to a certain green mermaid that there will be seats on the third floor. 

“That’s brutal though. Working late on a Friday night and having to rush around on a Sunday.” Your homebody shudders at the thought of working on the weekends. “Yeah, well he’s too much of a busybody to sit around doing nothing. I don’t think he’s been relaxed since we were kids.” Her gaze drifts and you get the sense that conversation has reached its end. 

“Anyways, the party was a lot of fun! How do you know Yuuki?” you ask, changing the subject. “Oh, he’s actually friends with my boyfriend Draken and, I guess, acquaintances with Mikey.” The word acquaintances seemed to be doing some heavy lifting and the nosy side of you wanted to know more, but you locked onto the juicier topic.“Oh~ Boyfriend.” You tease. Of course a girl as pretty as Emma would be taken. “Does he have any single friends? Any cute ones? Could he hook me up?” You continue. 

She laughs, “Not many I think he would vouch for, but I can let him know there is an interested party.” Score! In more ways than one, there is an open window seat calling your name on the third floor. You set your bags down to claim the space. You sink into the plush seats to test them out, heavenly. She returns your question, “How about you, how do you know Yuuki?” 

“We were friends in university, we had some classes together. Actually, I was surprised to hear from him when I moved to the city. You know, we haven’t really talked since graduation. I don’t even know how he knew I moved here to be honest...” You say with a dry laugh. 

Come to think of it, you hadn’t questioned when his message slid into your DMs. Welcoming you to Tokyo and inviting you to his house party. Truthfully, you thought he might’ve been shooting his shot. He’s cute and the two of you had a little will-they-won't-they that never played out in university. But his complete dismissal of you at the party had been signal enough. 

“Either way, he used to throw ragers at his place back on campus and it seems like he’s perfected the craft here.” As you continue, Emma’s eyes drift out the large floor to ceiling windows and a scowl flashes across her face, too quick for you to notice. She whips her phone out under the low table and skillful fingers fly across the screen, stabbing out a message that is delivered before you end your sentence. If you listened closely, the sound of a bike might’ve been heard over the ambience of the crowded cafe.

You’re pulled out of your reverie by Emma, clapping her hands as she stands from her seat, sparkles in her eyes. “If you’re looking for a good party you found the right girl. I’m actually working as a promoter right now. If you ever want to go out, shoot me a message. I’ll put your name on the list!” A wide smile stretching across her face. “Only if you promise you’ll be there with me.” You counter, flashing your best puppy dog eyes. “It’s a deal.” She winks, “Let’s get our coffee before the line gets any longer.” You rise from your seat, the promise of caffeine is an attractive one and the two of you make your way to the counter. 

***

Coffee had been perfect. What nerves you had about meeting Emma had melted in her warm aura. She was walking sunshine. The afternoon had been filled with laughs and knee slaps, It had felt like home. Before you knew it, the day had gotten away from you. With a promise of coffee next Sunday, the two of you made your exits. 

Another biker pulled up in front of the cafe. His build is slightly taller than Mikey’s. His bike was cool and looked more retro from what limited knowledge you had. Emma practically glowed as she skipped to the man. Wrapping her arms around him. He pulled off his helmet as he steadied his bike, balancing the woman embracing him. 

His features are severe and strikingly handsome. He has a muscular and imposing build. His bleached hair is cut into a kind of shaggy mohawk. The hair on the top of his head is longer and braided while the sides are shaved to the scalp. You notice he has a large tattoo that curls behind his ear and goes down his neck. Between his physique, the bike, the ink, he might’ve looked scary if he didn’t look like he was about to melt. His eyes were soft and locked on the woman in his arms. What you wouldn’t give to have someone look at you like that. Especially if it was a guy who looked like him.

You exchanged a brief introduction and he gave you a firm handshake, his expression unreadable when facing you. You said your goodbyes and watched as the two of them rode off. You had a nostalgic feeling lingering in your chest. Happiness from the day mixed with something else. Is it loneliness? You couldn’t quite place it as you made your way back to your apartment, the heat getting the better of you. The cicadas were beginning their nightly choir as you neared your door. You had noticed many things that day that played in a loop in your mind. 

The way Emma’s hair shimmered like gold when it caught the sunlight, the way the thrum of people in the cafe had made the top of your drink shimmer with vibration, the new spider web woven into the nook between the station sign and the wall near your exit, even now how the sky was streaked with magenta and tangerine hues as the sun dipped below the horizon. 

You’d always find yourself drawn to bright, shiny things. Not daring a glance to the shadows that creep along the periferie. What you can’t see can hurt you. That's a hard lesson. One you were bound to learn sooner or later. It was too late to change the trajectory as your door closed securely behind you. Everything was already in motion and, without realizing it, you’d been tugged into the current. Nothing would’ve changed, but if you had turned and glanced at the shadows, you might’ve seen the black silhouette of a biker in stark contrast to the vibrant summer world.

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

I just. I just thought about Eddie holding baby Jee-Yun? And singing to her while she clutches at his finger with her tiny meaty baby hand??

Maybe Buck freaked out a little because she was being fussy and wouldn't settle, and its probably nothing but hey, who better to call than Eddie, who conveniently has the day off and cuts off Buck's panicked rambling with a soothing;

"Its okay, Buck. Give me ten minutes, okay? You're doing great. She's probably just restless."

Eddie gets there and sends Buck off to cook dinner or shower or take a nap, scooping Jee-Yun out of her travel crib and making sure she's changed, warm, fed and content. And its been so long since Christopher was this tiny, but holding Jee-Yun makes him think back to that tiny, wriggly little bundle in his arms for the first time, back before it all went to shit.

Eddie pacing slowly around the lower loft, singing quietly, tickling her little chin, grinning when she giggles and gurgles at him. And he can see so much of Maddie and Chimney in her already. She's got Maddie's eyes and Chimney's lopsided grin.

(And for a little crack, maybe Buck catches this scene and is so overwhelmed he just blurts out; "put a baby in me!" And Eddie is like; "... What?" 👁👄👁 Which cues a hilariously awkward but heartfelt confession of feelings on both sides.)

Hey hey! So I like I told you I started this a while ago and then got SEVERE AND DEBILITATING writers block, and it sat waiting for new life. And then 5x03 happened, so Hello, new life! I hope you love it!

With You, My Life, I Will Get Married

Warning: mild spoilers for 9-1-1 season 5 episode 3.

Chimney was out searching for Maddie.

After shifts, on weekends, whenever he had a second, he was either spending time with Jee or out searching for her mom.

In times when he was on the search everyone at the 118 was making time to watch Jee Yun. Mrs. Lee was doing what she could, but couldn't always be available, and when that happened, Jee would spend some time at Bobby and Athena's or by Hen and Karen. And when they had too much going on, or when either of the uncles felt like they weren't getting enough time with their beautiful niece, she would spend time at her Uncle Buck's or Uncle Albert's.

Uncle Buck got lucky this time.

Eight hours in and everything had gone wrong. Buck shoulders were damp with spit-up, baby drool, and snot and all Jee seemed capable of doing was crying, crying, crying.

"I'm so sorry! I don't know what I did wrong, and, and now--just, Jee, please, it's okay, I'm here--!"

She continued to yell and Buck got more and more panicked. "Your Uncle Albert's gonna be here in like 5 minutes, Jee, okay? And then, maybe, maybe he's better with you? And will make you happy, and then--Oh God, what have I done wrong--"

A knocking at the door sent him back on his feet, swaying toward the loft entrance. It opened before he could get there, however, and he stopped where he was, a furious Jee Yun screaming in his ears as Eddie Diaz, not Albert Han, walked in.

"You look like you're having fun." Eddie's eyebrow was raised and his mouth quirked in a teasing smile.

"Eddie...?" Buck's momentary shock was interrupted as Jee let out another wail. "Um, sorry, this isn't the best time at the moment, but Albert--"

"--has a date tonight and sent me as his relief." Eddie reached out and plucked Jee Yun from Buck's arms. "And you have a date with your shower and a few hours' sleep."

"I--no, it's okay, I know you just got off shift--"

"Buck." Eddie shifted Jee to one arm, and the other rested on Buck's chest, over his pattering heartbeat. He met Buck's eyes, his own calm despite the bundle of adorable chaos still screaming bloody murder into his shoulder. "Go shower."

"...Yeah, okay."

***

She truly was one of the cutest babies, even when she was liable to wake up the neighborhood with her noise, Eddie thought with a smile as he re-seated her over one shoulder and began to firmly but gently tap her back.

"Your Tio Eddie is going to assume this is a gas issue, okay, chiquita? Christopher used to have this all the time, and he would scream and cry." Eddie huffed ruefully. "I was useless at it then, but Shannon showed me what to do." He kept tapping at her back. "Good set of lungs means a healthy baby, good job, Jee. Now, let's see if we can't get this gas out of you so you can calm down and you and your Tio Buck can get some sleep, okay?"

Eddie started circling the room, the sun beginning to set as he heard he shower turn on.

"There you go, see? Your Buck is going to get all showered since you drooled all over him, and then you both can get some sleep, how's that sound?"

He was answered with a burp far louder than Jee's small body should be capable of making. Then a sweet gurgling sound as she nestled her chin into his shoulder.

"There, feel better, mi princesa?" Eddie whispered against her soft, downy hair. "When I was small and got upset, and my parents got annoyed with my sulking, they'd send me to Abuela. And she would sit me down on her lap, just like this," he sat down on Buck's couch, and settled Jee Yun against his broad chest, rubbing her small back with a large warm hand. "And she would hug me until I forgot what I was so upset about. All I could think about was the smell of her perfume and how much I wanted to be like her one day.

"Then Pepa would come out and yell at both of us that it's about damn time we came into the house, dinner doesn't make itself." Eddie laughed at the memory. Jee made a small discontented noise and Eddie stood up again, walking toward the kitchen, where he saw the half-formed works of bottle making on the counter. "Shhh, princesa, Tio Eddie's gonna make you a bottle." With Jee over his shoulder, sounding more and more on the edge of hunger-panic, Eddie quickly assembled a bottle then leaned back against the kitchen island and cradled Jee Yun in his arms, pressing the nipple to her mouth, which she accepted gratefully.

"Better, yeah? Where was I...? Oh." Eddie smiled. "Once we were inside, Pepa, Abuela and I would make arroz con leche. Abuella would wash the rice, Pepa would be tutting the whole time about too much sugar, but she would always wink at me and add just a bit more before the cinnamon." Eddie couldn't help the smile that stole over his face as he remembered Abuela's warm kitchen in her El Paso ranch house before she and Pepa relocated to LA. In winter, the windows would fog over from the heat of whatever was on the stove. When she left, a lot of Eddie's heart left with her.

"They used to sing me the song too, you know?" Jee gurgled around her dinner and Eddie smiled again. "Well, I wasn't planning to sing it, but you drive a hard bargain." Eddie's poked Jee's soft cheek with a finger and began to sing.

Arroz con leche se quiere casar con una viudita de la capital, que sepa tejer, que sepa bordar, que ponga la aguja en su campanal.

(English translation: Rice with milk (rice pudding) Wishes to get married With a little widow from the capital. Who knows how to weave (or knit), Who knows how to embroider, Who puts the church steeple in the bell tower.)

***

Eddie was no American Idol contestant, but his voice was soothing and good. Strong. Listening to him sing from his seat on the stairs, Buck almost felt like he was where Jee currently snuggled, right against Eddie's chest, as his bass voice sung the gentle Spanish lyrics, harmonized by the occasional happy noise from Jee Yun.

Yo soy la viudita la hija del rey. Me quiero casar y no sé con quien. Contigo sí, contigo no, Contigo mi vida me casaré yo.

(English translation: I am the widow The daughter of the king, I want to get married and I don’t know with whom. With you, yes. With you, no. With you, my life, I will get married.)

Buck's head knocked lightly against the banister, body relaxing. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just the softest sweatpants he owned with a towel draped over his shoulders to catch water from the mess of wet curls on his head.

Eddie's so hard on himself all the time. I don't get it. He's such a good dad.

Dazedly, Buck's eyes fixed on Eddie's mouth as he repeated the verses again. Then Eddie sighed.

"Afterward Pepa would ask me who I want to marry and Abuela would laugh at me, and I'd always complain--" Jee gurgled again. "Like that, yes. But honestly, it was nice... Even though between you and me, Pepa can't sing very well at all." Eddie's lips quirked again in a smile. "Kind of like your Uncle Buck."

Buck startled at his name and looked up at Eddie's eyes. They twinkled back at him in the dying last light of the day, Eddie's golden skin lit by the last rays of the sun. Buck felt his face heat with a blush, knew there was nothing to do about it.

"Sorry, I should've--"

"Feel better after your shower?"

Buck sighed and smiled. "Yeah. World's better." He stood, stretching out his long legs as he descended the stairs. It was full dark now, but Buck didn't feel like turning on a light. "I can take her now."

"Nope." Eddie met him midway, hand on Buck's shoulder turning him around. "You're both getting some sleep now." One hand on Buck's shoulder, the other holding a drowsy Jee Yun, Eddie guided him back up the stairs, and pressed Buck down until he was sitting on his bed.

"Eddie, are you sure--"

"Shhh." Eddie deposited Jee into Buck's arms, then sat down behind him. "You can hold her for now." Eddie's hands skimmed up Buck's warm back then pulled the towel off Buck's shoulders, laying it on top of Buck's head, where a corner flopped over his eyes.

"Eddie?"

"Hold still, Buck."

Eddie's strong hands curled into the towel and Buck's hair, rubbing vigorously to get it dry. "Seriously, anyone who has ever seen your hair at work would marvel at how different it looks before you comb and gel all the life out of it." He rubbed vigorously, and Buck felt himself relaxing back against Eddie's chest. Tomorrow, he might look back at this and feel embarrassed. He might have to apologize. Tomorrow, he would go back to hiding how much he felt for the man who was drying his hair, still absent-mindedly humming the Arroz con leche tune under his breath. But for now, Eddie was too near and too warm and too... Eddie. And Buck found that he couldn't deny himself Eddie right now.

Buck cleared his throat and made himself focus on their conversation. "I used to wear my hair naturally, but people said it looked floppy. Made me look like a puppy."

"People are stupid sometimes, Buck. You know this." Eddie's thumb traced the shell of Buck's ear. "And if you think slicking back your hair makes you look less like a puppy, you really shouldn't be bothering." He snickered as Buck tried to shoulder his chest and Jee made a noise of complaint.

"So I just look like a puppy all the time, huh?"

The towel dropped. Eddie's arms came around, holding onto Buck and Jee Yun both. "I think you're a beautiful man, Buck."

The air in Buck's chest hiccupped out of his mouth. His heart picked up speed as the places where Eddie's hands rested on his stomach seemed to heat from within. "Y... Eddie?"

"Shhh. Sleep now. Jee's asleep, but who knows for how long." Eddie's voice was gruff, embarrassed. "I'll just--"

"Stay?" It came out too high, too soft. Buck cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, if it isn't any trouble, and--"

"I can stay." Eddie's arms tightened around Buck again and he pulled him backwards until Buck could lay out flat on his back, before pressing Buck's head down on his pillow. Then Eddie pulled Jee from Buck's arms and sat back against the headrest, legs folded together, Buck's niece cuddled again against his chest. "Sleep now."

"Okay." There was so much Buck wanted to know. To say. It all got stopped in his throat as fear tamped it all down to squirm in his chest.

"Eddie?" The word found its way out.

"Hm?"

"...Nothing."

A sigh. Then, "Come here."

Buck didn't hesitate, moving his head off the pillow and onto Eddie's lap. Eddie's spare hand found its way back into his curls and tugged lightly before stroking through them, gently, so gently.

"Sleep now."

"Okay. But," Buck's jaw cracked around a large yawn. "Before... you have to know..."

"Hm?"

"You are... so beautiful... Eddie Diaz."

Buck felt Eddie's hand tighten in his hair again, before releasing, fingers wandering down to trace his eyebrows, his nose, his lips.

"Sleep, querido."

As Buck's eyes slipped closed, and awareness almost dropped away, he swore he could feel lips press lightly right above his eye, on his birth mark.

"Contigo mi vida me casaré yo."

[parksunghoonbro]

come here》 p.sh {pt.3}

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

<3 pairing: chaebol!stepbrother!sunghoon x chaebol!fem!reader                   (some chaebol!bestfriend!soobin x reader)

<3 genre: angst, fluff

<3 warning: sunghoon gets jealous, he is unwillingly an asshole, making out, mentions of love (sorry if any of you guys are triggered by anything else)

<3 word count: 1.9k 

<3 summary: park sunghoon, the most popular rich boy around town, who you are super attracted to becomes your stepbrother. what happens when you realize that he is also extremely attracted to you?

<3 xtra stuff: Soobin is the same age as Sunghoon. They are both 20 while y/n is 18 (2 years older). If you guys have watched Tempted/The Great Seducer y/n and soobin’s hang out is inspired by Shihyun, Sooji, and Sejoo’s (the three friend’s) hideout. (Soobin and y/n have been friends since y/n was born. Like 2-year old Soobin held y/n when she was a newborn)

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

You wake up to being surrounded by a comforting warmth. You felt Sunghoon’s muscular arms wrapped around your waist and your face against his chest. After a couple of minutes of admiring the face of the man in front of you, you remember that you had an appointment with your stylist at 10:00 to plan an outfit for an event that your mother’s company has every year. It currently was 8:13, so you tried to squee yourself out of Sunghoon’s tight hold. Finally being able to sit up you were about to get out of his bed, but you suddenly felt two strong arms pull you back into bed. “Where do you think you’re going?” Sunghoon asked in his raspy morning voice. “I have to get ready to meet with my stylist later.” You responded snuggling back into his hold. Sunghoon groaned softly shoving his pace into the crook of your neck smelling your addictive scent. “Just cancel and stay with me,” Sunghoon whined. You wish you could stay but you had to go. This event was a pretty big one. ”What are you meeting your stylist for anyways?” Sunghoon asked curiously. “My mom has this big event that she hosts every year and I need to go to a fitting for the brand I am representing today.” You answered in a soft tone. Sunghoon thought for a little and then jokingly asked with a small chuckle, ”So who’s gonna be the lucky man who gets to be your date?” You suddenly remembered something. You were going to have a date! You blanked out wondering who it was this year. Of course, you wanted it to be Sunghoon, but it was obviously not him. the Assuming from a joking tone you’re sure that he doesn’t know that you’re going to have a date. “I don’t need a date.” You said with a flip of your hair. “I’m perfectly fine by myself.” Sunghoon grinned, “That’s my girl” After cuddling a bit more you finally got out of the bed and got ready. «───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────» Arriving at the salon you met your stylist. “Y/N!” You heard your names being called so you turned around. “Sohee unnie!” Your stylist of 8 years smiled. “Are you ready for this?” You smiled,”Yup! I’m ready” After hours and hours of looking over dresses, makeup, and hairstyles you finally finished your look. Since you were done you started to pack up. “Oh right! Before you go I have to tell you who your date is!“ Yoy looked back in anticipation of who it was although you already had someone you were almost 100% sure who it was and Sohee continued,”You’re date this year is the one and only Choi Soobin as always.” Yup. That’s right. Your date and the person you were expecting was Choi Soobi, your date since you were children. Choi Soobin was your best friend and although he lives in Jeju now you guys are still very close. He comes and visits every once in a while for events, meetings, and of course just to see his best friend of 17 years. When you finished your small conversation with Sohee you went home.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

Walking through the door all you saw was darkness. The lights were off. No one was home. You wondered where Sunghoon was, but you didn’t worry because it was only 5:30 pm.

-2:00 am-

Its already 2:00 am and Sunghoon isn’t home yet. You’ve called him a couple times and he didn’t pick up. You were worried sick and you were waiting on the couch.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

It was the next morning and you woke up in your bed with the amazing feeling of warmth next to you. You smiled Sunghoon was home. You turned around and saw Sunghoon looking back at you. He smiled at you and pulled you in closer to kiss your forehead. “Why did you wait for my love? When I got home you were asleep on the couch in your clothes and without a blanket! I was so worried that you were gonna get sick.” You put your hands on his stomach and started to touch it. “I was worried!” Sunghoon had an amused face by now, “Worried enough to fall asleep?” “Shut up” You answered back. Sunghoon raised his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?” You panicked and jumped out of bed. Sunghoon laughed at you and stood up. “Let’s get ready and eat breakfast.”  After getting ready you came down to the kitchen to see Sunghoon already sitting at the table with breakfast ready waiting for you. “Where are you going today?” Sunghoon stroked your head, ”Yesterday my stylist informed me that I would be attending your mom’s event. Today I have a fitting.” You smiled and shortly after it faded. You realized that he would have to have a date. Everyone brought a date that their stylist chooses and of course sometimes with the assistance of the person, but the thing that irked you the most was that his date wasn’t going to be you and it would be some other girl. Sunghoon noticed the change and mood and asked why you were upset. “What do you mean? I am not upset.” You said in a normal tone. Raising his eyebrows in confusion Sunghoon decided to not ask questions and answer with a simple “ok”. After a breakfast of hand-holding and flirting Sunghoon left.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

Being at home alone was becoming a little boring. You thought it was surprising that you weren’t enjoying it because you’re a homebody, but maybe it was because you had spent so much time with Sunghoon. You were about to go out alone, but suddenly your phone rang. You checked the caller id. 🐰Binnie 🐰. Soobin was calling you. You excitedly picked up the phone. 

“Soobin! I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I heard auntie is getting married again. Are you okay cutie?”

“Yeah, I guess. Surprisingly I hope this marriage doesn’t last.”

“Why? Isn’t your mom getting married to Park Sungho, Park Sunghoon’s dad?

“That’s why Soobin!”

“Ohhh. Even though you don’want them to last they seemed pretty happy Y/N. I met your mom and Mr. Park in Jeju before I left.”

“I know I shouldn’t be selfish. WAIT rewind. You are in Seoul!?”

“Yes, dummy when am I ever not in Seoul before the gala? I have moved away from you for 2 years already and you haven’t remembered my schedule.”

“Well Soobin I am a busy girl”

“More like distracted. But let’s meet up now. I wanna hang out with my date!”

“Hmph. Alright, let’s meet. Our place?”

“Of course see you there”

“Bye”

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

-Flashback-

(7th grade y/n)

“Soobin look at it! It is perfect!” you exclaimed looking at the place in front of you. You guys’ mothers had built a hang out for you and Soobin in a secret room behind a big painting on the first floor of their newly merged company building. “It is. This is our place from now on!” Soobin said back providing the same energy. 

Soon even as you guys grew older it stayed as you guys’ place where no one else knew the password and was allowed not even your parents. It became a comfortable place for both of you guys where you guys would go to find each other no matter what.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

-At the Hideout-

“Soobin? Come out! I know you’re in here” You stated in a loud voice. “Boo!” “AHHH!” Soobin laughed at you until he was on the ground. “Choi Soobin you’re dead!” You said annoyed. Soobin realized that he had messed up and ran for his life up the stairs to the loft. You chased after him. When you got to the too you couldn’t see him. Then all of a sudden you felt a pair of strong arms pin your hands to your back. “Ha! Got you!” Soobin said with his signature smile. He let you go and hugged you which you gladly returned. You guys hung out for the rest of the day getting food, shopping, and playing video games in the hang-out. What felt like 10 minutes was 10 hours. You didn’t realize it but soon it was 1 am. Soobin looked at the clock and his eyes widened, “I should get you home now little one. It is late.” You looked at the clock shocked, ”Yes, I should get home now.” You guys turned off the TV and the lights and started to walk home. Yes, walk home. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence with you and Soobin. Starting in high school you guys would always hang out until late into the night and walk home even though you only had to have one call to get home by car. Your houses were close to the hangout and it gave you a taste of what it felt like to live like normal kids. Not heirs to big companies, not kids who were born with silver spoons in their mouths, not brand ambassadors, just normal kids. You have always felt safe around Soobin. Soobin was your haven and will always be your haven.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

When you guys got to your house Soobin walked you to your door and you hugged him bye as always. Not until you get to the door did you start worrying about Sunghoon. Unlocking the door, you quietly took off your shoes and started into the house. Not even getting halfway to your room you were stopped by a fuming Sunghoon. “What were you doing out this late!? I was worried sick! And who was that guy who walked you through the door!?” You were taken aback. Sunghoon had never raised his voice at you. Suddenly feeling vulnerable you answered in a nervous, small voice. Studdering you said, ”M-my friend came back from Jeju to visit. We were just hanging out.” Sunghoon in a loud and intimidating voice said, “There is no reason for you to be hanging out this late! Especially with another boy. Are you even hanging out!? What if you’re doing something else? You said you wanted to see where things go with us, baby!” “How could you say that?” Your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t take it anymore so you ran into your room and started sobbing. Realizing that he had hurt you Sunghood ran upstairs. Sunghoon felt a pang of guilt hit his heart hearing your sobs outside of your room. He knocked on the door. “C-come in,” you said quietly from inside your room. “Oppa is sorry princess. I just got worried and jealous and I couldn’t hold it in. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t be upset with me.” Sunghoon said his eyes brimming with tears seeing how he had hurt you. “It’s okay oppa. I understand.” You said as you came closer to him cuddling into his side. He grabbed you tightly and pulled you into his chest as he laid next to you. Sunghoon suddenly had an urge to kiss you, so he landed his lips on yours, and you guys passionately made out until one of you guys had to pull away for air. “I love you princess.” Sunghoon seriously stated. “I love you too, oppa.” you said back, and that night you guys fell asleep happily and full of love.

«───────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ─────────»

[uglypastels]

New Beginnings // roommate!au

(a/n) I’m sorry @duskholland for coming up with these aus. the good thing about it is, that I have no self control so here it is, the New Girl!roommate!au :) i’m not gonna say it’s great, and also i’v seen like 5 episodes of the show maybe so it’s definitely my own take on the pilot. hope you like it.

word count: 6.3k

warning: swearing, sexual references (the first paragraph is as bad as it gets), dark humour and mentions of murder, sex trafficking - basically reasons why not to move in with strangers you meet off of craigslist. Please be safe and responsible. but it’s all just fluff and humour. Also, possibly some horrible writing cause i couldn’t bother editing this <3 

“And when I walked into the bedroom I found him in there, completely naked, with some slut sucking his dick… so basically, that’s why I need a new apartment.” You looked around at the three men in front of you, realising you had zoned out a bit there while telling your story. “Sorry, what was the question?” 

“Uhh,” the blonde one, which introduced himself as Harrison earlier, spoke, “Do you have any pets?” 

“Oh,” well that was embarrassing, “No, I mean I had a schnauzer when I was younger and I always wanted to get another one but who am I kidding, nothing will ever live up to Mr Snuzzlekins.” For the love of God, shut up! “No, I don’t have any pets.” You felt your entire face heating up. Suddenly you became very aware of a strand of hair that was in front of your face so you pushed it behind your ear

“Mr Snuzzlekins?” The other one, Tom, laughed with a small smile. 

“My sister named him,” you lied. You were already embarrassed as it was. 

There was a moment of silence where no one knew what to say next, so you decided to break the tension. Awkwardly laughing, you said:  “You know, the funny thing is, I didn’t expect you to be… guys.” That was true. When you had been searching through the Craigslist advertisements there had been a lot of applications for housing but you had ignored most of them because they sounded too much like human trafficking scams or some other creeps looking for a way to get a girl. You had particularly found interest in this apartment, not only because of the actual great (and safe looking) location of the building but also because you had thought that the ad was written by a woman. Not that you didn’t think a woman could murder you, but it did bring a bit more security to you to live with someone of your own gender. 

Well, as you saw three men sitting in front of you, you had guessed that wrong. They did seem nice enough though. Handsome too. You really hoped they weren’t murderers. They wouldn’t do well in prison… also, your death. Not a favourable outcome in the slightest. 

“Why’d you think that?” the third one asked. You had missed his name during the introduction round, but you already felt like you could be good friends with him. His boyish charms made you think he was younger than the other two, though he did have a very small resemblance to Tom. You found it cute how his curls bounced around when he moved his head. 

“Well, the ad, it was phrased… very femini-ninely...” That was definitely too many syllables. Could this interview go any worse? No, probably not. But the guys didn’t seem to mind your momentary idiocy. 

“Oh, yeah, we had our mum write it for us.” Tom explained, sitting a bit more straight up, “We had been trying to find someone else to live with us ever since our friend Tuwaine moved out, but we kind of suck at advertising ourselves, so yeah-” 

“Oh, well that makes sense, yeah.” Their mum wrote it. So they were a family. Brothers? Yeah probably. You didn’t really see how the Harrison guy fit into that since he didn’t look anything like the other two. Shattering blue eyes instead of the warm hazel. Dark blonde hair instead of the reddish-brown. All three had magnificent bone structure that you had to admit, but not in the same way. 

“So, what do you guys do?” you decided to ask. 

“We’re actors,” Harrison said, pointing at himself and Tom. Since you had no heart palpitating reaction when you first saw them, you could probably safely assume that they were still trying to find their break out role. Harrison pointed at the third of their addition before continuing. “Harry is more of a behind the scenes man, photography and directing, that kind of stuff.” 

“That’s… interesting.” You smiled. Were you about to move in with three wannabes? If you were, would it be inevitable that you’d end up paying the rent for all of them because they wouldn’t be able to find gigs? That was a bit harsh. Besides, you could always look for a new place before that happened and move out. And who even said that you could move in, in the first place? “Anything I might have seen you guys in? Or some of your work?” You directed the additional question to...Harry. 

Harry. Harrison. Try to remember that. 

“I’ve had a few roles on the West End, nothing big yet but once I have a role, it’s at least steady for a bit, you know,” Tom said. 

“I’ve mostly been doing headshots for people, so I doubt you’d have seen anything I’ve done.” Harry said. You nodded to his statement. 

“And Harrison has been signed with this fashion designer. You might have seen some ads around town.” Modelling. Not another model to live with. You tried not to let your smile fade. 

“No, sorry, I don’t think I have. But I’ll be on the lookout.” The grin you put up actually reached your eyes genuinely.

“So what about you?” Harrison was the one to ask, not noticing any change in your demeanour. “What is it that you do?”

“I’m a teacher. I know, not very glamorous or anything- and I might sometimes come home with an abundance of ice-lolly sticks- but it’s good fun and it pays well.” You looked around some more around the apartment. As you focused on the spacious living room of the loft, you wondered how these guys could afford it. Were their rich parents paying for it? Was there secretly asbestos in the walls, making rent not even a problem? Were they going to kill you? 

It was a really nice flat. With exposed brick walls and wooden beams at the ceiling, which the guys used cleverly to hang their houseplants from. Even with the large space and the big windows covering the outer walls of the room, it felt very homey. Comfortable. 

“I’m sure you already know, but it’s a really great place you guys got.” Compliments always worked, so that was your way to go to ensure you had a roof over your head soon. Feeling a bit more comfortable now, you decided to get up to walk a bit around the room. The reason for that specific action was unknown to you, but you did it. 

It had been the first day since your breakup that you had actually made an effort in looking presentable. Hair washed and brushed, you had clothes on that had zero Cheeto dust on it. Of course, since these were guys it probably didn’t even matter to them what you looked like but when you still thought you might be living with other women, you were terrified of being denied because of how you looked or something. That could still happen, but they just didn’t seem like the shallow type. And they had seemed really surprised when you appeared at their front door, as if they didn’t expect a girl to show up either. 

All three of them turned their heads as you walked around, following you with their eyes. It was a mix of curiosity and the same fear that you saw in people on competition shows, when they were waiting for the judges’ critique. 

You looked out the window to see the view. It was a lovely lookout on the city. 

“How come your roommate moved out?” Was it your place to ask? You had no idea. They didn’t seem to mind the question, though. 

“He moved in with his girlfriend instead.” Harry was the one to answer. A heart wrenching feeling fell over you. You didn’t know this Tuwaine, or his girlfriend, but a sudden wave of hatred towards them and their happiness overwhelmed you. Why did everyone have to be all happy and in love? It was disgusting. You were sick of it. 

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t mind living here.” Somehow you managed to speak out without showing any of your feelings through it. You allowed yourself to walk around to the kitchen island. It was recycled wood with a dark varnish on top, making the light from outside shine on it. You could almost see yourself reflecting in it. Were they this clean or had they no idea how to cook? 

“Don’t get me wrong, you seem great, but we don’t really know anything about you yet.” Tom got up and walked up to you. The other two followed his steps. You were now standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, making you feel as if you were a bartender ready to take their orders. 

“There really isn’t much more to tell. I mean, I did just go through a break up, so emotions are uhm… out there. I might be spending the next few weeks watching horrible Hallmark movies, like 4 or 5… a day.” You saw the disgust on Harry’s face and quickly made an attempt at recovery. “But I can do that on my laptop and headphones, so ya know, I’ll be quiet. I’ll be in my room the entire time too, probably, so you might not even notice I’m here.” You tried to sell yourself as un-pathetically as possible. It had come to desperate measures in desperate times. Because, what your (possible) new roommates didn’t know, was that you had already spent the last four weeks looking for a new place, and while there was no luck in that, you had to do with sleeping on the tiny couch of your best friend. 

As if he could actually read your mind, Harrison’s next question was: “So, where have you been living the last few days then? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Not at all,” you said, finding large interest in the pattern of the stained wood. Not looking up at the three men, “I’ve been living with my best friend. She’s great but I just don’t think I'm suited for the life she and her supermodel friends have-” Why did you mention the models? Your eyes shot up to Harrison’s. But it was Harry’s and Tom’s that were wide. 

“Supermodels?” Tom coughed out. You nodded, having leaned in with your elbows on the table, looking rather unimpressed. The way Tom’s hands grabbed for the sleeves of his roommates did not go unnoticed by you. Before you could say anything, he excused himself and the others and they had disappeared into the corridor. Earlier on they had told you that was the way to the bathroom. They were trying to whisper, but weren’t doing a great job at it. You could hear every word perfectly well. 

“What are we thinking, guys?” Tom said, closing the door behind him. When he turned around, Harrison and his brother were rubbing their arms, on the spots where Tom had been a bit too rough on his grip. Harry sat down on the edge of the bathtub, while Harrison decided to remain standing,eventually leaning against the tiled wall. There was a bright light in the small bathroom, but the vintage green tiles made it all look much darker. 

“She seems nice.” Harrison spoke up finally. “But I don’t know, she’s obviously a… she. Won’t that be weird?” 

“What do you think, Tom?” Harry asked his older brother, who, even though had been the one to pull them into the bathroom, had not planned on saying much. “You’re the one with experience in living with a woman. So try to cancel out those supermodels for a sec.”

“I don’t know,” Tom bit the inside of his cheek. Before he had moved in with his brother and best friend, he had been living with his then girlfriend, Stacey. They had been together for a while until she had decided that maybe, this wasn’t meant to be after all. Unlike you, though, the apartment had been in his name so he had a place to stay, but he just couldn’t get himself to live alone in a place that was intended on being lived in by two people. So, he moved out. 

“I mean… every girl is different, so I can’t say shit.” 

“I’m really not that bad!” you shouted from the other side of the door, immediately hiding your mouth behind your hands. Now they knew you were listening to their private conversation. The bathroom door opened and Tom’s head popped out. He saw you sitting on the couch. 

“Could you- could you hear all of that?” he pointed back into the bathroom. You nodded, still covering your mouth, scared you would say something else embarrassing. But the guys seemed to be just as abashed. One by one they walked out and came to sit on their basically appointed seats on the sofa. Did they have their own claimed seats? Would you need to be prepared to only sit in one spot of the room forever? Shit, they had all the seats with the window view… 

“So,” Harry said, “when you said supermodels-” but he never got to finish his sentence because Harrison slapped him across the back of his head. You suppressed a small laugh. It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom, who reciprocated the expression. This, in turn, was missed by you. You only looked in his direction a second later, when the smile had slightly faded already. 

“Thanks for saying that whole ‘every girl is different’ thing. Not saying I can’t cook… even if that is going along with the stereotype, but I wouldn’t exactly want to be accepted to live here as a nanny… not that I think you guys can’t take care of yourselves! I mean just look at-” you eyes wandered around them just for a second before coming back on the right track. “- at the apartment. What I mean is- uhh.” 

“Guys are dicks?” Harrison suggested. 

“Yes! No! No, of course not, well some. But I don’t think you guys are. You seem really nice. I’ve just had… experiences with living with other types of guys and that really was not the planned outcome now that I think about it and I don’t know why I can’t shut up now because I have no idea why I’m telling you all this.” 

“Is this Spencer that we’re talking about here?” Tom asked and your eyes shot to his direction, shocking even him. The name had become somewhat of a trigger for you in the last few days. At the last moment, you realised you had actually mentioned his name yourself to them during your introductory story, so that spared you a good bit of humiliation there. You decided to keep quiet. You all did. Great, because this day had not gone awkward enough. Maybe you could sink into the surface of the ground and die there? Then there would be no more reason to find any living space. It would all be over. Yeah, that really didn’t sound too bad even. 

“So, do you wanna see your room?” Harrison broke the silence and his words surprised everyone, even him. You took longer than it should have to comprehend what he had just suggested. 

“What? Uhh, yes! Yes! Oh my god, that would be fantastic. Thank you.” 

“Great,” Harrison clapped his hands on his thighs before getting up. Then he extended one of those hands to you. He led you to the corridor opposite the bathroom, the third door on the left. The door had some scraped paint residue on it and you could see a poor attempt was made at pulling off the scotch tape that held up posters on it or something? It opened up to a room. It wasn’t big or small. The wall color was a nice beige, a bit of a sandy, almost peachy color. You could definitely work with it. 

The guys let you take it in, but also took that moment to give each other death glares, most of them directed at Harrison. 

“What exactly were you thinking?” Tom asked him, this time properly whispering. For extra measure he extended his neck to look into the hallway to see if you were walking out of the room again. 

“Actually, I was thinking about how you had showed up at my door at 2 am when Stacey dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me. No one was dumped.” Tom denied like always.

“No, you were definitely dumped, mate.” Harry said, not even making an attempt at hiding the amusement in his voice. 

“Anyway,” Harrison ignored the interaction between brothers, “I thought of you and how miserable you were then. She’s probably going through that same thing.” If not worse, he wanted to add, but he also didn’t want to edge Tom’s ego any further. “So, let’s give her a chance.” 

Tom still didn’t seem to be entirely sure. He raised his eyebrow, thinking. He looked once more at the corridor, expecting you to walk out any moment, but you still were in the room. What were you even doing there? The place was entirely empty. 

“Fine,” he gave in, “but if she turns out to be completely psychotic, you’re kicking her out, Haz.” He immediately noticed the wince in Harry’s face. Had he mistimed his words? 

Yes, he had, because you were standing right behind him now. The sight of you made his heart stop for a good second as he went pale. 

“Fucking Christ,” Tom gasped, “if you live here, you’re getting a bell. None of that sneaking around.” 

“Are we talking service, hand, cow, or the kinky cat collar type?” you smirked, knowing you had gotten him completely flustered at your joke. While Harrison and Harry burst out in laughter, Tom didn’t move a muscle. His cheeks and neck, however, had started to turn a lovely rosy colour. He opened his mouth a bit, just to close it up again as he changed his mind. 

_______________________

While you had told them that you would be spending your days crying into a pint of ice cream while watching movies, reality was much more different from that. It was true that you barely left your room, but that was because you were too busy unpacking all your things out and setting up your room. The guys were nice enough to help you bring up the furniture sets and the boxes, which had been lovingly left at the curb of the building by the people from the moving company.

That ordeal had taken up most of Saturday. Your first task was to set up the bed, which Harrison helped you with. You tried to tell him that you didn’t need help, but your words were futile the second you almost dropped a wooden plank on yourself. The flatpacks were easy enough to understand, and unlike what you had done there, you weren’t the worst when it came to building, so all the furniture was set up by the end of Sunday. It meant that you could spend the rest of the week opening boxes and making your room really yours. 

But Monday also meant work, so you only had the afternoons and nights to do it. Together with the fact that you had to leave early for work, meant that the guys really barely saw you. The only sign of your presence would be the music you were playing from your room while doing the unpacking. 

It was the fourth hour of your One Direction sing-a-long that Tom walked into the living room. Harrison popped his head up from his book to look at his friend. He did not look happy. 

“Dude,” he said. The one word already evoked all that Tom wanted to say, but Harrison loved to annoy him. 

“What?” he opened up his book again, pretending not to really pay any attention to Tom. This was made harder when Tom sat down next to him. 

“If I hear What Makes You Beautiful one more fucking time-” 

“Then what?” Harrison still kept his eyes on the words on the pages, not taking in a single word. 

“You have to do something. I can’t take it.” 

“Why do I have to do something?” Harrison closed his book with his finger still between the pages and looked at Tom, just in time to see him narrow his eyes in annoyance. 

“Really? So do you wanna see your room y/n?!” His voice turned higher as he mocked Harrison’s words, following it up by a gagging sound. “You’re the one that got us here. Now, go solve it.” 

“I really don’t mind it. If you’re so bothered, go talk to her yourself.” And with that, Harrison went back to his book. This time actually reading the words. It was enough for Tom to know that the conversation was over. He didn’t even try to argue. He gave Harrison one more glare and got up. While walking to your room, he noticed that Harry had actually been in the kitchen this whole time, listening in on their conversation. He tried to give his little brother a look, hoping for support, but he didn’t get any of that. Harry disappeared behind the doors of a cupboard and Tom went into the corridor, still rolling his eyes. 

When he reached your door, he couldn’t hear you singing anymore. It was just One Direction coming from the speakers. Now, he enjoyed the lads just as much as the next guy, but after a while he just needed it to stop. And coming in in five hours was definitely a while. 

He knocked on the door. There was a sound that resembled you. A bit of a murmur that formed no particular word. It didn’t sound like a denial though, so slowly, in case you didn't want him to come in, he opened the door. 

You were quick in decorating the room. Only a few days ago it was still empty and a bit cold looking, now the walls were covered with posters and pictures. You had used one entire wall just for your bookcase. There didn’t seem to be an order on the shelves just yet, but you left that for the last thing to do since the rest of the room seemed a bit more important at the moment.

The bed was unmade, with several pillows thrown about over it. Behind it the headboard, which simultaneously served as a shelf. Stuffed animals and a few more books were strewn about. Overhead were fairy lights, matching the ones on the doorframe and on the bookcase. Together with the lamp that was on the desk, it was the only light in the room. Since it was dark, it gave the room a warm and cozy atmosphere. 

But the first thing that Tom noticed when he walked into the room was the smell. Coconut? It wasn’t overwhelming, just strong enough to be pleasantly surprising and noticeable. 

You were standing on a small step ladder, which you usually used to reach the upper shelf of your bookcase (high walls gave the opportunity for more shelves, which you could never say no to). You were in the middle of hanging up a picture on the wall as the song from your speaker continued. 

Can we take the same road, two days in the same clothes- 

You were holding on to the frame with both hands, trying to centre it on the nail in the wall, but every time you pulled away, the frame would slant to the side. 

And I know just what she’ll say if I can make all this pain go- 

Tom saw you get fed up with the picture, throwing it on the bed with a groan. That’s when you looked up at him. The dim and soft light was shining just at the angle that when he looked at you, he could see the tear streaks down your face. You had definitely been crying. You were still sniffling a bit when you stepped down to the floor. 

“Am I too loud? Sorry.” you immediately reached out to your phone, which was connected to the speaker, and pressed down the volume. Then you decided to just turn it off completely. Maybe you’ve had enough of it for now. 

“Uhh, a bit, but it’s fine. We like 1D here, so.” Tom suddenly felt like a real dick when he saw the small, apologetic, smile you gave him. You were holding the speaker in your hands as you sat on the bed, staring at it, a bit lost, and Tom wasn’t sure if he was supposed to leave or not. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. You had clearly forgotten he was still there, because you looked up looking a bit frazzled. 

“No.” You said honestly. What would be the point in pretending? You couldn’t fool anyone even if you tried. Misery was the only thing feeling your once Spencer-filled void. Ugh, the sound of his name, even just in your thoughts, made you want to scream. Unconsciously, and a bit to Tom’s amusement, you had grabbed one of your pillows and started to hit your fist right in the middle of it. Your hits were getting harder and rougher. 

“Ever considered boxing?” He brought you out of your haze. You looked down at the pillow, seeing the sad looking indent on the kitten-patterned pillow. Tom took the pillow away from you and fluffed it out to its normal shape before putting it back.

“It’s just been hard, you know,” you said, more to yourself than to him and Tom understood that. He knew what you meant. He had been in that same position not too long ago and seeing you like this did definitely bring back some of those feelings he had tried to suppress back then. 

“Like, I thought he was the one. And I know it sounds so stupid, I don’t even believe in that whole soulmate crap, but he was it for me. For the first time, I could actually imagine myself enduring nine months of hell to have a kid with him, sorry if I’m being TMI.” 

“You’re good,” he said. He also understood that feeling. Maybe not in the exact, child bearing way, but he could resonate with that whole it thing. He had felt the same way about Stacey. He had never told anyone this, and was never planning on telling anyone, but the day before they broke up, he had been out in the city looking for an engagement ring. It had come unplanned. He wasn’t thinking yet about actually proposing. But he had been in town for an audition and on his way home he saw the jeweller. It was the first time he had ever thought of it, and it seemed right, so he walked in and just looked around. 

“You must think I’m so pathetic though. Crying for weeks about some douchebag.”

“Well, you’ve only lived here for five days, so I wouldn’t know about that.” He smirked. You groaned again and fell with your head on a big fluffy pillow. 

“But no,” he said eventually, “I don’t think you’re pathetic.” 

“Thanks.” 

_______________________

Another week had gone by and your mother had somehow found out about your new living arrangement. So, the last 20 minutes you had been sitting on the couch, listening to her yelling. 

“No mum, I’m fine.” you said, for what felt like the 50th time. Right at that moment, Harry showed up in the living room, making his way from a shower to his bedroom, only a towel around his waist. His usually curly hair was a wet mop, covering most of his face. 

“You don’t even know them!” your mother shrieked. 

“Harry, are you going to murder me?” you asked as he walked by, covering the microphone of your phone. Without missing a beat, or looking down at you, he answered with a snappy “Yup,” and walked into his own room. 

“They’re really nice guys, mum.” You told her. It took you another ten minutes to convince her not to come over tomorrow (or ever, in general). The conversation had taken an abrupt turn when suddenly, she invited you to a video call. Knowing that if you didn’t answer it, you would never hear the end of it, you accepted the call. Your mothers face, or better said, forehead, showed up on screen. You tried to cover your chin as best as you could with the collar of your sweater since you were too tired to hold up your phone at a reasonable angle. 

“Hi mom,” you sighed. 

“Where are they?!” she said, looking around as if she could actually see more than what your camera showed. You were going to lie that they had gone out, but right at that second Harry walked out of his room. Thankfully he was dressed, but his hair was still a bit wet. His shoulder was just visible in the corner of your screen and you tried to move to the side, but your mother had noticed him already.

“Who’s that?” Why did your mother always have to be so loud?

“Uhh, that’s Harry.”

He looked up at the mention of his name. You were scared that it would make him uncomfortable if you talked about him to your mom, it was making you uncomfortable for sure, but instead he jumped up at the opportunity and the next second he was leaning on the couch, almost over you, and smiling at your phone. 

“Hi.” He waved to your mother. His quick movements made his hair move around, giving you a nice first row experience of the fountain show coming from it. You wiped the water off your face. 

“What’s your name again?” Your mother asked. 

“Harry, Ma’am. Harry Holland.” He said with a smile. You both knew that when your mother had asked him his name, she meant his full name. She wouldn’t be able to make any deep research, but it was in case you suddenly went missing, of course. 

“How old are you?” your mother went on with the third degree, glaring at your roommate at each question. Harry answered it all with a big and charming smile. You held the camera, hoping the couch could eat you already. This could not get any more embarrassing, could it? 

Oh, it could. Because half way through, your sister had shown up and sat down next to your mom. She didn’t say anything, but suddenly a text notification popped up on the top of your screen. 

Who’s the hot guy?

Your sister was not imbecile, yet she loved to act like it. Of course, Harry saw the text and erupted in a loud laugh, startling your poor mother. As the timer on the call was reaching 30 minutes you decided to say your goodbyes and end the conversation. Harry was still laughing. 

“So… you’re sister…” he said once calming down. 

“Don’t even think about it. She’s 17.” you glared at him and he immediately shut up, which you appreciated. 

“Well, your mom seems nice,” he eventually said. You knew he didn’t mean it in that way, but in the context of your previous exchange, it didn’t sound great. Now you were the one laughing. 

“That is not what I meant!” he shouted out, grabbing a throw pillow and hitting you on the arm with it lightly.

“Jesus, calm down. I know.” You grabbed the pillow from him. You were both in a fit of giggles by then. It took a moment to catch a breath and by that point, your head was actually hurting.  

“So do you think I’m hot?” Harry asked, raising his brow like the cheeky fuck he is. You just rolled your eyes and hit him with that same pillow. Maybe a bit too hard, because it knocked him off balance and when you looked up, he was no longer leaning on the backrest of the sofa. 

“Oops. Sorry.”

_______________________

Something you had to learn the hard way when it came to living with the guys was that you had to lock your doors. They weren’t doing it on purpose, but they had a tendency to forget to knock when walking into the bathroom, or even your bedroom. Specifically, Harrison. 

Usually, you’d consider him to be the more logical of the three, but that didn’t really mean that much. He was just as much of an idiot as the two Holland brothers at times. 

The bathroom incident had happened during your first week of living with the boys. You were taking a shower. The loud water had cancelled out the sound of the door opening so you didn’t know that while you were washing your hair, Harrison had walked into the bathroom. 

In his defence, he thought it was Tom showering, not you. 

You had not been made aware yet of the honourable fifth member of the household: a life size Nicolas Cage cardboard cut-out. So, when you pushed the shower curtain aside, and were met eye to eye with Nick Cage himself, you screamed bloody murder, almost falling in the bathtub. The door opened to horrified Harrison, realising his mistake. He realised it as soon as he heard the screams, which clearly did not belong to Tom. 

But another scream followed, which was shorter and more specific, followed by a “Fuck!” made him feel like something else had happened. It sounded like you had gotten hurt. So, obviously, he walked in to see if you were alright. 

You were, in fact, alright, and seeing him standing there, eyes wide as he saw your naked body, you screamed again for him to get out. He took a second to grab Nick and pull him out of the room, mumbling a few sorrys, and closed the door behind him. 

Flushed, slightly angry, and with a pounding heart, you dried off and got dressed. Unlike the guys, you were never one to parade half naked around the house on your way from the bathroom to your bedroom. 

You walked out, a pile of old clothes in your hands, to see Harrison. He looked like a puppy that might be about to be smacked with a newspaper on his nose. Usually you were very much against that disciplinary practice, but Harrison was no puppy, and you had been scared shitless. 

“y/n, I’m so sorry.” he apologised as he followed you to your room. You were telling him that it was alright, and actually quite funny, but he really wanted you to know that it was an accident and that he didn’t mean to scare you like that or walk in on you naked or linger his eyes on you for that long. 

“Seriously, Haz, it’s fine. Shit happens… just, don’t walk into the bathroom anymore when I shower. Or ever actually, if I’m in there, don’t.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

And he kept to the promise. You didn’t get any other sudden visits in the bathroom, but it was not the last time that Harrison saw you naked. 

You were all going out to a bar one night, and a bit shamefully, you were taking a bit longer than usual with getting ready. The guys had been waiting for a while already, and you were trying to hurry up, but you just had no idea what to wear. Finally you had found yourself a dress that might make you get a bit lucky that night. You weren’t even planning on hooking up, but the attention was appreciated. In your, still not exactly over your break-up situation, it was actually needed. 

In the meantime, the guys were deciding which one of them had to go and tell you to hurry up. It was getting late and they needed their time to get completely smashed. And while waiting for you, getting knock out drunk was definitely not happening. 

Harrison drew the figurative short straw. He thought you were doing your make-up or something, being aware how much time that can take sometimes. He never imagined opening the door and seeing you standing in the middle of your room, only in a pair of panties. You didn’t see him at first because your dress was over your head as you tried to pull it on. Harrison closed the door before you saw anything. But you could hear the thud of the door closing. 

You pulled the dress over your body, grabbed a pair of matching heels and put them on as you got out of your room. There you saw Harrison. His red cheeks indicated that he was the one who had walked into your room. Tom and Harry were standing at the door. They could see you walk out and their eyes had gone a bit wide. Clearly, the dress was serving its purpose. 

Having already gone through this whole embarrassing scenario already, you decided to spare Harrison. You have him a soft smile. 

“Could you help me zip up?” you asked, turning your back and pushing the hair away from the zipper. 

“Uhh, yeah, yeah, of course.” He was so flustered. It was actually adorable. You could feel his hands on you as he grabbed the two sides of the dress and the zipper and slowly, carefully, pulled it up. 

“Thank you,” you said when he was done. He didn’t respond, his face still as red as a stop light. And it didn’t get any better when you kissed him on the cheek. 

It was definitely interesting to be living with them, but you couldn’t complain about a single thing… except for the laundry, maybe. 

The END

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

> please leave a comment or ask with your thoughts. i love reading them and let me know if you want to see more of this au cause i really enjoyed writing it :)

>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96  @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown  @spiderrrling @lonelyavenger @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @awesomehritz @madzleigh01 @oh-what-a-beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey @quaksonhehe @mountainsforwords @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex @ethereal-beauty-p @slytherin-chaser @worldoftom @moonysoftt @peeterparkr @wazzupmrstark @saintlavrents @peachybloomss @blissfulparker @chloecreatesfictions-archive  @fallinfortom @bitchydecisions @okokimfreakingoutahh @rxsydreams @musicalkey @joyleenl @multifandomdoodles121 @awkwardfangirl2014 @marvelouspeterparker​ @siriuslyslyslytherinyes @lunalovegoodsgirlfriendyes @bitchydecisions​ @okokimfreakingoutahh @quinjetboi​ @sheranatic111​ @zspideyy​ @lizzyosterfield​ @dahliasbroken​ @parkerlovebot​ @itstaskeen​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @sluttytears​ @lilhoodhippie​ @theliterarymess​ @marlenetough​ @tomsirishgirlx​ @hiiii-i​ @wonderfulfluffer​ @dumbledorrs @hollandstea @roseke​ @outshineallthestars​ @spideyspeaches​ @ieatchildrenfordessert​ 

[jatp-spinsb]

Luke and the Phantom

To begin a series of posts in which I describe WIPs I will probably never finish but want people to enjoy anyway, we have a reverse Julie and the Phantoms au where the living characters and the dead characters switch places.

Summary: Luke hasn’t been able to play music in the year since the death of Bobby, his band mate and friend. But maybe the appearance of a certain ghost girl can help him find his love of music again.

Basically, it’s the plot of Julie and the Phantoms if Luke and the guys were alive and Julie was the ghost.

Chapter One: Unsaid Emily

Luke’s mom tells him that the Molinas, the neighbors next door with the studio where the guys used to rehearse before Bobby died, are moving. While they have been gracious about letting Luke and the guys keep their stuff there, even though they don’t rehearse anymore, they have asked that Luke and the guys clean out the studio so they can put the house on the market. Luke agrees to do it, even though he doesn’t feel ready to confront the reality of what that means.

Luke goes out to the garage and finds a demo CD in the loft. That’s how he learns about Julie Molina, the Molina’s daughter who died in 1995 at age 16. He plays the CD, and she appears in the garage. They promptly scream at each other, and Luke runs out.

He texts his group chat with Alex and Reggie that there is a ghost in the garage. Reggie believes him, but Alex doesn’t. Alex encourages Luke to go back out to the garage and ask the girl what’s really going on, because she can’t possibly be a ghost.

Luke finds Julie in the garage. Luke learns that Julie is indeed a ghost. Julie learns that it’s 2020. And they both learn that Julie spent 25 years in a dark room for some reason, but from Julie’s perspective, she’s been a ghost for a couple of hours. Luke tells Julie about Bobby, which is a big step for him. They both question how Luke can see her.

The next morning, Luke wakes up early, so he has time to go out to the studio before going to school. He doesn’t find Julie there right away, but he does find his guitar. Luke finally confronts what has been getting in the way of him playing for a year, and after he realizes that music is Julie’s legacy--which is a legacy he wants to leave behind himself--he plays again.

Chapter Two: Bright

It turns out that Julie heard him play because she’s been in the loft this whole time. Luke explains that the song he played, “Unsaid Emily,” was a song he wrote for his mom after he ran away from home. He was staying at Bobby’s place until he died, at which point he went back home because the fight with his parents just didn’t seem important anymore. They talk about their relationships with their parents. Julie thinks Luke should show his mom “Unsaid Emily,” but he doesn’t think she will understand.

And speaking of parents, Ray finds Luke out in the garage. Apparently, he heard him play, too. So Luke gets to have a conversation with his neighbor while pretending that he can’t see the guy’s dead daughter, who is standing right there.

He has to leave for school shortly after.

At school, he tells Reggie and Alex about how meeting Julie got him to play again. Reggie is super excited, but Alex is pissed. Reggie and Alex didn’t stop playing after Bobby’s death the way Luke did, and from Alex’s perspective, he did everything he could to bring Luke back to music, but it was a stranger who got him to play again.

This doesn’t get resolved until lunch when Reggie talks Alex down, and they all agree to go to the studio after school and jam with Julie.

When they get to the studio, Luke introduces the guys to Julie and vice versa. Alex expresses that he still doesn’t believe that Julie exists, so Julie plays the piano to prove that she does. Then Alex finally believes Luke.

Luke asks if Julie wants to learn “Bright,” and then when they play together, Reggie and Alex can see Julie. They pick up their instruments and jam together.

(That’s as far as I have written. The rest is outlined.)

Chapter Three: This Band is Back

This chapter is basically just the guys hanging out in the studio and getting to know Julie. They start cleaning out the studio and reminisce about what they find. At some point, they pick up their instruments and start jamming again, and they play “This Band is Back.” They have a sleepover in the studio.

Chapter Four: Flying Solo

The guys have a meeting without Julie, and they decide to add Julie to Sunset Curve, if she wants to join.

Julie goes out on her own, and she makes a ghost friend! The ghost introduces herself as Flynn.

They talk to Julie, and she agrees to join their band. So now that that’s established, Luke looks into booking a gig. Willie, Alex’s boyfriend, suggests that they play at the upcoming school dance because he happens to know that they’re looking for a band to play. Luke is opposed to it at first, but his friends talk him into it, so he agrees.

Chapter Five: Other Side of Hollywood

Julie has been hanging around her family, and it eats at her. She wants to be able to talk to them, at least once. She expresses this to Flynn, and Flynn’s like, I have a ghost you should meet, and she takes her to the Hollywood Ghost Club.

Meanwhile, Luke, Alex, and Reggie are getting ready to perform at the dance, and Julie is nowhere to be found. Luke promises them that she’ll be there, because she has to be, right? She wouldn’t bail on them.

Right?

When Flynn introduces Julie to Caleb and she explains her situation, he listens to her plight, but he skirts around agreeing to help her. And of course, he has his own agenda. Flynn has told him about Julie being visible when she plays with her band, and so Caleb offers her the chance to join the club. Julie hesitates. Before she can give Caleb an answer, Flynn realizes what time it is and tells Julie she has to go to perform at the dance. But before she leaves, she shakes hands with Caleb, and he stamps her.

She makes to the dance just in time, and she performs with the guys.

The chapter ends with her getting jolted.

Chapter Six: Perfect Harmony

Luke realizes that he’s falling for Julie after how well the dance went. When he tells Alex and Reggie, they try to warn him off of it because she’s a ghost and it can never work.

Meanwhile, Julie is missing her family more than ever, keeps getting jolted and has no idea why, and she can’t find Flynn, as if Flynn is avoiding her. But the bright spot in the darkness for her is Luke, who is writing songs with her and practicing with her and giving her something to look forward to.

Chapter Seven: Wake Up

Flynn finally confronts Julie and tells her about the stamp, about Caleb owning her soul, and about unfinished business. Julie’s best guess is that her unfinished business is playing the Orpheum, the show she never got to perform, but she knows that it’s something that can never happen, so she gets to work accepting her fate. She decides that it’s best to keep it from the guys and just fade away without a word.

She writes “Wake Up” to her parents as her final goodbye.

Luke finds her practicing it, and at first, she’s startled. She never meant to share this with Luke. But he has an idea: if she lets him give “Wake Up” to the Molinas, he’ll give his mom “Unsaid Emily” like she wanted him to do. She agrees.

So Luke gives the Molinas “Wake Up,” telling them that he found it when he was cleaning out the garage. They cry, and so does Luke.

And Luke also shows his mom “Unsaid Emily,” and she cries. It helps to resolve some of the tension that’s been lingering since Luke came back home.

After watching the way their parents reacted to their respective songs, Julie decides to be honest with Luke about the stamp and the jolts. But Luke refuses to let Julie go without a fight, and he is determined to get the Orpheum gig. Julie finds Flynn, and the three of them come up with a plan.

Chapter Eight: You Got Nothing to Lose

Flynn helps Julie get the Orpheum gig similar to how Willie helped the guys in “Stand Tall.” Luckily, Willie filmed the band playing at the dance, and the video went viral, so that helps them get the gig.

As they prepare for the Orpheum, Luke has to watch Julie get jolted every so often. It hurts him.

Julie and Luke have a heartfelt goodbye where Julie asks Luke to look out for her parents, and Luke asks Julie to find Bobby after she crosses over.

But as the guys are on their way to the Orpheum, Caleb confronts Julie and kidnaps her similar to how the guys were kidnapped in “Stand Tall.”

Chapter Nine: Stand Tall

Luke is freaking out backstage because Julie isn’t there. She was supposed to meet them backstage, how is she not there? The guys try to comfort him, but his mind jumps to the realization that she must have run out of time and been jolted out of existence. Reggie asks if he still wants to perform, and Luke looks at his guitar, tempted to give up music again after losing Julie. But he realizes that that would be the worst thing he could do for her, that the best way to honor her memory is to play the song they wrote together.

So they go onstage and play. And Julie poofs in and joins them!

She disappears after the song is over, even to Luke, and he is grateful that, if she had to go, at least she got to go on her own terms.

The guys return to the studio, and sure enough, there’s Julie, lying on the couch in pain as she’s dying (again). They have a conversation similar to the one in canon, including, “No music is worth making if I’m not making it with you,” only Julie is the one who says it this time. And that’s exactly what Luke needs to hear to break completely, so he collapses into Julie.

And instead of him going through her, Julie catches him.

It takes a few beats for them to realize that they’re hugging, but they do. Julie starts glowing, and the stamp floats right off her wrist. Luke turns to his friends, only to realize that they can see Julie, too.

They bask in the glory of their victory, that they didn’t lose Julie after all, and now not only can Luke see Julie, but Alex and Reggie can see her too, and Julie and Luke can touch.

[creativeashproductions]

A Discovery of Ghosts // Luke Patterson

Summary: Avoiding the house, the eldest Molina sibling has been unaware of the new chapter in Julie’s life until one fateful night.

Warning: Swearing, angst, fluff and overprotective!reader

Words: 2.1k

Oh look! Another JATP fic. Weird how it appeared? Enjoy! I may have a part two for Lost Time. If you want it, let me know!

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The dirty bag dropped on the ground as you cracked your neck heading straight for the kitchen, for the last year you would find Julie in there. Before the loss of your mother Julie spent all her time in the studio whether it be doing homework or playing the piano. Now, with the grief still striking hot within the Molina family even a year later.

“Jules?” You called out pouring a large glass of water. Dropping the empty water bottle in the sink.

In all honesty you hadn’t been home longer than to grab a bite and sleep before heading straight back to the field. It was a way of keeping away from the sadness permeating the house and the absence of your mom. Along with avoiding the awkward conversations of selling the house when it was really only Julie that okay with it.

“Dad?” You called next grabbing the sticky note off the fridge

Girls,

Carlos had a last-minute practice. Money left in the jar for supper.

- Dad

You hummed heading for the stairs to take a shower taking a guess that Julie was either in her room or at Flynn’s place. Bag in hand along with the softball bat you started up the stairs leading to your room. The faint conversation from her room was odd to say the least, the door was closed, and it sounded like more than one person.

The door opened easily under your hand scaring Julie who was sitting on her bed with a disgruntled expression. Her look of terror and nerves was the most concerning. Dropping the bag, you gripped the softball bat tight as you pushed the door open the rest of the way.

“Jules?” You spoke scanning the room, “Why do you have three boys in your room?”

The room went stock still, each boy scanning your form and the bat in hand. Standing in uniform coated in red soil from the infield you were on the more intimidating side.

“You can see them?”

“Jules, are you okay?” You questioned ignoring her odd question with a look of concern, the bat dropped low.

The last year had been extremely more difficult on Julie than Carlos and you given that Julie was closer with Mom with music. Carlos and you hadn’t inherited the gift that Julie had been born with; yet she hadn’t found interest in sports.

“She looks like she could break us?”

You sent a confused look at the trio giving your attention back to your little sister, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately, but you shouldn’t be acting out like this.” Julie’s jaw dropped at your words, “I’m not acting out! Dad can’t see-“

“He can’t see this because it shouldn’t be happening Julie.” You sternly told the younger Molina, “Just let me shower and we’ll hang out. You can pick the movie and the snacks, but they have to go. If you want, we can even dig out the projector.”

You pointedly looked at the three boys before turning your heel to head out of her room to yours down the hall. The door was closed tight as it always was, it was your space so when the door was shut no one went in. Trust was important in your family and with Julie uncharacteristically sneaking boys in that could mean all trust on closed doors would break.

“They’re ghosts.” Julie called out from her open door. The concern for the girl growing at her words, “I know that sounds bad and makes it seem like I need to see Dr. Turner but I’m not lying.”

You sighed at the girl completely in disbelief at the length she would go to lie, “Maybe you should see Dr. Turner Jules. Seeing the doctor doesn’t make you weak.”

Julie was silent as you began to open your door before the blonde boy literally appeared out of thin air in front of you.

“Oh my god!” You screamed stumbling back from the tall male, “Oh God. Scratch that! WE both need Dr. Turner.”

Two more bursts of light happened as the other two boys appeared in front of you with sheepish expressions. You took in a deep breath finally taking into consideration of Julie’s admittance.

“I-“ You choked out, “Does this mean Benny was a ghost?”

Julie blushed at the mention of her childhood imaginary friend that she had had for a number of years. It was also a time that Tía Victoria was not welcome in your home when she went behind your parents to schedule an appointment with Dr. Turner.

“Benny? No, I’m Reggie.” The boy with slicked back black hair spoke shaking his head, “This is Alex and Luke.”

You mutely nodded clenching your fists together, “Good thing you’re a ghost or I would have punched you.”

Luke’s eyes widened at the threat, “Whoa.”

“Now move. I just got home from practice, I’m sweaty and dirty.” You announced side stepping the ghostly trio. You grimaced at the blush appearing on Reggie and Luke, “Dead but still think inappropriately.”

“We’re teenage ghosts.” Alex announced glancing at his best friends. His hands shoved deep in his pockets as you took in his words.

You glanced over your shoulder at your little sister, “Just stay out of Julie’s room. And don’t look under Carlos’ bed.”

With that you opened the bedroom door and slammed in in their dead faces. The room had drastically changed from the previous year mainly the pale pink was painted over by a new colour. It was no longer the little girl’s room your mother had decorated while preparing for your birth. It was a young woman’s room decorated to fit your personality.

Located on a wall was the rack of softball bats with a number of softballs settled in divots on the connected shelf. Your room also had the only other connected bathroom, being the oldest sibling had benefits.

“Ghosts.” You muttered jumping when a thud happened. Turning your heel, you saw that Alex had opened the door and tossed your ball bag in.

“You left this. Sorry for interrupting.” Alex apologized as he left the room again.

“Boundaries!” You called out heading into your bathroom. Alex smiled at how similar he thought you and Julie were to each other.

Half of you had anticipated Julie getting the living room ready instead of using the projector in the garage; it was a part of growing up. The first time you can remember seeing the projector was when you first got your period and it became a thing with your mom. For the length of time for you period you had movie nights in the garage and when Julie got her first period it came a ritual. It helped that as sisters your periods synched together.

“Julie.” You breathed finding that she had surprised you. She had waited in the living room for you, “You didn’t.”

Shyly the younger Molina girl nodded her head and led you to the studio outside where it decorated as if the past year hadn’t happened. The projected was brought out along with countless snacks, fuzzy blankets and soda. It was also barren of anyone else.

“I’m guessing from the amount of time you’re in here that the ghosts live here?” You deduced at the musical instruments placed in an area they wouldn’t get in the way.

“Yeah.” Julie nodded, “I’m not sure where they are.”

“Righ-“

“Reggie!” Alex hissed from the loft with an apologetic expression, “We’re finding something to do while you use the studio. We’re be gone in a moment.”

Reggie and Luke nodded in response while digging through the things that had collected up there since 1995. Your smile turned into a frown at the discontentment they each displayed.

“Jules. Do they have anywhere else to go?” You whispered feeling sad when Julie indicated that this was their only place, “Why don’t we change this?”

“Change what?”

“I know that this feels odd without Mom but maybe we can make this better. Alex, would you guys like to stay?”

The question was barely spoke before the three ghosts flashed down to the ground floor with beaming grins. Each boy nodded happily eyeing up places to sit, Luke having fallen on the couch beside you. Julie shuffled making more room on the couch draping a blanket over her lap.

“So, Julie…comedy, horror, or romance?” You questioned raising one eyebrow up waiting for the reply, “Or we can subject the boys to Twilight. Then again Alex might enjoy Mean Girls.”

After reading the short description of the film Mean Girls was vetoed out along with Horror but the issue came with the move genre. Luke wanted a film with music while Reggie was asking for romance and Alex was just wanting to watch something.

“Pitch Perfect.” Julie and you spoke together nodding frantically, it had a moderately nice balance between music and romance.

“Pitch Perfect.” Alex stated unamused at the title, “How is that romance?”

“You’ll find out.” You smirked at the male dead teenager who would more than likely adore watching films to catch up on everything he missed during his twenty-five years in a dark room.

Every once in a while, Luke would gaze longingly at the food gathered around the only two living people. It was sad given the love he had had with food when he was still alive, he would anything in sight to be honest.

“Oh my god! The Breakfast Club! That came out ten years ago! It’s popular now?” Reggie exclaimed twisting to look to Julie.

“Gentle reminder. It came out thirty-five years ago. It’s a classic John Hughes! Of course, it’s popular.” You chuckled shaking your head by leaning back. You felt the caress of Luke’s gaze on your cheek but when you glanced over, he was staring hard at the screen.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Luke nodded with a smile painted on his lips getting further into the comedy he found somewhat interesting. It was the song choices that got to him.

The music from your Spotify playlist muted the outside world as you focused on the computer screen open to a document. Eyes shifting between the paper of notes on your desk to the half-written History essay due in a few days. The last week had been mostly adapting to being one of two people able to see the band.

“Y/N.” Luke spoke from the doorway he had poofed into. A frown pulling the corner of his lips down at the lack of attention. In an action of desperation he chucked a pencil on your back; you flinched turning to see him in your room.

“Luke?” You asked removing an earbud from your ear. The joys of 2020 came with Bluetooth earbuds.

“Oh. You were listening to music.” Luke nodded moving to grab the earbud from the desk curiously, “Where are the wires? So small! How do they work?”

Launching into a short history on the change of music technology Luke was enthralled by the passion you carried. What he didn’t know was you were researching the changes between 1995 and 2020 for his benefit. Going as far as to compile a playlist for all three boys to introduce them to modern music.

“This is insane.” Luke mumbled handing the earbud back, “Cell phones are what get me!”

“Hey, doesn’t matter if your seventeen or forty-something…you still don’t understand it.” You smirked flinching when Luke tossed a decorative pillow at you with practiced ease. The squeal fell from your lips as it happened.

“If I was forty-something this would be very wrong.” Luke cheekily retorted tapping a finger on his knee thinking back on everything that happened, “Had everything gone to plan you would have known me only by music.”

“I’m sorry you died but I’m really happy we met.” The nerves evident in your tone, something that you didn’t often show. Softball was important and possibly the only ticket to college if everything went right.

“Me too.” Luke smile at the girl across him eyes so soft he could see what Alex and Reggie were trying to tell him.

Luke had a crush. Luke had feelings for a girl living and unable to feel his touch.

“Hey! I made a playlist for you guys. Let me know when you want to hear them, and I’ll get it playing for you. I have to get back to my essay. Feel free to stay.”

Luke graciously took the earbud from your hand leaning back on the bed as you played the rock he had unfortunately missed out on. Both unaware that his fingers had grazed your hand during the handoff. Luke has a crush and he can touch her too.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED!)

@safehavenmuse​ @siennanoelle01​ @whiterose291​ @mell-bell​ @blackhood5sos​ @ficrecsideblog​ @ifilwtmfc​ @deadpoolgirl23​ @crappy-unicorn​ @sunsetcurve-h​

[when-they-write-stuff]

SterekWeek2020: Day Seven (Halloween)

(so late, but finally here!)

~

Derek was acting strange.

And yeah, Stiles supposed he really shouldn’t be that surprised. Derek was always acting strange in some way or another, it seemed like. For a man who had basically built his reputation on the idea that he was this big scary werewolf, Derek Hale had shown himself to be a lot more complex than that.

But the point was, Derek Hale was acting strange. And Stiles didn’t know why.

It started with the little things. Things like Derek vanishing out of nowhere and coming back to the loft much later in ruffled clothes and a pleased expression on his face. Stiles had asked the betas on multiple occasions what the hell was happening, but none of them ever seemed to know.

Or really care, for that matter. Erica would shrug and drag Boyd off to her room for some ‘alone’ time and Isaac would proceed to wrap himself in blankets and hog the TV, the volume up much too loud to cover up what Stiles could only assume were sounds he was glad he didn’t have the enhancements to hear.

Sometimes, there were perks to being human.

Derek always came back, of course. The first time he’d vanished, Stiles had been over helping Isaac with his homework— something Scott had roped them into. It had started as a pack study group, except then the young Alpha had gotten back together with Allison and spent more time at her house than at the loft anymore.

It didn’t help that Isaac needed the help, too. And Stiles would like to say that he had a heart of gold, thank you very much, and was kind enough to never abandon the beta.

Also, he got to hang around Derek— er, the other betas. At the loft. Nothing else.

The one downside was Peter.

When Stiles had asked him about Derek’s mysterious getaways, Peter had only smirked over the top of his book. And Stiles knew the asshole knew exactly where Derek kept going, but he was very conveniently keeping that information to himself.

Which made Stiles feel a little less bad when he spent time at the loft pretending Peter didn’t exist. 

The first time Derek had vanished out of nowhere, Stiles had waited until the man came back. And Derek had come through the loft door hours later, shirtless and in ripped pants, looking like he’d gotten into a fight with a mountain lion and lost. But when Stiles had bombarded him with questions, refusing to leave until he got some sort of answer, Derek had just shrugged and locked himself in his room, leaving Stiles alone in the silent loft.

He’d tried to get Derek to talk since, he really had. Stiles had even attempted to follow the man once, but he’d only made it to the preserve before he lost Derek among the trees.

It was probably werewolf stuff, Scott had said. He didn’t seem very intrigued that Derek was living a secret second life, but Stiles supposed he hadn’t expected the boy to be. He just wanted someone to be as curious as he was and the betas were a bust, Scott was too obsessed with Allison, and when Stiles had tried to bring it up with Lydia, she’d proceeded to turn around and walk away.

It was Derek’s business, she’d said. Which… yeah. But still. Stiles was confused.

Months ended up passing since that very first day. Derek continued to act strange on certain days and go on mini-vacations, and Stiles continued to be utterly lost. It wasn’t until he’d nearly given up that things finally changed.

It was Halloween night when Stiles finally figured out Derek’s little secret.

He knew the betas planned to go around town in their beta forms, scaring the crap out of little kids, but Stiles had already decided he wasn’t going with them. Because when someone inevitably called the cops and Stiles’s dad showed up, he was not going to be the betas scapegoat.

No, Stiles planned on hanging out at the loft with the others to watch scary movies. Derek had been a little stubborn when Lydia first volunteered his place to meet up, but the man had eventually given in. Even Derek Hale knew better than to argue with Lydia Martin.

And Stiles totally wasn't looking forward to spending time at Derek’s loft. Totally not at all.

He might’ve been a little.

Except Derek wasn’t at the loft when Stiles arrived.

“Okay,” Stiles said, coming back into the main room after doing a thorough search of the loft. “Where the hell is our mighty Alpha?”

“Why does it matter?” Scott asked, looking confused. He was curled up on the couch with Allison, and she didn’t look too worried either. From where she sat in the other chair, Lydia didn’t even glance up from her phone.

“He’s gone,” Stiles said. “Again. Doesn’t that ever strike any of you as strange?”

“Not really,” Scott said. Allison shrugged.

“Maybe he's out doing something.”

“Like?”

She glanced at Scott, who shook his head. “Keeping an eye on the betas?”

“Derek doesn’t babysit the betas,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure he’d sooner eat his own hand.”

“Gross, Stiles,” Lydia said, making a face. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You know it’s true. He’s gone again. On Halloween night. What the hell is more important than scary movies and candy on Halloween night?”

“Why do you care so much?” Lydia said, a familiar glint in her green eyes. It was that knowing look she’d gotten the first time Stiles had complained about Derek’s antics. Glaring at her, Stiles fished out his keys and started toward the loft door, grabbing his hoodie from the back of the nearest chair.

“I don’t,” he said. “But the asshole is being weird and I’m going to go figure out what he’s doing.”

“Oh, come on, Stiles,” Scott called. “You’re going to miss the movie!”

“There’s plenty of time to watch scary movies tonight,” Stiles said, waving a hand over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

Stiles was pretty sure Scott started to say something else, but he didn’t stick around to listen. 

And yeah, maybe Derek’s business was Derek’s business or whatever. But Stiles was pretty damn curious and he’d had enough. The man was hiding something from them and for some reason, nobody else seemed to care.

What if he was in trouble? Secretly dying? Had an embarrassing hobby that Stiles totally wanted to know about?

The possibilities were endless.

He wasn’t exactly sure where to go looking for the man. The preserve was usually Derek’s go-to when Stiles attempted to follow him, but that never ended well. One time, he’d ditched the Camaro on the side of the road and literally disappeared— and Stiles hadn’t even known what to think about that.

Maybe Derek was also part ghost. A werewolf alpha ghost.

Okay, maybe not.

Stiles ended up deciding to do a quick drive of the town. Because if Derek really was being a ‘disproving Alpha’ to the betas, then he might as well find out before wasting his night looking for one grumpy-growly werewolf. And maybe he could get to see Derek chew them out too.

That was always amusing.

There were already tons of people out, even though it wasn’t that dark yet. Stiles wasn’t really sure where the betas would go, but he may or may not have put a tracker into Isaac’s phone the first time Isaac let him borrow it. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t trust the boy or anything, but Derek’s betas always seemed to be getting themselves in trouble. And Stiles knew there was no way he was ever getting his hands on the phones of the other two.

He’d put a tracker in Derek’s too, if he could only figure out what the man’s freaking password was. It wasn’t like Derek was good at technology but damn, if the man didn’t know how to keep unwanted visitors out of his phone.

Isaac’s phone placed him all the way across town. In one of Beacon Hills larger neighborhoods, probably scaring the crap out of innocent little kids, if Stiles was right.

He was.

He caught sight of the betas almost immediately— and quickly ducked down. Because Stiles hadn’t gone with them for a reason, remember? And that reason was looking at him right in the face in the form of flashing police lights and Stiles’s dad looking disappointed, giving the betas the chewing-out that Stiles had kind of hoped to see Derek giving.

The grumpy Alpha, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight. Stiles did spot a small group of trick-or-treaters and their parents watching, though. 

And a giant black dog, standing a little ways away from the flashing lights.

Stiles tilted his head, watching the dog curiously. He couldn’t make out a collar, but it seemed well-behaved enough, sitting on someone's lawn and watching the betas get lectured. It almost looked… interested. In a scarily human way.

Suddenly, dark amber eyes were locked on his own and then the dog was watching him.

Stiles jerked, hitting his elbow on the steering wheel with a curse. And when he looked back, rubbing at his funny bone, the dog was gone.

As if it had never been there.

Stiles stared for another long moment before shaking his head, wondering faintly if he was going crazy.

He drove off before he could get caught by one of the betas or worse, his dad, determined to have nothing to do with them being idiots. At this point, it was much darker, and Stiles figured he was never going to find Derek unless the man wanted to be found.

Which clearly, he didn’t.

So Stiles headed home, deciding to grab a few of his favorite horror movies before heading back to the loft. He’d probably already missed the first one, but that wasn’t a big loss. Scott had brought it and the boy had terrible taste in movies. 

He still hadn’t seen Star Wars yet.

Stiles hadn’t spent Halloween at home since his mom’s death. Before, they used to decorate the house and hand out candy, but things changed when she passed. And Stiles wasn’t a little kid anymore. His dad worked Halloween night anyway, and Stiles hated to be alone in the silence, so he usually ended up going to the McCall’s instead of hanging out alone. 

Or, that’s what he’d done before the pack. Before he had other people to spend the holidays with.

Stiles would never admit out loud how much he kind of loved it.

Which brought him back to his sour mood and the fact that Derek wasn’t around tonight. Stiles didn’t think he’d be so offended if the man would just tell one of them what he was doing. It wasn’t like he was worried about the asshole or whatever, but… it’d be nice to know.

That’s all it was.

Stiles grabbed a few movies, a bag of chips (because Derek never had any good snacks around), and headed back out into the night to see a large black dog sitting on his lawn.

The large black dog.

Stiles froze, movies in one hand and the bag of chips in the other. For a moment, he didn’t move and the dog didn’t either, looking at him with those eerily knowing eyes.

“Uh,” Stiles finally said, taking a nervous step back. “Hey, there, doggie?”

The dog growled. And if Stiles was being honest, it looked a lot more like a wolf than a dog, big enough to probably rip out his throat with ease.

Stiles suddenly froze, staring. 

A grumpy-growly wolf-dog. Following him and the betas around, all while Derek was on the loose who-knew-where...

“No freaking way,” Stiles breathed. “Sourwolf?”

Either he was losing his mind and talking to stray wolf-dogs, or Derek was sitting right in front of him. Not ripping his throat out, which Stiles supposed he should be grateful for, but was this really the secret the man had been keeping for months?

“Oh my god, dude, you go furry now?”

The dog snarled, stalking forward. Stiles squeaked, dropping both the movie and bag of chips. He stumbled back, ramming against the door, and fumbled blindly for the doorknob. Except, before he could yank it open and maybe spend the rest of the night hiding from an angry wolf-dog-thing, it was getting larger, less furry, and suddenly Derek Hale was standing in front of him.

Stiles yelped, clapping his hands over his eyes and turning his face away.

“Dude, genitals!”

Yeah, that sentence actually left his mouth.

And it wasn’t like Stiles had never imagined seeing Derek naked before, but if he had, it would not be in a situation like this. Stiles was far too shocked to remove his hands for a moment, but he was pretty sure that a grown man standing naked on his front porch was going to get the cops called and— and his dad could not see this.

Oh god, his dad could never see this.

“D-Derek?”

“Stiles.”

Stiles flinched, lowering his hands but keeping his eyes firmly closed. Turning around blindly, he felt around until he found the doorknob and turned it, stumbling back into his house. And after a moment, he heard what sounded like Derek following.

“Shut the door behind you,” Stiles said, finally opening his eyes but keeping them straight ahead. “I swear to god, dude, shut the door and hope for both our sakes that nobody saw you go from furry to nude in like, three seconds.”

Stiles heard what sounded like an unimpressed grunt, but he was really trying to pretend like there wasn’t a naked werewolf behind him, thank you very much. After a second, he heard the door shut, and then footsteps moved forward.

“Nope!” Stiles shouted, squeezing his eyes closed again. “Nope, do not take another step, dude! Not until you have some clothes on!”

“Stiles,” Derek growled, definitely sounding irritated now. Stiles waved a hand over his shoulder, cutting the man off.

“Nuh-uh. I’m going to go get you something to wear and you are going to stay… right where you are. Wherever you are. No moving, no going anywhere. No going furry again!”

“Stiles—”

“I swear to god, Sourwolf, I will murder you if you don’t listen to me right now.”

Derek went silent and Stiles waited for a moment longer before realizing he had the upper hand here. More than relieved, he stumbled toward the stairs, keeping his gaze firmly averted until the living room was out of sight 

On the top of the stairs, Stiles could easily freak out in peace. He was pretty sure Derek could still hear his heartbeats but whatever.

There was a naked werewolf one floor below. Derek Hale was naked in his living room.

And the man had just been a damn wolf.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Stiles said, heading for his dad’s room. The last time he’d attempted to make Derek wear his clothes, it had nearly ended in a murder, so he figured he’d go with the safe option this time. And that ended up being a pair of sweatpants and Beacon Hills PD t-shirt that Stiles was going to make sure his dad never wore again.

Derek Hale and the Sheriff sharing clothes might be something Stiles would never recover from.

He paused at the top of the stairs again, debating just throwing them down and telling Derek to fetch. But that probably wouldn’t end well either. Taking a deep breath, Stiles moved back downstairs and turned into the living room again, turning his gaze to the floor the moment he caught sight of a bare chest and Derek’s slightly peeved expression.

The man hadn’t moved, at least.

“Here,” Stiles said, thrusting the stack of clothes forward. He heard Derek grunt and could easily imagine the man rolling his eyes, but Derek took them without a complaint.

Stiles turned a little ways away, eyeing the wall with interest until the rustling of clothes turned into silence once more and he glanced back to see Derek finally clothed.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles said. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Are you happy now?”

“Am I— no, asshole, I’m not happy! You were just naked. And before that, you were a freaking wolf. A wolf! When the hell did that happen?”

Derek’s face tightened. “It’s new.”

“New as in it started a few months ago? You know, when you started disappearing out of nowhere?”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I hate you sometimes, you know that?”

“I can just leave,” Derek shot back, folding his arms over his chest. Stiles threw up his hands.

“Yeah, well, why did you come here in the first place?”

“Why were you following me all over town?”

“Following— following? I wasn’t following you, asshole! I didn’t even know where the hell you were! I was looking,” Stiles said, glaring. “There’s a difference.”

Derek’s tight expression didn’t change. “Okay, why were you looking?”

“Because I was worried!”

Derek’s eye twitched. But before he could say another word, the doorbell rang and Stiles startled, glancing at it and cursing. 

“Trick-or-treaters. But we don’t have any candy to hand out.”

“So just ignore it.”

Stiles went silent and a few seconds passed before the doorbell rang again. Cursing again, he waved Derek off and hurried into the kitchen, scrounging around before finding a box of granola bars. Figuring that would have to be good enough, he rushed back over to the door and pulled it open.

There were only a handful of kids on the step, thankfully. The air filled with the chorus of “trick or treat!” and Stiles put on his best smile, offering the granola bars forward.

One kid frowned. “Where’s the candy?”

“Not here, dude.”

“Why not?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him, but before he could say a word, the kid stiffened with a gasp. Turning around, Stiles realized Derek had come to stand behind him, the man’s eyes glowing bright red and his face half-shifted.

A second passed. Then, a chorus of screams filled the air and all of the kids turned, racing from the doorstep. Stiles blinked after them, then turned back toward Derek, staring at the man incredulously.

“Dude, what the hell?”

Derek looked unbothered, the red fading from his eyes as he turned back around. Stiles gazed after him, then glanced back over his shoulder, swallowing hard at the glares from the parents on the sidewalk. He was pretty sure one of the kids was crying.

Oh, this was just fantastic.

“Oh my fucking god,” Stiles said, slamming the door closed. “Derek, you can’t just do that!”

“You can’t give granola bars out instead of candy.”

“Um, excuse me,” Stiles said, gesturing around. “But do you see any candy lying around? And you probably just scarred all of those kids for life, you know!”

Derek shrugged, dropping down onto the couch. “They’ll be fine.”

“I can’t believe this is happening right now.”

The man raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t just nearly given a bunch of children heart attacks. Stiles stood rooted to the spot for a moment before stalking over, jabbing a threatening finger in the werewolf’s face.

“You’re going to tell me how this started. Now.”

Derek didn’t look fazed. And dammit, if Stiles didn’t hate him sometimes.

“Derek, I swear to god—”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Derek said. “It’s new. My mother could full-shift and now I can too.”

Stiles clenched his jaw. “And you didn’t think to tell the rest of the pack?”

“I was learning how to control it.”

“You know, some of us could have helped.”

Derek gave him a flat look. And Stiles did his best not to flush bright red, crossing his arms as he dropped into the armchair across from the man. 

“I could have helped.”

“Hm.”

“You were a dog,” Stiles stated. And to the man’s continued silence, he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my god, you can turn into a dog.”

“A wolf, Stiles.”

“Wolf, dog, whatever. You can literally rip throats out now.”

When he glanced through his fingers, Derek almost looked a little pleased. And nope, that wasn’t fair at all. Stiles had a real reason to fear for his life when he pissed the man off a little too much, now. And that was not something to be pleased about.

Not in his book, at least.

“You could have told someone, you know,” Stiles said grumpily. “I mean, other than Peter.”

“Peter?”

“Yeah, Peter,” Stiles said, “Trust me, the Creeperwolf knows.”

Derek actually looked a little surprised at that. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

“What?”

Stiles looked at him in disbelief. Because seriously? He’d been trying to figure out what Derek was doing for months now. And the man still seemed surprised that Stiles had wanted to know? “Dude, do you know how many theories I had?”

Derek looked at him blankly. Stiles huffed.

“I swear to god, I thought you were in trouble or dying or something. That’s stressful, dude!”

“I was fine.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell anyone that.”

Derek looked confused for a moment. Then his face did something weird-- Derek actually looked more like a soft teddy bear for a moment, instead of a grumpy werewolf, and Stiles didn’t know what the hell to do with that. “I was fine, Stiles.”

Stiles crossed his arms, glaring down at the floor. Derek sighed.

“Well, now you know, right?”

Stiles looked at the floor for another moment before glancing back up. “Why show me tonight? I wouldn’t have figured it out.”

“You were driving all over town looking for me, Stiles.”

“I was concerned!”

Stiles could’ve sworn the corners of Derek's mouth twitched. And yep, this whole thing was weirding him out. From the wolf, to the nudity, to the fact that Derek Hale looked like he was about to smile.

Stiles leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not going crazy, right?”

“Really, Stiles?”

“I’m just saying, dude,” Stiles said, raising his hands. “This is all kind of weirding me out.”

For a moment, Derek looked uncomfortable. “The shift?”

Stiles blinked. Derek glanced away.

“It’s different. From the others. It's strange.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “No, of course that's not it, dude. You being a literal freaking wolf? That’s the coolest thing ever, man.”

Derek glanced up, face a little red. Stiles huffed.

“I guess I’m just not used to having naked werewolves hanging out in my living room.”

The red went all the way to Derek’s ears this time. He scowled, but Stiles thought he could look grumpier. The glare didn't quite reach his eyes and the red of his face was definitely amusing. “Shut up, Stiles.”

“Hmm, sure. So are you going to tell the rest of the pack at some point?”

“At some point.”

Stiles grinned a little bit. “So I’m the only one who knows, then? Other than Peter the Creeper, at least. God, I feel so special.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “For now.”

“I'll take it,” Stiles said, grinning wider. To Derek’s flat look, he raised his hands. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

The man's eyes flashed bright red at that and he smirked. “No, you won’t.”

“I-is that a threat, Sourwolf?”

“You said it yourself. I can rip out throats now.”

A shiver ran down Stiles's spine, but he couldn't tell if it was a terrified one or not. He didn't think so. “I didn’t need that imagery.” And the whole smirking-threat thing totally wasn’t a strange turn on. Not at all.

Dammit.

Except before Derek could say a word again, or maybe catch wind of Stiles's teenage hormones betraying him, the doorbell rang once more. Stiles startled and Derek’s eyes flickered red again. Before the man could go scar more innocent children, though, Stiles jumped up and grabbed the box of granola bars. "Don't you dare."

Derek gave him a flat look. Stiles shrugged.

“I didn’t plan on being around tonight,” he said. “I don't have candy to hand out. Everyone is gathered at the loft anyway. Err, minus the betas perhaps.”

“They might be back by now.”

"Or they're in jail."

Derek didn't look fazed. "It'd be a good lesson."

Stiles rolled his eyes at that, glancing toward the door as the bell rang again. Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Stiles glanced down at the box of granola bars again. Then, he sighed. “Okay, fine, big guy, you get one more scare. Then, we’re going to the loft. Understood?”

The man looked surprised. Stiles smirked a little.

“Or you can stay here and explain to my dad why you’re wearing his clothes when he gets off his shift.”

Stiles was more than entertained to see Derek look terrified for a moment. The big bad wolf, literally looking like Stiles had just threatened him with a stick of wolfsbane. And, full shift wolf or not, Stiles was totally remembering that.

“So?” he said, tilting his head toward the door. And was he a terrible person for allowing this? Maybe a little bit? “Are you gonna go?”

There were definite fangs in Derek half-smirk. That really shouldn’t have been such a turn on too.

Stiles was pretty sure someone was going to call the cops on his house too, just like with the betas. And wouldn’t that confuse the hell out of his dad? Stiles supposed he could always throw them under the bus a second time if needed.

Seconds after Derek opened the door, screams filled the air. Stiles glanced down at the box of granola bars in his hands.

Well…

He set them on the front porch with a ‘take one’ sign when they left, just in case. And Derek made sure Stiles knew he thought the entire thing was stupid and 'granola bars should never be a replacement for candy.' Stiles had never realized the man was such a Halloween snob.

The entire box was still there the next morning.

[adhd-disaster-willie]

March 16th

ok so maybe I hyperfixated on writing this and maybe it's 2:30 am but like, whatever.

summary: "Bobby used to like birthdays. But now birthdays taste less of spring and vanilla and more of salty tears and an aching emptiness in his chest"

word count: 1,388

warnings: allusions to death (take a wild guess as to whose)

---

Bobby was born on a March evening that was just too cold to be so close to spring. He was never too full of energy, preferred to curl up in the corner with a poetry book thicker than the fluffy vanilla cake his grandma would make for his birthday every year. He’d stand on his tip toes to see the top of the counter, sneaking bits of half mixed cake batter and listening intently as his grandma explained the baking process in words that were too big for him to comprehend. But the cake always tasted like spring evenings and lemon frosting and laughter as Luke tackled him to the ground in what he called the “birthday hug” that was probably closer to a wrestling match. The night always smelled of wrapping paper and Reggie’s weird lotion and the oatmeal raisin cookies Alex’s mother always insist he bring but nobody would eat. Birthday’s were good, Bobby liked birthdays.

“Robert, your friends are here!” His gran peeked into Bobby’s room with a crinkly smile and a flour-dusted apron; the faded yellow one she never seemed to take off.

Bobby didn’t even have time to shut his book before Luke came bounding into his room, shrieking something that sounded like “you’re a teenager, dude!” but could’ve been just about anything else, as it was said with his face buried in Bobby’s t-shirt. Alex came trailing in after him, scowling at the plate of cookies in his hands while Reggie bounced up beside him, hastily wrapped gift clutched to his chest.

“My mom put extra raisins in this year,” Alex grumbled apologetically.

Reggie peeked over his shoulder at the platter and wrinkled his nose. “Dude, I think she’s trying to poison us.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Bobby quipped, shoving Luke off of him and hopping up. His gran swatted him over the head sternly but Alex only shrugged, pointedly not defending his mother. Mrs. Mercer was utterly terrifying for her stature, Alex got his height from his dad, but his mom was probably comparable to a bolt of lightning.

Like always, the boys were ushered out to the backyard with promises that cake would be ready by 5 and dinner by 6. Bobby got to eat dessert first on his birthday only, though he’d certainly tried changing that rule a number of times.

There was a slightly wobbly treehouse wedged in between the branches of the tree in Bobby’s backyard, it’d been built the previous summer, mostly by Alex and Reggie while he and Luke all but drowned each other in the above ground pool tucked into the corner of the yard. But he did make the door, so he thinks he deserves some credit

Reggie bounded up the swinging ladder, yelping when he almost lost his footing. He stuck his head out the window, pouting like a wounded puppy until the others came tumbling in after him in a tangle of limbs and shouts of “you did not win, you’re slower than Millie’s turtle” and “Did too! Right Lexi?” Alex informed them that his sister’s turtle was actually faster than the both of them and that he won, which couldn’t really be argued considering Alex had always been the fastest runner.

Bobby’s 13th birthday was dusted with the beginnings of spring and a certain feeling of home. Reggie gave him that one stuffed penguin he’d been eyeing for weeks, stumbling over his apologies of “sorry it’s so small, my parents forgot to take me shop-” Bobby had thrown an arm around his shoulder, ruffling his hair and telling him to shut up because the gift was perfect.

Alex handed him a neatly wrapped box complete with a bright red bow; a stack of books and the tattered t shirt Bobby kept stealing from him. Luke emptied his pockets to reveal about 50 different guitar picks and a leather-bound journal already full of movie ticket stubs and hurriedly written poems that Bobby would probably never be able to decipher.

Birthdays were good. Birthdays were sitting in the tree house past dark despite it being a school night. Birthdays were Reggie forcing him to wear a pointy party hat, and Luke smearing frosting across his face well aware it’d end in disaster, and Alex making up a horrendous rendition of the happy birthday song and proceeding to sing it like he’d just written a masterpiece akin to Bohemian Rhapsody. Bobby liked birthdays. For a while.

---

The treehouse wilted the summer before junior year, boards worn from years of harsh sunshine and thunderstorms. Bobby’s 17th birthday wasn’t… it wasn’t bad per se; but it’s bittersweet. It’s bittersweet in the way Luke scratches his neck apologetically and says that he couldn’t scrounge up enough money for a gift, like that’s what matters. It doesn’t. It’s bittersweet because Reggie, Luke, and Alex didn’t have to be driven to Bobby’s house. They woke up tangled together on the flimsy mattress in the loft and spent the morning practicing a bit too passionately with a few too many tears.

Bobby’s 17th birthday tasted of tight hugs and mint ice cream that dripped down his hands, held out to the sky because Luke kept threatening to lick them. It smelled of old pennies and the garbage cans Alex reluctantly used as drums as they played out on the pier in hopes to earn some petty cash.

“I bet we’ll be living in a mansion on your 18th birthday,” Reggie said, swinging his legs and splashing at the water. They were sitting on the edge of the pier, instruments off to the side and hands sticky with ice cream.

“If the Orpheum works out, we will,” Alex replied with a grin, bumping his shoulders with Bobby’s.

Bobby tilted his head in consideration. “Maybe we’ll get a giant house up in Malibu.”

“It’s not about the money,” Luke grumbled. Although considering the whole living in Bobby’s garage thing, Bobby thinks Luke should start thinking about the money.

“You’re absolutely right.” Alex sighed dramatically. “It’s about the music.” He clutched Luke’s shoulder and nodded sarcastically.

“The connections,” Bobby chimed in with a woeful nod. “The audience.”

Luke kicked his ankle and Bobby snickered. “No kicking the birthday boy,” he cried with mock offense.

“Kicking the birthday boy is like stealing candy from a baby,” Reggie said mournfully.

“That’s not how that… okay.” Alex exhaled in defeat, something Bobby calls his ‘Reggie sigh.’

They stayed out on the pier until the sun tucked itself behind the ocean and they tossed their instruments over their shoulders, walking back to the studio and singing happy birthday to the sparkling sky, steps bouncier than they had been in the morning. So, Bobby’s 17th birthday was bittersweet with the taste of music and hope and a desperate beginning.

---

Bobby spends his 18th birthday alone, staring down at the rug and hugging his own shoulders, desperately wishing he didn’t have to, because they were always so affectionate so he shouldn’t have to hold himself.

The studio is far too cold for and much too empty. A sharp breeze whistles through the crack in the door, brushing at the pages of Lukes still-open songwriting book. Bobby reaches to smooth them out, because maybe if he leaves everything how it’d been that night 7 months ago, he can pretend they’re just inside chattering over his gran’s spaghetti and debating lyrics. And he’ll go inside and join them and Luke will toss an arm over his shoulder and Alex will remind him to drink some water, he probably hasn’t today, and Reggie will tell him that “your grandma is so much cooler than you, Bobbers.”

But the lights are shut off and his dinner is cold and untouched and he can’t bring himself to even light the candle on the thick slice of cake on the table. Because he can close his eyes and wish with his entire soul but nothing will bring them back.

Bobby used to like birthdays. But now birthdays taste less of spring and vanilla and more of salty tears and an aching emptiness in his chest. He falls asleep on Luke’s couch, practically swimming in Alex’s blue sweatshirt, the shabby stuffed penguin clutched to his chest like a lifeline. He falls asleep to a quiet studio and birthday that feels like numbness and longing.

---

@sunset-bobby@azzieisthebestcat

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Prove Them Wrong | Reggie Peters

A/N: I got these two requests for a Reggie fic and decided to merge them together, I hope you don’t mind! 

Request 1:  Please i just want a fanfic of reggie discovering YouTube and uploading home is where my horse is video and the gang reacting to it since people absolutely love it

Request 2:  Hi!! Can you do one where the reader is julies friend and is with her when the boys come back and her and Reggie have a instant connection and he follows her around and is always talking to her

Relationships: Reggie x Reader, Sunset Curve x Reader, JATP x Reader

Warnings: Fluff? 

Words:  4,165

Your life has been pretty ordinary for the past 16 years. A life pretty much every person would call boring was a life you wouldn’t change for the world’s most expensive things. Until you met Reggie and the other boys from Sunset Curve. You say boys, but it would be much more accurate if you said ghosts. Sunset Curve was a ghost band from the 90’s that popped into your life one night when you were helping your best friend Julie clean up her mother’s studio. 

2 months earlier… 

A text from Julie comes in when you’re doing your homework on your bed whilst watching reruns of Friends on your laptop. The show makes for good background noise, you find. “911!” Worry rises within you as you read the call-for-help text from your best friend. “U ok?” you text back. Three dots begin dancing on the screen, raising suspense. “Do u wanna come help me clean out mom’s studio? :( x” A soft smile plays at your lips whilst more dots appear. “Don’t think I can do it by myself.” You close the Netflix app on your laptop and get up to put some proper pants on. You had the habit to kick your jeans off the second you got home. Prancing around in your underwear after a tough day at school has become one of your favorite things to do, but Julie might not appreciate that too much, nor would the neighbors. “OMW!” you quickly text back and hop into your Vans before heading down to the Molina house. You find your best friend behind the grand piano, looking up at the chair-decorated ceiling of the shed. Something Julie’s mom did with a superstitious meaning you’d kind of forgotten. Neither you nor Julie believed it, to be fair. “Hey,” you greet softly, making her look at you. A smile appears on her lips, glad you’d be willing to come over and help. Like you’ve been so many times last year when her mother died. You’d be there to listen to her talk about all the memories with her mom, or to hug her as she cried because she missed her.  This is just another part of the grieving process she needs to get through, and you’re there to hold her hand all the way through it. “Are you okay?” you ask, walking towards the piano and leaning your forearms on it. “Yeah, it’s just a little weird to be here…” she says as her eyes start scanning the entire space. “There are so many memories of her in here.” Her fingers glide across the piano keys. “Yeah, I know,” you whisper, not wanting to bring up anything that might hurt her. You remember the days you’d come over to play with Julie and you’d hear her mom singing in her studio. You remember when you’d make music together with Carrie and her dad and Julie’s mom. There are so many unfinished songs about bunnies and puppies from when you were kids, and even some more recent ones about the person you had a crush on or about that boy that broke your heart when you were fifteen. Those songs are now stored away in the back of your mind, waiting for the day Julie would start singing again. Along with all those memories you put on tape.  “Let’s get crackin’!” you tap the top of the piano in a rhythmic beat before stepping away and holding out your hands for Julie to take. The girl gets up from the stool behind the piano and carefully places her hand in yours. You pull her away from the piano and halt in the middle of the garage, looking up to the loft that suddenly seems very looming. Both of you know whatever’s up there is the ghost of a musician’s past, and not even Julie’s mom’s. No, all the instruments up there are from the people that used to live here. Julie never told you, but you’re certain Carrie’s dad used to live here when he was a child and sold his parents’ house to Julie’s parents when they died. You’d noticed the way Trevor always stood in the doorway, glancing around with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at his lips. Almost like he’s reminiscing about his past. Besides, he’s accidentally slipped up a few times when talking about his childhood, saying he used to play around here with some of his buddies. No one else ever mentioned it, so you didn’t either. There’s probably a good reason for him not to speak about his past in too much detail. You climb up the stairs first and step up on the wooden floor, letting your eyes scan over all the junk up here. Keyboards, old guitars, drumsticks, even an entire drum kit, along with bags and backpacks, all strewn around the place. “Y/N,” Julie’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. You look down to find Julie still on the stairs, half of her body in he loft. She’s holding a CD up to show you. “Sunset Curve?” you read aloud from the black CD case. “Never heard of that band.” “Let’s give it a listen?” she suggests and after receiving an agreeing nod from you, she climbs down again, followed by yourself. She places the CD into the stereo whilst you sit down on the couch. Julie presses play and joins you. “1-2-3 Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge--” The music fades away as it’s overpowered by a loud screeching noise. You look over at Julie, who has her hands up to her ear to cover them from the noise. Your eyebrows knit together, confused as to what’s happening. It might just be a fault in the production of the song? Or maybe a scratch on the CD? Before you can even come up with a decent reason, a bright flash lights up the entire garage, followed by a loud thud. And, when you look up, you find three boys in the middle of the studio, scrambling up from where they’d come down harshly. You and Julie quickly get up from the couch, wanting to take a closer look at the scene in front of you.  “Woah! How did we get back here?” One of them says, confused about his surroundings. Julie lets out an ear-piercing scream before running out of the garage, leaving you with those three boys. You have no clue what’s happening, and you don’t know what to do either. Should you run and hide like Julie? Or should you just wait and see if they have a reason for being here? “Hello!” one of them yells excitedly, making you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s the dark-haired boy with the red flannel tied around his waist that’s talking to you. “I’m sorry, who are you and what are you doing in our studio?” Your eyes widen at this. They think this is their studio? “I-I’m… I’m sorry, gimme a second,” you say, holding up your finger. The boy nods curtly before you dash out of there too, running up to Julie’s room with the question haunting your head ‘Who are they? And why do they think it’s their studio?’ After a while, you and Julie pluck up the courage to go back into the garage, armed with a cross since Julie’s positive they’re ghosts. Turns out they are. They -- along with Google -- explain they’re three ghosts that used to be in a band called Sunset Curve and that they died after eating bad hotdogs in ‘95. Luke, Reggie and Alex introduce themselves to you, and from that moment on, you’re certain these three ghost boys will change your life forever. And they do. 

Present day

To say your life has changed since the day those boys came into your life is an understatement. It went from studying while watching Friends in your room to going out to their gigs almost every Saturday and sitting in on their rehearsals every day after school. You, along with Julie, have grown very close to the boys in the last five months. They’ve become your best friends you could talk to about everything and anything. But the most special connection you have, is with Reggie. Ever since that day, the boy hasn’t left you alone. Every time you’re at the Molina house, he’ll poof in, wherever you are. Whether you’re getting a drink or a snack in the kitchen, or  you’d just come out of the bathroom, he’d be there. This caused a lot of heart attacks, but also a lot of deep conversations.

Especially if he came to your own house. This was mostly when he’d had a bad day or missed his old life or his parents. He’d poof into your room and just tell you to do whatever you were doing, that he just wanted to hang out. After a few times, you didn’t even ask anymore and he didn’t have to tell you to just continue whatever you were doing. Those nights even ended with the two of you cuddling, which is something  you realized you could do for some unknown reason. But you liked it, so you didn’t think too much about it.  Today is Friday, which means it’s the last big rehearsal before the boys and Julie have their gig tomorrow night. And though you’d much rather be there with them, you have to watch your little siblings for the night since your parents have gone out to a dinner party. You’re making some popcorn in the kitchen for all of you to munch on when watching a movie, when Reggie suddenly poofs in, making you jump. You hadn’t expected him to come in this early, which causes the worry to well up inside of you. Something must’ve happened. “Reg, you okay?” you ask in a hushed voice, glancing back at the kids in front of the tv. “No…” he murmurs, wringing his flannel in his hands. He looks sad, sadder than when he misses his old life, which means something really bad must’ve happened. “Gimme a second,” you say and turn to leave the kitchen. Reggie smiles a little as those words remind him of the first words you ever said to them. “Kids, it’s time for bed!” Moans and whines come from the little kids on the sofa, protesting their early bedtime. “No complaining! Chop chop!” you rushed them up the stairs before returning to the kitchen. “Get yourself comfy on the couch, I’m just gonna put them to bed real quick, okay?” Reggie nods agreeingly and watches you walk away again. He grabs the bowl of popcorn you’d prepared and takes it into the living room. Even though he can’t eat, he’d want you to snack on it since you’re the one that made it. “Sorry it took so long. They can be really stubborn sometimes,” you exhale frustratedly as you plop onto the couch next to Reggie. “Now, tell me, what’s going on?” “So, I suggested to Luke we’d try this song I wrote a while ago,” he starts solemnly. “Home is Where My Horse is?” you ask, remembering him writing that up in your room. You’d even helped him on some verses.  “Yes, that one! But he just rejected it… Again!” he sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back on the backrest of the couch. “Yelled at him that he didn’t appreciate my talent and just poofed out,” he chuckles airily, and you do too. “I’m sorry Luke isn’t more open to your creativity, Reg… I really wish I could help you somehow, if I knew something I--” you stop in your tracks as an idea pops into your head. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks, getting excited as it seems you have an idea.  “What if we film you singing the song and upload it on YouTube?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at the idea alone. He nods excitedly at first, but then slows down when he realizes he has no clue what you’re talking about. “What’s a YouTube?” he asks. You let out a giggle before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the dining table where you’d left your laptop. You open it on the site and show him the home page filled with different types of recommended videos. “It’s a platform where people can post videos of whatever they like. A lot of artists use it for their music videos nowadays. It’s where I posted ‘Edge of Great’ a few weeks ago,” you explain. 

He peers at the screen with wide, intrigued eyes. You then lean forward and type in ‘Queen don’t stop me now’ before hitting enter. Reggie’s eyes widen even more as you press play on the music video.

“I could film you with my dad’s equipment and edit the whole thing together and upload it. At least then the world will see how truly talented you are and maybe Luke might change his mind too?” He eagerly nods his head in agreement, getting excited about the whole idea. Besides him being able to prove to his band that his country songs are worth taking a second look at, it’s also a good opportunity for you to test out some new techniques. 

So, on Saturday, the two of you get up at the crack of dawn -- or you do since ghosts don’t really sleep -- and make your way down to the riding club your little brother goes for riding classes. You’re acquainted with the owners, so they’ll let you film whatever you need around there. Doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re not filming anything. “Okay, you ready?” you mutter as you set up the first scene. He’s currently sitting on a picnic bench with his guitar in his lap and the stables in the background. Your camera is set up in front of Reggie with the stable doors on each side of his head, perfectly balanced. You simply nod your head curtly as his ‘action’ sign. He immediately starts strumming his guitar and singing out his self-made words. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day…” You spent the entire day running around the ranch, letting Reggie sing his song multiple times in different locations. You even film a couple of nature shots to edit in later. This is just going to be the greatest music video you’ve ever made, and it’s all thanks to Reggie. Your Sunday is spent behind your laptop, editing Reggie’s footage until it’s turned into a somewhat coherent video. “Hey!” Reggie poofs into your room late that night. “Where’ve you been? You missed movie night!” he asks, worry laced in his voice. You don’t even take your eyes off your screen. It’s almost finished just a few more… Yes! “I just finished editing your video! Wanna see?” He nods his head excitedly, so you make some room for him on the chair you’re sitting on. He seems hesitant at first, but eventually sits down on the very edge. Your entire side that’s touching his tingles. It’s always been a weird feeling to touch him, but this is from an entirely new calibre. You rewind the video and press play. There’s a shot of the surrounding nature at first and some horses galloping in the distance whilst the strumming of his guitar floats out of the laptop. Then the camera pans to Reggie on the picnic bench with his guitar. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day… and for me” The picture changes to Reggie looking out into the meadows, watching the horses frolic around in the grass with a couple of shots of him playing his guitar as he’s walking along with the horses. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is Don’t need a house or a roof I just put on the saddle, lace up my boots  Cuz home is where my horse is” In the next few shots, you’re even in it. Reggie had grabbed your camera and placed it on the grass before grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the meadow with him to dance. It probably looked most ridiculous to any bystanders, but the footage is too pretty not to use. You can just about see two silhouettes dancing around over the grass with a flare of sunlight breaking in and giving it a magical flair. “I don’t need the streets Don’t need the city lights I don’t need a fancy car I just hop on my horse and ride” You’d filmed a couple of the riders too, since Reggie himself couldn’t really ride a horse seeing he’s a ghost and everything. But it made for some good footage to set the scene of the song properly. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is I see the beautiful beast running up to me And I know I’m home” The song ends and the screen fades to black, Reggie vanishing as he looks out into the meadow again. You look up at real-life ghost Reggie with expectant eyes. He’s just staring at the black screen for a moment, mouth ajar and eyes wide. “Woah!” he finally mutters. “That was amazing, Y/N! Show me that again!” he exclaims excitedly. Of course you oblige and show him again. This time, he points out everything he loved. “This is my favorite part!” he says, pointing at the screen as the two of you are shown dancing. You can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over this collaboration. “So, can I upload it?” you ask when the screen fades again. “What?! Of course! Put it on the Tube-thing!” he claps his hands excitedly and watches as you open the site and start the upload on the Julie and The Phantoms channel. You had edited their Edge of Great video when Ray asked your father to help him film, so you pretty much had the right to do this, even if Julie might say otherwise. “There we go! It’s set to upload in about five minutes!” you say and turn to Reggie, almost forgetting how close he’s sitting until he’s literally mere inches away. You can actually feel his hot breath tickling your lips. A wave of warmth rushes through you when you catch his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again. “You’re really talented, you know that?” You simply hum in response to this compliment, not that you agree with him, but you don’t know what else to do. You’re completely frozen in place. His eyes are so pretty up close. They’re the most beautiful shade of green you have ever seen, especially with that twinkle in them. “Can I kiss you?” his soft voice makes you snap out of your thoughts about those dreamy eyes.     “Wh--what?” you stutter, hoping you did hear that right, but not wanting to assume. “C-can I kiss you?” he repeats, his voice just above a whisper. 

“Yeah.” Your voice wavers ever so slightly. Reggie’s eyes flutter close as he leans in to press his lips to yours. There’ve been times you dreamed about doing this, but you never thought you’d actually be able to kiss him. The ability to touch him was a surprise and a miracle, you didn’t think this would be possible too. A bleep coming from your computer causes you to pull away abruptly. You just about catch the smile on Reggie’s face before you turn to the screen, madly blushing yourself. “It’s ready to go!” you state excitedly and start typing up a description for the video. “What are you doing?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. “Typing up a little description for the fans, or whoever watches,” you reply as your fingers stilt for a second to think about what else to write. “Home is Where My Horse is, a Reggie original. Written and performed by your favorite bassist, Reggie Peters. Filmed and edited by Y/N Y/L/N. Special thanks to Hold Your Reins Ranch.” He reads the little text aloud. “Nice,” he nods his head, impressed by your abilities with this foreign platform. “And we’re live!” you inform him as you have pressed the post button. “Thanks, Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, making you look at him again. “I’m just gonna kiss you again, is that okay?” You nod your head before closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him again. This is not what you’d expected to come from this project, but you’re glad it had. This feels right. That night, you send Julie a message with the link to the video. “Give the boy a chance. This is an actual bop!” you sent along with it. You’re a little scared you might’ve overstepped and shouldn’t have suggested making this video for Reggie and you definitely shouldn’t have posted it to the Julie and The Phantoms YouTube channel. It probably wasn’t your place to mingle into a band conflict, but you couldn’t handle seeing Reggie so upset. 

“Get ur talented ass to the studio. NOW,” Julie’s text reads. It sounds a little passive-aggressive, but you still obey and hop into some pants and shoes before heading down the other end of the street where the Molina house stands. “‘Sup, kids?” you say when you find the boys and Julie on the couch, throwing up a peace sign. The bubbliness might camouflage the nerves building up inside you. “Care to explain yourself, miss Y/L/N?” Julie starts with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. You glance over at Reggie. He’s glancing down at the rings around his fingers. “I’m sorry, Jules. But I really think you ought to give this boy and his horse a chance!” you aggressively point at the boy in question, whose head snaps up at this. Now he’s looking at you with a scared, yet tendered expression on his face.    “I was joking, babes,” Julie mutters, holding her hands up in defense. “We didn’t think you’d react this defensive over this…” Your eyebrows knit together as confusion takes over you. “Wh-what do you mean?” you question. “Your video has been viewed over a thousand times already and it’s only been up for about two hours, Y/N,” Julie explains and turns her laptop for you to see the view count at 1,327. Your breath hitches in your throat at the large number. That’s how many people have seen your work? I mean, you would’ve watched it that many times in a row yourself because that song is actually amazing. These people are stupid for not giving it a chance earlier. “Woah, Reg! That’s a lot of people hearing your song!” you exclaim excitedly. The boy gets up from the couch and walks over to you with a proud smile on his face. “Actually….” he starts and scrolls down on the laptop. You taught him how to do that. “They’re loving your camerawork and editing!” He shows you all the comments underneath the video. The reactions are divided evenly between praise for the song and praise for your work. “Wha--” your eyes dart from Reggie to Alex, then to Luke and Julie. “We had a band meeting and we want you to become our band’s official videographer,” Alex announces with that soft smile of his plastered on his lips. Your mouth drops in disbelief. You’ve always loved videography and editing, but you always saw it as something fun, not as an official band thing. After months of sitting in rehearsals and watching gigs, you’re finally going to be part of the band. Or close enough to being a part of the band. “What do you say, babe?” Reggie asks when you’ve been quiet for a good minute. Luke and Alex exchange glances at the sudden use of pet names. That’s new. “I mean, it could be cool?” you shrug humbly. The band cheers, Alex and Luke even high five. Before you can even go over to hug Julie, Reggie’s already cupped your face and crashes his lips to yours. You’ll never get used to that feeling. “That’s new,” you hear Alex say when the two of you pull away. You need a good second to cool it after that passionate kiss, but once you do, you beckon the others over for a group hug. “Thank you, guys,” you whisper and press a kiss to Julie’s hair as a thank you. From that day on, you’re not only known as the Julie and The Phantoms videographer, but also as the cute bassist’s girlfriend. To say your life has drastically changed since meeting these boys would be the understatement of the year.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​ @kcd15​​

[katrina765]

++++

summary: you and reggie have always been good friends. being the manager for sunset curve had its perks, one of which included growing close to all the boys. one night reggie lets his feelings for you slip. how will you react?

song: testify

pairings: reggie x reader[platonic] maybe;)

words: 3.3k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, drinking, swearing, angst, pining, fluff towards the end

a/n: i’m sorry this took so long. i’ve been super busy with school and my motivation hasn’t been the best, but we made it! finally finished testify, so enjoy:) [for plot purposes we’re saying y/n lives in bobby’s house and owns the studio-garage]

++++

he’s lying awake trying to contemplate what this all means. he’s known how he’s felt for so long and yet he can never find the right words to say to you. you always manage to steal his breath away by barely doing anything. you walk into a room, his face lights up and suddenly his palms are sweaty. he’s amazed with the way you speak. it’s as if silk were a sound and it were projecting from your lips.

your lips.

what he’d do just to get a taste, a feel. the poor boy has dreamt of the way they’d fit perfectly against his. he’d imagine the way you’d move in sync with him. it all felt so real and yet he knew if he never built up the courage to talk to you, he wouldn’t get the chance to make those dreams realities.

++++

“luke!” you called, crossing the cramped studio towards the lead singer. he was shouting over the music to a girl who practically clung to his arm. you watched as she batted her eyelashes and took another sip from her red solo cup. “luke!”

you reached the pair, earning a pointed glare from the petite girl. luke hesitantly looked at you, guilt already painting his features.

“can i help you, sweetheart?” she took a step forward, clearly bothered that you interrupted her conversation.

“find someone else to bother, babe.” you roughly grabbed luke’s hand, leading him towards a less crowded area. he gave the girl an apologetic wave before she stormed off towards the drinks table.

“she was really pretty, y/n.” luke groaned, tossing his cup into a nearby bin.

“luke, you said this was only going to be a few people! do you know how big of a mess i’m going to have to clean up? my parents are going to be up my ass when they come home!”

“calm down, y/l/n. have a little fun, get a little drunk! the boys and i will help clean up. scouts honor!”

“you were never a scout- you know what? fine! this is yours to deal with. i may be your official manager, but i’m not your babysitter! have fun with this one, patterson.” and with that you made your way over to a cooler, pulling out a bottle of some fruity drink.

reggie spotted you from a few feet away, his beer abandoned in a corner of the studio. it wasn’t his fault you stole the show wherever you went- even if he was the only one in the audience. his eyes were glued to you and that was how it was. you were completely oblivious to his infatuation with you. that’s how it’s been for years.

the boy watched as you made your way over to alex. he ogled at the way your lips met the rim of the glass bottle, delicately sipping at the liquid.

as you approached the boy in the pink hoodie, his eyes traveled far behind you. they met reggie’s, catching his stare. alex smirked knowingly and nodded to his band mate. reggie hesitated slightly before walking away to grab another beer.

a little liquid luck never hurt anybody. right?

“hey, alex.” you greeted, tilting the bottle back once more. “i thought you weren’t a ‘party person’.”

“i’m not.” he scratched the back of his neck, glancing around the room again.

the studio wasn’t terribly big. normally there was room for your piano, the band’s gear, and a couple couches. sure there was an empty area and a loft, but you never intended to have more than ten people in it at once.

luke’s “small gathering” had turned into a large house party and your poor studio had people so close, they were bumping shoulders. cups were tipped on the floor, bottles strewn about, your mother’s plants pushed to one corner, speakers in the middle of the room blaring some jumbled rock song.

a mess.

“i really only came for luke. he said it was gonna be fun, but i wasn’t expecting so many people.” alex leaned down so you would be able to hear him better.

“yeah.” you rolled your eyes, recalling the conversation you just had with the guitarist. “didn’t really give any of us a heads up. do you wanna-”

a loud crash from across the studio cut you off. in the direction of it, a mixture of cheers and laughs erupted.

with a groan of frustration, you politely excused yourself from the drummer. he flashed you a sympathetic smile as you downed the rest of your drink and walked off.

“hey, man!” reggie took your place next to alex, keeping his eyes on you as he spoke to his bandmate.

alex waved a hand in front of reggie’s face, snapping his fingers a couple times. he chuckled once the bassist finally looked up at him with reddening cheeks.

“if you didn’t want to talk to me, you could have just said so.” alex laughed.

“no- no, i’m sorry.” reggie cleared his throat, taking another sip from his bottle, before continuing. “just a little...”

“distracted?” the boy in the flannel nodded sheepishly. “dude, you have to tell her.”

“you know i can’t do that.”

“why not? everyone sees the way you look at her! it’s better to tell her than to keep it to yourself for another three years.”

reggie took a deep breath. his eyes scanned the crowd in search of you. he watched as you shooed people away from a broken vase- one of your mother’s. you delicately picked up shards of glass, careful not to cut yourself.

“i just don’t want to ruin things with her.” the boy finally exhaled.

“well then at least go help her clean up.” alex’s eyes glimmered with a hint of mischief as he shoved his bandmate in your direction.

reggie stumbled towards you, instinctively smoothing out his jacket. your eyes lit up when the boy reached you. he offered his help and even after you insisted this was your mess to clean up, he stayed and helped you sweep. it was sweet; the gesture. to you it was just a friend helping another friend, but to him, every lingering touch sent a million questions to his mind; was that on purpose? why is she looking at me like that? does she feel the same?

to any onlookers, they’d see the way his cheeks flushed each time your hands accidentally brushed or when you moved to sweep a fallen strand of hair out of your face. reggie was infatuated by you and everyone saw it except you.

“thanks again, reg.” a smile stretched across your face as you tossed the last shards of glass into the bin. reggie had just walked back outside to you with two drinks in his hands; the same fruity drink you had earlier and another beer. “how’d you know these are my favorite?”

“had a hunch.” his cheeks were tinged that familiar pink color, grateful the darkness was there to hide it from your view.

“we should probably get back in there before something else breaks, huh?” you tipped the bottle back, taking another long sip from the sweet drink. as much as you hated the feeling of being drunk and what was to come after, you needed all the liquid courage this bottle had to offer.

reggie tilted his own bottle back, mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but only one that really stood out. for him, it was now or never. the atmosphere was right, there were no distractions- if he didn’t do it now, he’d be kicking himself forever.

i’m losing control now that the alcohol hits my blood flow.

“y/n?” you turned around, walking back towards the bassist.

“everything alright, reggie?” you placed a hand on his shoulder. concern evident in your eyes as you looked up at the flustered boy.

didn’t want to address this, but i really thought that you should know.

“can i tell you something?”

the conversation was short. nothing much said, at least not on your part. it was him who spilled his entire being into one breath. his words hit you quickly, the loud music almost drowning them out entirely. reggie watched as your face fell. you attempted to mask your discomfort with a shy smile; one he knew all too well. it was the same look you’d given so many others before. it was all out there now. his feelings for you, the ones he’d been hiding since he first met the bright, bubbly girl. he’d fallen instantly. now he stood, drink in hand, watching as you walked away. you didn’t feel the same and he knew you never would. his mind ran through everything he could have said to persuade you. “life gets so black and white when i look in your eyes. girl, you just simplify, you make wrong seem so right, turn dark into light.” he’d lost his chance and there was nothing he could do to get it back. if only he’d been better, more charming, would you have felt the same?

++++

he drank that night. reggie tipped bottles back like there was no tomorrow. he drank and drank and drank for the next two weeks.

he knew it was a bad idea- telling you- and yet he did it anyway. alex had suggested it, but it wasn’t his fault. he’d been wanting to do it since before he could remember. it just hurt that you finally knew...and didn’t feel the same.

reggie started skipping band practice. he knew you’d be there, going over gigs you were looking for or just to provide feedback. he couldn’t look you in the eyes without being swarmed with those feelings again. nothing would change for him and he knew that. seeing you there would only make things worse.

the doubt was what ate at him. why wasn’t he good enough? was it something he said? did? there was nothing wrong with you- hell, you were perfect to him- so it had to be something with him, right?

i’ve made a mistake, but this is a whole new kind of rejection.

he could have spoken differently? if he controlled the nerves in his voice he would’ve seemed more put together. what if he said something smoother?

come over here slowly, come get to know my body. got me breaking a sweat ‘cause this is a whole new kind of neglection.

he wouldn’t call it neglect. if anything he was the one avoiding you. it was only after he came back to band practice a month later when he saw it.

you were the only one not to greet him when he walked into the studio last wednesday. reggie didn’t blame you. it was only fair you were a little uncomfortable around him now that you knew it all. so he didn’t mind when you ignored him today.

band practice had started the same as any other day. luke had written a new song and was eager to show you all. alex picked up his parts quickly, reggie was a little distracted, but tried his best to follow along, and you sat on the couch across the room flipping through newspapers and magazines in search of a place that needed an opening band.

“what do you think, y/n?” luke asked, strumming his final chord before placing his guitar back in it’s stand. “stage-worthy?”

“a little choppy on the bass, but otherwise not bad.” you looked up at the boys.

luke, bobby, and alex laughed at your quip, but reggie’s face resembled something of a poorly hidden scowl. in his mind your remark was nothing short of jab back at him. is it bad that he was the slightest bit relieved you even addressed him?

it felt like it had been years since he saw your smile let alone pointed in his direction.

“you heard the girl! pick it up, peters!”

“shut it, luke.” reggie swung his bass back around, ready to play. he glanced quickly up at you to see your eyes already on him. a soft smile rested on your lips as you ducked your head back down to your work.

reggie felt those familiar butterflies arise in him. you still managed to steal his heart even after breaking it.

that’s gotta hurt.

++++

i’m missing you, do you miss me too? i’m missing all your cues ‘cause baby, it’s hot in here and i’m filled with fear, ‘cause i know you don’t like to lose.

“i miss her.” reggie slumped down in his seat, shuffling his shoes gently on the pine floor.

“dude she literally just said she couldn’t make it to bowling.” bobby walked towards his sulking bandmate. he had just completed a turn and glanced back to see the last three pins fall.

it was alex’s go. on his way to the rack of multicolored bowling balls, he patted bobby on the back as a ‘congrats, man!’

“i don’t just mean tonight. after i told her and- and after i ghosted you guys for a couple weeks- sorry about that by the way.” luke dismissively waved him off, nodding for him to continue. “she’s been ignoring me. at first she would at least smile at me, but now she won’t even look in my direction. i know i messed up, but this is just confusing.”

the boys had decided to relax this friday night. after having practice everyday this week and working nonstop, a celebratory pizza and bowling night seemed appropriate. you had actually suggested the small bowling alley a couple towns over for the boys to go. they insisted you come along, but you had already made plans.

they weren’t the only ones with a busy schedule. between managing the band, work, school, and maintaining your own personal relationships, you needed a break. friday was the only night you had free, so you made the most of it. bowling could wait.

“she’s been distancing herself from us too, reggie. not just you.” luke admitted.

“girls are just confusing, man.” reggie looked up at bobby. he tried his hardest to smile along with his friend, but all that was on his mind was you.

he didn’t realize how much it hurt not having you there. it was in that moment when reggie decided keeping you as a friend, would mean he at least kept you in his life. even if your feelings for him never changed, not having you around was worse than losing you.

++++

“is she actually gonna show?”

“dude, why wouldn’t she?” luke and bobby murmured between themselves.

sunset curve stood backstage, tuning their instruments in preparation for their performance. you had spent a couple weeks trying to book this gig. through your hectic schedule you had spent little time at the studio with the boys, but you were still able to ‘work your magic’ -as luke would say- and get them a spot playing at a club.

they were obviously grateful, but seeing as they hardly saw you, they weren’t able to express it. regardless of them practicing in your garage, your time was exhausted running between your work and school.

now you stood front row at the club, waiting for their band- your band- to be announced on stage. little did you know, reggie had been pacing back and forth hoping you’d show. the look on his face once he caught sight of you was one you drilled into your mind.

it was pure joy.

the boys all gave the crowd a quick scan as they reached their instruments. almost at once they all saw you and smiled. their teeth weren’t showing nearly as much as reggie’s, but you could tell they were all ecstatic to see you nonetheless.

to say the performance went smoothly was an understatement. to you, they did phenomenally. it was not only the crowd’s first time hearing some of the songs, but yours as well. the boys were flawless and they knew it. you could practically see the energy radiating off of them as they took their bows.

you took no time in rushing past the crowd to the backstage, waiting eagerly to congratulate the boys.

“you came!” reggie practically leapt off the stage and into your arms.

“good to see you too, peters-” you choked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“let the poor girl breathe!” bobby chuckled, following the rest of the boys down the steps.

reggie quickly released you, muttering a sequence of apologies. his cheeks burned a bright pink as he finally met your eyes. there was a sort of twinkle he noticed. he couldn’t quite place it as he was blocked from your view, but he saw it nonetheless.

“you guys did amazing up there.” you smiled at the rest of the band. they all took their turn wrapping you up in sweaty hugs.

“no thanks to our amazing manager!” alex cheered.

an assortment of ‘here here’s’ and ‘cheers’ erupted from the boys. they paraded around you, talking over each other as they relived their time on stage from just moments ago.

“celebratory pizza?” luke jumped in question, arms waving towards the door.

“i’m down!”

“you guys comin?” alex nodded towards you and reggie. the two of you stepping away from the group subconsciously.

“we’ll be there in a bit. can i talk to you for a sec, reg?” the three guys behind you exchanged a set of looks. each raising their eyebrows higher than the next. alex was quick to push his bandmates out the door to give the two of you some privacy.

you couldn’t help the blush that crept onto your cheeks as you looked back at reggie. he too had a thin layer of pink dusting his cheeks. the two of you stood for a moment, neither speaking. the seconds between the boys leaving and your first words felt like an eternity.

you shifted from foot to foot, trying to find the right words.

“i just wanted to say-” you started.

“i’m sorry!” the two of you blurted out in unison.

“you first.” you giggled, ducking your head as the boy in front of you stuttered his words.

“ok, ok. i’m sorry for springing all of that onto you a couple months ago and then ditching the band while i drank away my petty feelings. it was pretty shitty- i mean being rejected is pretty shitty too, but the way i reacted was bad. it just hurt because i’ve liked you for so long and when you said you didn’t feel the same, i didn’t know what to do so i hid and-” reggie rambled and only paused to take a breath. you took the opportunity to pipe up.

“reggie...i need to apologize, too. i could have had an actual conversation instead of walking away from you-”

“no!” reggie bounced forward slightly, making you stumble back in laughter. “i mean...your reaction was valid. you probably weren’t expecting it all. you not feeling the same shouldn’t have changed our relationship and i realized that all recently. i’d much rather have you as my manager and friend than lose you completely. so…y/n-” reggie stepped forward again, reaching for your hands. you nervously laced your fingers with his, looking up as he continued on with his dramatic speech. “y/n, will you do me the honor of being my friend?”

you couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics. reggie was sincere and you could see that. he didn’t want to lose you and even if it was only a month of you two hardly seeing each other, he knew he didn’t want you out of his life.

“reggie…?” your tone scared him. reggie’s eyebrows raised slightly at your sudden seriousness. were you going to leave him right then and there? would you not want to be his friend anymore?

“what if your feelings weren’t all one sided anymore?”

++++

tagged: @caitsymichelle13 @poppin-peters @shmaptainshada @mystic-writings​ @fantomlovescharliegillespie4ever @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mnmdancin12​ @annoyinglyseverehottub  @peeurpantsbitch @artificialsweetener15

message me/fill out the form on my navigation to be added to the taglist:)

[soranihimawari]

Bella Donnas & Love

This is the final installment of the Hanahaki Disease AU featuring the Seijoh Four. This is a Mattsukawa Issei x Yin (YN/Reader) story.

Word Count: 4.3 K

Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal attempts, mentions of burn out, and intrusive thoughts

Recommended Audience: 17+ (minors recommended to not read because of the warnings attached)

Pairing: Mattsukawa Issei x reader// MIA->MIF [Mattsukawa Issei angst to Mattsukawa Isei fluff]

Mattsukawa Issei is a simple man. He sees the world in copious amounts of black, white, and gray; it isn’t because he is colorblind either. It is because he knows his worth. Truthfully, his parental figures were always a bit worried about their son especially given the profession he has chosen to pursue. Being in the business of burning and or burying the dead, Mattsukawa Issei is a fan of the loneliest times in a lifetime: they say when we are brought into the world, we are alone, and when we pass on, we too exit the world alone. There is nothing wrong with finding a job in the business of death, but even angels have demons. And for Mattsukawa, you are an exquisite example of the dichotomy between his dark side and your eventual akin to the brighter side.

It is a known fact in Japan, the pressure to be perfect or to fit into the mold of society has been a fatal flaw throughout the years. This is the main reason why at exactly two fifty-five in the morning, Mattsukawa Issei notices a young person, hanging out on the edge of the skyscraper across his workplace. There was a late night arrival to the city morgue; he just needed to be there to sign the paperwork to turn over the embalming processes to his mentors. It was the deceased wishes to be buried in the mausoleum in the home town of their forefathers: the mountain side of Nagasaki.

You were having a rough day: you were told you by your employers that you’ve been slacking for too long getting numbers for the statistics presentation coming up with business partners across the South China Sea. Then your grandparent were strictly feeding toxic lies to your parent(s) about how you would never find a suitable partner to marry you. Quite frankly, because you put your career and studies first, you had no issues putting your family in their place. The intrusive thoughts, snide comments about your appearance, was enough for you to glance at the sleeping pills that were prescribed to you to assist in a normal pattern, to invade your subconscious. The events which led you to climb the fire escape up to the rooftop garden in your kitten heels made for a daring flirtation with death. There have been nights the last couple of months where your heart is heavy in your chest, your lungs are intoxicating you with the poisonous belladonna petals.

“What a time to find out I’m going to die a lot sooner than I thought,” you sighed into your palm. Your eyes scour the hazy city in the afterglow; after a tizzy of a day you had, you chose that perhaps this might be a sign of the universe you were better off dead. Either that or your soulmate would be in extreme pain and you didn’t want to disappoint their perception of your love. Then again, you wouldn’t know what love, honest, and kind would feel like even when you’re about to let it all go.

You are devoid of emotion as you bring yourself to your feet. A hand of yours drags across your face. The drop is high enough to entice little to severe damage like broken legs, or severe head trauma, but to be truly free, you wish to be put out of your misery as quickly as possible.

Mattsukawa sees the figure clad in a lighter powder blue and his eyes are wide with fear. The morgue worker and delivery driver had already gone off into the night to complete the rest of the deliveries of bodies to the funeral homes. As soon as he finished locking up and registering the corpses, Mattsukawa was determined to see your hair wind blowing on the rooftops. The blurred vision he sees makes the twenty-seven year old shiver. Even in his line of work, this was the second instance he wanted to save someone. He knew of you: the business woman who was suffering from a similar ailment to him. The belladonna hues from your rebellious highlights enticed him to notice how you seemed a bit off at the coffee house you frequent by the funeral parlour he had been working at.

“Excuse me,” you said, holding on to your mug. Your knuckles were white with tension, so Mattsukawa did something unexpected of himself: he gave you way, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant cafe, he sat directly across from you. The crowd was getting to be a bit noisy, but you and him sat there staring off center, hyper fixating on the number of people sign in either direction.

“Why do you smell like belladonna?” You asked. You had a glance meet you with a harsh smile.

“It’s part of my line of work. I use it to bury the dead at the request for all nameless suiciders that wind up on my table,” Mattsukawa explains. The oils from his embalming course was enough to mimic actual belladonna, but has he noticed from her, it wasn’t coming from just his hands: it was coming from her hair. He asked a question about why you seemed so strung up lately and like a fool, you told him everything which was bothering you. If anything, this man was a silent confession box. He seemed like the genuine article, so when you check for the time, you realize it was time to leave and head back to the office to grab the final jump drive for the presentation. Things at work seemed to have gotten better since the next time you’d see your precious Mattsukawa would be in the next life. You never truly disclosed your name to him, so he made a note call you Bella or Donna (whichever you preferred really). His smile is flirtatiously coy and you felt your cheeks grow a bit warm from the moment he told you his name.

For whatever reason, perhaps Mattsukawa was feeling a bit lucky, he asked you to dinner the day before yesterday. He wanted to know you, truth and all, bruised and damaged as you were, the meds your doctor prescribed were starting to cushion the intrusive thoughts. However that changed the moment you give him a nod, he grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the cafe; gently he squeezes your fingers for reassurance.

“You’ll do great Miss. I believe in you,” Mattsukawa whispers in the last part. The cafe begins to echo again, so you couldn’t hear the last part, but you were sure it was an encouraging word. Mattsukawa was the first person in a long while to give you something so few in your battlefield mind would want (or need): hope.

“Goodbye Mattsukawa.”

With that said, you were gone from the cafe and headed back into the office where a different manager made your life hell because their normal assistant was very organized, but the constant comparison was enough to make your head explode.

Presently, you stand on the ledge, glancing down like a superhero vigilante, but just as you were about to take a dive, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist. The hands are interlocked under your empire waist line and if it wasn’t for the fact your hair was probably in a ponytail prior to this predicament, you’re sure your band was lost to gravity and the wind. You thrashed about in your captor’s arms, not realizing this person was about to save you from an awful mistake.

You see, Mattsukawa Issei is a funeral employee; he dresses sharply like an agent of the Grim Reaper. He is suave and debonair; he loves watching the life cycles of the various flower arrangements in his mentors stores go throughout the seasons. His heart and soul is full of vibrancy you have yet to comprehend; Mattsukawa was always a strong individual and you could ask anyone of his friends in school what kind of person he was. So, what made you so different? Sure you were stressed out, anybody could see that, but Mattsukawa picked up on the depressive aura you emanated. Did he really want to sit in front of you that afternoon? Sure; it was mainly because he couldn’t shake this feeling ever since you were ahead of him in line to order that he was supposed to meet you here (even if you were at your lowest post appointments at the business office downtown).

You struggle to let go, but the owner of these hands does not wish to loosen their grip on you; you ask twice kindly to be left alone and the soft ortund tone of the stranger’s voice from the cafe stops you from thrashing about further.

He tumbles back and lands on his arse with you sitting on his lap, pressed against his broad chest. His sleeves from the black oxford shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and his hands still are in an interlocked position. Mattsukawa has seen some pretty fucked up causes of death recently, yet this time, he wanted to save you, not bury you. He wants to see you tomorrow night at dinner in the diner close to his loft; he wants you to understand maybe death isn’t all that grand and if you struggle with your mind everyday, he wishes to someday be of importance to you. You’re in charge of your own autonomous decisions, yet Mattsukawa wants you to give him a chance to prove to you that love, hope, and for the very fortunate, miracles exist (even if you weren’t shown any).

“You’re sick,” he closes his eyes. Apparently, you pick up on the frown in his voice and somehow, you’re sixth sense of empathy decides not to fight his tonality, but rather when you subconsciously agree and call your mental state one of a landmine, he doesn’t make a fuss. It was a short exam and you realize may be life is worth living for a nano-second. You could have an entire relationship with this man from the cafe in a span of two hours, if that. The fates must have had a wicked sense of humor when pairing either of you to the other: one who works with and around death, the other has an affinity to try and cross into the next life every moment things in the sea turn too rough.

You slowly stop trying to fight him the moment you hear his voice toss in the wind. Instead, you move your hands to hover limply on his, leaning back and letting his breathing calm you. The smell of belladonna from your hair oil wafts through the air. “Suicide is not how I want your story to end.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about or-o-or,” you stammer on. “Perhaps I don’t want to be alive anymore because people keep interfering.”

This causes Mattsukawa’s heart to gain a solid crack. You toss your head back and land harshly against his sternum, causing him to grunt and inhale sharply.

It rips seamlessly to his soul. In the past six to eight years since he entered his chosen profession, he has seen corpses from all ages, the youngest being eight who suffered from a myriad of health issues including Hanahaki because the playground friend in their preschool years was going to be theirs when the time properly came. Mattsukawa, the night he was on duty for the wake, anonymously donated the flowers that would have made the child laugh on wishes. Sure, life does have it’s moments when it tests us, yet he couldn’t wrap his head around the burn out business person from earlier this week, who was now in his arms, safe.

Unintentionally landing on his back with you on top of his chest was not how he had pictured becoming a hero. Just for one night, Mattsukawa Issei, the stern and most silent of the volleyball players in high school, was a hero worthy of saving a life.

“Argh,” he groans.

He coughs quietly away from your face when his hands loosen their hold. You chose to not chastise him about not wearing a sweater in the middle of autumn. After all, this man was the only one who would be daft enough to try and stop you. You curl into him, hiding your face in the satin finish of his dress shirt; you promise to buy him a new one as long as you let him hide your eyes and you break down. You’re crying over the smallest inconvenience and on top of feeling like a burden to the man, you consistently apologize by saying it’s no one’s fault especially his when you catch yourself in your darkest moment.

Mattsukawa listens to your request: with one hand, he covers your left side of your face, the right is patting your hair down, reassuring you that he will console you until the sobs stop and the sniffles remain.

“You’re lucky I live and work not too far from here doll,” he whispers into your hair. You’re calming down as you hiccup the last couple of bubbles of air. You nod in understanding the words he was saying, but you still have your eyes closed to shield himself (and keep your pride intact) when he would peer into your bloodshot ones.

“Don’t worry about me tryin’ anything either. You’ve been through enough tonight. Just let me take care of you for the rest, ok?”

“Mmhm,” you agree. He sits up half way and you rise with him, your eyes ever looking westward until you see one of his handkerchiefs from his back pants pocket dangle in your line of sight. You stifle a laugh, utter a thanks, and begin to dry your face. Mattsukawa, when you were done, doesn’t hold your face anymore, even if it pains him to do so. Your free hand decides for both of you: your left reaches for his and you bring the calloused hand, opened palm, to your cheek. Your skin is soft and sticky from the tears, but if anyone were to ask Mattsukawa what it felt like to save a life, he would humbly point you out in a crowd and say ‘Ask ‘em yourself.’

“I lost sight of the things that brought me joy,” you say quietly. You’re breathing in his cologne and it smells like whiskey sours. The scent grounds you, as you recall your therapist giving you stress-relieving tricks such as naming five to ten things your senses pick up on. Your cheeks feel soft like mochi ice against Mattsukawa’s open palm; you see the neon lights hazily glow in the city below you; and finally, you hear his shirt ruffle against the shell of your ear when you finally calm down.

“Everyone does,” Mattsukawa agrees. “Can you do something for me?”

“Mattsukawa-san,” you said his name and he chuckles in surprise. You remembered his name? This was even better than before. He finds himself falling gently in like with you. The love between long lost friends is what keeps him afloat. Unwillingly, you find yourself amusedly smiling at his tanned skin glowing with a soft hues under his eyes. Was this man blushing?

“Call me Issei or Mattsun,” his voice says when his other hand loops around your waist. He buried his head on your right shoulder.

Tonight you learn that even strong and by your standards of “fine men” do in fact cry. You blink a couple more times and he just cries a mixture of tears he has no control over.

“Mattsun,” you say, voice soft like the breeze sending a boat to sail. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“You could have said you weren’t feeling well if you didn’t want to go out with me,” Mattsukawa jokes, turning his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his tear stricken face to the side. He asks you, if you felt comfortable enough, to just stay still for a moment.

The rooftop rendezvous was not what you had in mind when you came home from clocking out, but considering you were heavily contemplating ending your existence earlier, this one request was not too hard to fulfill. The belladonna in your bronchioles seemed to dislodge itself into your lungs. You stay as still as your companion had asked and you breathe in time together. His curls are soft to the touch and when he relaxes his shoulders when you run a hand through his hair, you feel him grin on the right of your shoulder blades.

Was this what it felt like to be you every hour before you both met at the cafe? This profound sadness doesn’t leave his heart nor does he quite shake the feeling of the leaves of the belladonna flowers taking root in his lungs. The flowers bloomed slowly since his twenty-third birthday were the same ones you dyed your hair for. You’ve been suffering with the hanahaki disease for quite some time, you confess back to him.

“Is that why you were here? Trying to jump?” Mattsukawa asks an innocent inquiry. He seemed like he was about to be scolded for the first time in seven years, yet you thought it was kind of adorable. And so you do something you haven’t done in a very long time: you scoff (although you were sure it was closer to a giggle.

“No,” you reply. “I was contemplating jumping because all my triggers hit at once, so I’ve been in a depressive episode for quite some time before we met.”

“Oh,” Mattsukawa acknowledges. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“…that’s awfully forward of you,” you say. Your pragmatic inner voice says to decline, but there is a mischievous side of his mannerisms, nonetheless you are curious. It is late into the evening already, so perhaps the offer is a better one. After all, you think the change of scenery would do you some good, so you humbly agree.

Roughly an hour later, you find yourself in Mattsukawa’s living room area. Offering his shower to you, you ask if there is something he can lend you. It is an old shirt with his high school cactus logo on it, but the shorts he tosses to you has a VBC and his old number stitched on the back pocket. Mattsukawa hands you a spare towel and tells you how to work the shower in his bathroom. Twenty minutes later, you sit close to the kotatsu even if it’s not too cold outside at the moment, you tend to sleep better underneath one.

Prior to your shower, Mattsukawa-san graciously gave you a small tour of his loft when you arrived. The walk wasn’t too far from the rooftop building and so you two walk side by side until the loft complex came into view. Mattsukawa says hi to the doorman who makes a joke or two about how he had almost pulled another overnight at the funeral home.

“Be careful with that one miss, he’d work himself to death! Ha! Work himself to death,” the doorman says, wiping a faux tear from his eye. You snickered covering your smile with the back of your hand. When you put it to the side of your body, Mattsukawa notices how dazzling your smile is. How would someone who smiles this much at a pun, hold so much carnage of self-doubt and depressive thoughts in their heart? Is that why your flowers and your scent are wrapped in poisonous belladonna? Mattsukawa shakes this thought to the furthest parts of his mind. You’re here now, in the next room, safe under the same roof.

The master bedroom door is opened just a crack once Mattsukawa is half-dressed in his pajama pants, parading around shirtless fetching a glass of water from the kitchen. You were already seated on the barstool peering out the sliding glass door of the patio outside. Jumping was not the way to die for you, you think. Perhaps if you died with love, perhaps you’d have a better chance of reincarnation than you thought. The ambient sounds of the refrigerator and the water spout being used brought you back to hold the gaze of your host for the evening. You made a conscientious decision to cash in on your PTO at your work location for the next two weeks via e-mail. You explain to the HR representative you were feeling burn out and your therapist was working with you to battle the depressive episodes you were going through. The automotive message came back saying someone from the office of internal affairs would look into the chain of command in your division. However, you could care less about work at the moment, since you were enjoying the company of the person who helped kept you tied to this world.

“You like what you see?” Mattsukawa says smoothly. The water glass is placed on the counter in front of you. After graduation from Aoba Josai, running and other kinesthetic stretches were included in his workout regiment. You froze, placing your phone face down to the extreme left of the counter space. The granite glowed in the soft lamp from behind you, casting shadows in the grooves of his muscular features.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you tease. “But I do like the person who saved me from making a huge mistake.”

Mattsukawa nods as he leans forward to rest his chin in his hand.

“I’ll always come running to you Yin,” he gives you a nickname close to the currency your country uses. This causes you to roll your eyes, yet you reassure him it was filled with endearment.

“You sound like you’re going to love me until the day I properly die Mattsun.”

He wasn’t expecting you to climb halfway across the granite counter, stretching your back further parallel to the floor (your feet are balancing your lower half on the chair).

His hand finds its way to the small of your back and he says a quick, “pardon me.” The onyx eyes he owns close and crinkle upward like small crescent moons before you feel his pursed lips press against your forehead.

“You’re safe here,” you hear him say. His warmth is a welcomed blanket of comfort for you; his words are kinder than your own thoughts.

“Will you kiss me properly?” You ask.

“In the morning, first thing,” he answers. “But first, sleep.”

Mattsukawa walks around his counter to keep you from hanging in the balance thus lowering the risk of you falling knees first on the floor.

“Remember how you fell on top of me?” Mattsukawa’s voice is low. You swallow nervously; you affirm that you do. “Good. Now hold on to me sweetheart.”

He leans back against your left side of your suspended body and he wraps an arm around your mid-section and you push off with your elbows. The next thing you are aware of, you are being carried like a drowsy child to the living room where you sit on Mattsukawa’s lap like before. You raise a hand to his smooth face, your fingers tracing the highest points of his features; his eyes flutter close to the sensational spell you are casting; he is about to fall in the in-between of sleep and lucidity when he feels your lips press firmly against his. When you back down, he stops you with one word: “More. One more time.”

You turn your head at an angle the moment you feel his hands turn you around to straddle him more comfortably.

“Better,” you confirm. Your nose teases his own and he languidly looks at you before he pushes your back playfully and your lips meet his again.

You sigh against his lips when your knees come into contact with his cushion; his arms move away from your hips to your ribs. The callouses he earned over the years of playing volleyball in high school memorizes the map of your skin. Together, the aroma of belladonna almost dissipates the pain in your lungs the longer you are breathing in everything the young man in front of you is giving.

This was as brave as you wanted to be right now. You’d be more adventurous months into your new found relationship with your restaurant-cafe rendezvous man. Your hands trace his collar bones before they found their purchase on the sides of his neck.

“I like that,” you say when you are given a chance to catch your breath. Mattsukawa’s hands rest on your love handles again and he pushes you into a loose embrace. Your hair tickles his shoulder when you rest your head against his pectoral.

“I like this too,” he says, running his fingers lightly up and down your spine. “Close your eyes and rest for a while Yin. We can talk about this in the morning, ok?”

You stifle a yawn, agreeing.

A few minutes later, after you are truly asleep, Mattsukawa supports you in his arms and he carries you like a child, careful to support your neck as your legs rest limply above his hips, to his room. He lays you down first and then proceeds to tuck you in; staying above the duvet, he watches over you breathing in and out steadily, the last small petals escaping your lips when you cough softly in your sleep. Mattsukawa stares at the last shriveled one on the corner of your lips and swats it away.

“Pretty angel, don’t scare me like that. I don’t want to lose you,” Mattsukawa reaches over to hold your hand; fingers intertwining around your own and you squeeze his back. “You’ll be alright and I will help you keep nightmares away.”

“Why?” Your voice is laced with sleep. “Why do you want to love me?”

“Because our story is just beginning my love.”

Mattsukawa rubs his thumb over your knuckles and when he lies down further on his bed next to you, he rests a protective arm over your shoulders.

[weresilver]

Recovery

Part 1 - Part 2 (here)

Hello, and welcome to part 2 of whatever this ends up being!

This has been mostly written for a couple of days, just needed to be finished. Which it was. So here we are.

1198 words. Still unbeta'd beyond Grammarly and my own reading.

Two weeks had passed surprisingly quickly, for someone who didn't… Actually have that much to do, all things considered. What he did have to do, though, was actually make the damn call to his parents.

He had some ideas of what he'd hear this time.

"L.A. is too dangerous for Christopher," but never mind the fact that it was a freak incident.

"Texas needs firefighters just as much as California," but never mind the fact that moving out here had been about more than just the job.

"Christopher needs his family," as if Pepa and Abuela weren't family, as if his team hadn't become closer than a lot of his relatives.

"You need someone to take care of you and help with Christopher," as if the controlling tone, no matter how much he knew it came from a place of love, could go unnoticed. As if Carla hadn't been a godsend for three years, as if Buck hadn't been around for three years.

(He knew it would eventually change. He hoped it wouldn't. He would hold onto it until it did.)

And just as Eddie expected, he heard every possible variation of the same old arguments. He thought he was doing a good job of tuning it all out, of not taking it to heart. But then his father spoke up.

"He'll be over this in no time," Ramon said, all smiles in the video frame, truly believing his words. "He's been in the army, Helena, he knows how to deal with this."

His words made his blood run cold. The certainty about something Eddie was learning every night to be the very opposite of his situation.

He considered, for a split second, trying to tell them that no, he really did not know how to handle any of it this time around, that it wasn't even remotely close to the last time he'd been shot. He thought he probably should tell them. He knew he'd told Ana pretty much the same thing that his father was telling them, but he wasn't sure if he believed his own words back then, let alone now.

All he managed to give them was a tight smile and a minute nod.

They asked some more about Christopher, how school was going (and who was taking him), and if he had anything else to tell them beyond the shooting. Like the fact he broke up with the girlfriend that he never told them he had because his heart wasn't in it.

(It wouldn't do any good to put Ana under that scrutiny, and he had no patience for the 'Christopher needs a good mother figure' spiel, which usually became an issue of its own.)

The conversation didn't last much longer, and Eddie let out a groan once it disconnected, leaning his head back against the couch. He loved his parents, truly did, but god, it got tiring extremely quickly on a good day.

(So far, it hadn't been a particularly good day.)

He let his eyes fall close for a moment, taking the deepest breaths he could in order to make the chill in his spine go away.

It wasn't until he felt a warm hand on his uninjured shoulder that he opened his eyes and realized he'd managed to doze off. He was looking straight up at Buck's concerned gaze, a furrow between his brows that, after a beat and in a moment of weakness, Eddie reached out with a finger to rub away.

"I was going to ask if you were okay," Buck said, laughing as he held Eddie's hand away from his face, "But I'm guessing the meds are kicking in, huh?"

He nodded, hoping the heat quickly rising on his cheeks wasn't visible. Buck smiled softly, patting his good shoulder before rounding to the front of the couch and extending a hand to help him up.

"Come on, then."

He'd taken the pain medication before calling his parents, Buck arguing that at least he'd be physically comfortable if nothing else. At least he had that going because he really didn't know why he even let himself hope for a different conversation with them. He wasn't sure why there hadn't been a little more… empathy in their words. It wasn't the same.

Buck helped him get changed without a word, then changed as well, right there beside Eddie. It wasn't a new occurrence, it wouldn't even be the first time Buck ended up sleeping beside him.

They gravitated toward each other on any given day, but the pull was particularly strong on days like this, where one found themself vulnerable, raw and wishing to hide for a while.

Eddie was a little too tired, maybe a little too loopy to deny himself.

He let Buck fluff the pillows (some of which definitely came from Buck's loft), shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Christopher had mentioned that Buck stayed on the couch while he was in the hospital, he was staying on the couch even now, and honestly, that left Eddie… confused.

Why had he opted for the couch when there was a perfectly good bed in the house? Did he think Eddie would be upset? He wouldn't. Not when Buck was doing everything in his power to keep things running smoothly.

Buck was careful, helping him get settled on the bed and letting him shift around until he was comfortable. Before he could move away, though, Eddie grabbed his wrist.

"Stay." He could see, under the surprise of the request, that Buck seemed nervous. Eddie could also see the dark bags under his eyes. "I don't mean just in the house." He'd never kick Buck out, not when he looks most relaxed here. "I mean… here." He gave Buck's wrist a pointed tug. "We've shared before, right?"

"Eddie-"

"You won't hurt me if that's what you're worried about." He gave him a tiny smile, that Buck returned with much trepidation. "You deserve some rest, too." Another tug. "So come take a nap, already."

Buck sighed and relented, moving to the other side of the bed and lying down next to him. For the most part, Eddie just shifted again, trying to turn his body so he could at least see Buck. Sleeping on his back had never been very comfortable, and his sleep was suffering for it.

"You okay?" Buck's voice was low as if it were the middle of the night instead of the afternoon.

Eddie nodded. "I'll be." It was the closest he could get to admitting everything was messed up, actually. The most honest thing he wouldn't say to anyone else, too. But Buck inched closer, resting his forehead against his good shoulder, and Eddie held onto his wrist again. "Get some sleep, Buck."

He felt a huff of air, the closest they would get to laughter at that moment, hit his arm. "I will."

I will. I will be here. I will look after things. After you.

Maybe he was reading too much into things, maybe the meds were messing up his head, but he'd be damned if that wasn't the easiest sleep he had in years.

They'd be okay too.

[misslynn99]

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had  trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side.  You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee  while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were  sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah,  they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

[buckleysjareau]

double vision wrapped in last night’s party clothes

"I have always been honest with you." When Eddie's voice cracks, Buck's composure almost cracks with it. "Why can't you just be honest with me?"

or

When Buck is let in on a long kept family secret, he doesn't know what to do. He almost ruins things with the one person that keeps him from feeling like he's floating away with no way to land, but it ultimately turns out okay with help of a little communication.

for @cirrius-akiyo

Read on AO3

TW; descriptions of anxiety, emetophobia to be safe, car accidents and death of a very minor original character

From the moment he woke up with a pounding headache and an arm wrapped around his waist, Buck knows he fucked up. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, waking up hungover in someone else’s bed, not being able to remember a thing. The feeling of knowing he fucked up, it was nothing new. 

But that wasn’t him anymore. He doesn’t drink until he can’t remember anything except the sensual touch of whoever’s finger tips, not anymore. He doesn’t do one night stands anymore. That was all Buck 1.0. That wasn’t who Buck was anymore, so before even opening his eyes to see what kind of room he’s in and who he’s with, he feels enough shame to make him nauseous. 

Dread consumes him when his eyes flicker open to the all too familiar plaid blankets and the toned, tattooed arm around him. 

Eddie Diaz. Eddie fucking Diaz. Edmundo Diaz. His best friend. His partner. His entirely platonic other half. Oh, fuck. He truly did fuck up. Eddie didn’t do one night stands, ever, so maybe this was an entirely platonic and clothed cuddle. He doesn’t have to freak out just yet. 

Then his eyes fall on his boxers on the floor and—

What the fuck happened? 

He swallows down his need to vomit and winces slightly as he tries to lift Eddie’s arm off of him without waking him up. He can’t believe he’s sneaking out of his best friend’s house, a house that he’s never really felt like a guest in. The thought sends a shock of pain through his heart, realizing how truly bad he fucked up. 

As he quickly and quietly dresses, his phone buzzes on the floor loud enough to make Eddie stir. He cringes and grabs his phone as quick as possible, letting out a breath of relief when Eddie doesn’t wake. 

The second he catches sight of the multiple missed calls and texts notifications on his phone, he freezes as everything comes back to him. 

“Nothing I ever did was good enough… now I know why.”

Bile rises to his throat as everything rushes back to him and he books it out of Eddie’s house, barely making it to his car before he empties his stomach of all the alcohol and absolutely none of the shame. 

He’s in his car and on the road by the time he realizes it’s hard to catch his breath and tears are blurring the road ahead of him. 

Name five things you can see, he hears Eddie’s voice in his head. Eddie is one of the sources of his anxiety right now, but he’d helped the last time so Buck goes through it in his head as he pulls over.

Five things you can see. The red truck he’s parked behind. A woman walking her dog. House with pink shutters. Halloween decorations. The pool in someone’s backyard. 

Four things you can feel. His steering wheel vibrating under his hands.  The air from his vents. Sweat soaking his back. His head against the headrest.

Three things you can hear…

By the time he’s through with listing things, he can breathe normally and his vision is cleared enough to drive the rest of his way home. He’s not very religious, but he prays that no one is waiting for him when he enters his apartment.

His heart clenches when his phone buzzes with a text from Eddie and shuts his phone off before he can see what he had to say. 

“Buck? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at Chimney’s with your parents?” 

Before Eddie can ask anymore questions, Buck shakes his head. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“You came here for a beer?” Eddie asked incredulously, eyebrows raised. 

“I was thinking something stronger.”

-

His head pounds as he makes his way into the station, a half hour before his shift, and he immediately wants to leave.  He knows Eddie is going to walk in any minute now, and Chimney, too. He doesn’t know if he can look at either of them right now. 

“You knew?” Buck spits out at Chimney, the betrayal he’s feeling so strong he steps back as if he was physically struck. 

“Buck—” 

“No… don’t…” 

“Have a good morning, Buck?” Bobby asks as Buck enters the loft. What does he know?

“Why?” He asks defensively, causing his captain to sit up a little straighter with his eyebrow raised. 

“You okay?” 

“There’s something I need to show you…”

“What is this? Who is this?”

“Evan…”

“Yeah, of course.” He tries to smile but he knows it’s a grimace. He’s usually okay at faking smiles and acting like everything is fine when it’s not, but now absolutely nothing is okay, he realizes. Everything that he found comfort in when things were falling apart has been tainted by this secret now.

Chimney had known something about Buck that he hadn’t known about himself and continued to look him in the eyes like he wasn’t keeping something huge. He feels nauseous all over again at the thought of seeing him today, and he’s not even mad, he’s just hurt. 

Eddie should be walking in right about now and Buck’s heart is in his throat when he hears footsteps coming up the stairs and he’s just not ready for the Eddie confrontation so he’s the tiniest bit relieved when it’s Chimney instead. 

“Oh, thank God you’re alive,” is not what he expects to come out of Chimney’s mouth but Buck’s heart clenches in a way that hurts.

“I told him because I was trying to protect you,” 

“That doesn’t make it any better!” 

Eddie just reaches the top step when Bobby starts the beginning of shift announcements and Buck thanks his lucky stars that there wasn’t time for a confrontation between announcements and chore assignments. 

He looks up for one second to meet Eddie’s eye before averting eye contact in less than a second. 

“Buckley, you’re with me on getting lunch started!” 

He’s relieved he’s not with Eddie or Chimney, but he has a feeling he knows why Bobby is assigning him to lunch duties, and that was so he could pry whatever out of him. He’d done it a few times, and normally Buck didn’t mind but this wasn’t something he wanted to even admit, let alone tell his Captain about it.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door!” His dad’s voice boomed around the apartment, reminding him of all of the times talks about his grades and his future turned into screaming matches. 

“Buck!” His head snaps up at the sound of Bobby’s voice.

“Yeah?”

Bobby gestures with his eyes at his hand that was currently covered in the tomato he didn’t realize he was squishing in his hands. 

“Oh.” 

Bobby clears his throat from behind Buck as he rinses off his hands. “Alright, what’s going with you? Where’s your head at? Is it the bomb threat call that’s got you so bothered?”

Buck shakes his head. “It’s nothing, Bobby.”

“It’s not nothing, Buck. Is it your parents?” Bobby knows he’s onto something when Buck tenses. “You don’t have to talk to me about it but you do have to let me know if you’re not in the headspace to—”

The alarm blares and Buck jumps into action before Bobby can even finish his sentence. He’s fine to go out on calls, he has to be, he cannot sit there at the station with the storm that’s raging in his head. He needs to do the one thing he can’t fuck up.

Bobby gives him a look as he gears up but he just gives him a thumbs up and hops into the truck.

Eddie is across from him, trying to meet his eye yet again but Buck continues to stare out the window. He knows he’s being a coward, he does, but his stomach drops whenever he thinks of meeting Eddie’s eyes, dreads seeing the ‘it was a mistake' eyes. He dreads seeing the inevitable. 

“What do you want, Buck?” Eddie pants above him, eyes dark and searching.

“Make me forget.” He sounds desperate and he is, he’s desperate to forget and he’s desperate for Eddie. 

“Make you forget what?” 

“Just make me forget, please, Eddie. Please.”

“Will you look at me?” Eddie’s voice filters in through the headset. 

Buck takes a deep breath in and releases it before he looks to Eddie. Brown eyes meet his blue and Buck immediately sees the frustration in the way his eyebrows scrunch, but he can also see the fear and he did this.

“Are we okay?” 

The grimace returns. “Of course, Eds, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You left before–”

“Buck… please don’t leave. We can talk about this.”

“You didn’t talk about it for twenty-nine years, why do we have to talk about it now?”

“Buck, let’s go!” Hen shouts as she shuts the door and Buck really needs to get in the right head space because if Bobby benches him now, after quite literally everything in his life is falling apart, he might not be able to recover from this.

His heart is beating erratically as he uses the K-12 to get the door off of the T-boned car, Eddie by his side with the Jaws. The girl in the driver’s seat, probably not even eighteen yet,  is hysterical and Eddie tries to calm her down but the door won’t budge with just the Jaws. 

Her screams get louder the second the door is pulled off and when a name tears through her gut wrenching sobs, Buck notices Hen about three feet away giving CPR to a middle aged woman. 

“Julia!” 

“Ma’am, I need you to stay still for me while I get this on you,” Eddie’s controlled tone echoes through Buck’s ears.

“Please don’t let her die, please, this is my fault!” 

Buck swallows the lump in his throat before he focuses his full attention on the girl. “Miss, listen to me,” he tries so she won’t turn her head to him. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Samantha.” She chokes out but it seems like she’s calming down enough for Eddie to put the C-Collar on while Chimney keeps her head stabilized. “Please, you have to save her, she–”

She starts shaking her head again, as best as she can between Chimney’s hands and Buck is so worried she’s going to cause more possible damage to her spine so he blurts out the first thing he can think of to keep her calm. “Tell me about Julia.”

“What? You have to save her.”

Buck sighs. “We’ve got the best paramedic in the LAFD working on her right now, okay? Can you tell me about her?”

Samantha sniffles. “I- I don’t know anything about her. She’s my b-birth-” she chokes on a sob. 

“She’s my birth mother.”

“Maddie… who is this?”

“It’s you… with your birth mother.”

Of fucking course. 

His heart stutters a beat before his eyes glance up at Chimney in the back and meets his eye before focusing his attention back on Samantha who’s still talking. 

“...and I was just giving her a ride home. I thought that was the nice thing to do and now she’s dead. She gave me life and I killed her!”

“Hey, no, you didn’t kill her. This isn’t your fault.” Buck promises vehemently, because he can. The accident wasn’t her fault, it was the drunk driver who had T-boned them and tried to flee the scene. 

“I… I found the records when I was cleaning out the garage during quarantine. My parents don’t even know I was meeting with her and I should have listened to them because she’s-she’s-”

“It’s okay, Samantha. We’re getting you out of here now.” Buck keeps his tone calm and controlled even though his emotions are tearing him apart from the inside out. 

They get her on the ambulance when Bobby calls it on Julia. Hen falls back to sit on her haunches and defeatedly sighs, wiping the sweat away from her head.

-

Buck feels numb. 

The ride back to the station is one big blur and before he knows it, he’s out of his gear and walking to the locker room when he’s stopped.

By Chimney.

“Buck, can we please talk?” 

Buck clenches his fists and takes in a deep breath before shaking his head. “No.”

“Buck, c’mon–”

“I can’t right now, man. I said no.” He starts off weak, his voice catching, but ends strong. Putting his foot down. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when he hears Chimney walking away. He grabs his work out clothes from his locker and slams the locker door shut, too many emotions coursing through him that needed to be let out somehow. 

The punches to the bag start slow, controlled, but soon, the hurt takes over. The anger takes over. 

A particularly hard swing echoes through the station, following the growl that rips loose from his throat. Buck pays no attention to the footsteps sounding from the staircase behind him.

He gives a quick glance at Eddie as he plants himself against the wall to the side of Buck but leaves it at that and continues to swing. 

“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you, Buck?” Eddie’s voice is tinged with concern, frustration, and desperation and Buck doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what to say, how to get the words out. Like Dr. Copeland pointed out, he hides his true feelings from people and he thinks nothing’s ever been more true. 

“Nothing’s going on, Eddie.” 

Eddie huffs. “Right. You promised me we’d talk last night and then when I woke up, you were gone.”

“Eds, please, hurry up. Make me-”

“Forget, yeah, I got you, Buck. Just… promise me we’ll talk after?”

“I had plans with Chimney.” He huffs out the lie.

“Really? That’s funny, because Chimney says he hasn’t seen you since last night.” Eddie’s voice raises just a little but it’s enough to make Buck freeze. He blinks, takes off the gloves, and turns to leave. How hypocritical he is, talking about how everyone always leaves, when here he is, literally running away from every little problem.

He makes it to the locker room before he realizes Eddie followed him.

“If you think it was a mistake then please just tell me instead of lying to me and shutting me out.” 

The hurt in Eddie’s voice is so strong Buck completely freezes. When he goes to take in a deep breath, it gets caught in his throat and he can’t bring himself to move or try again. 

“I have always been honest with you.” When Eddie’s voice cracks, Buck’s composure almost cracks with it. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

The tears Buck tried to keep in started to fall and he should really breathe, he’s getting dizzy, he should breathe but he’s scared of the sound that’s going to come when he tries. 

“Buck.”

The sob erupts from the back of his throat before he can stop it and the force of it has him gasping for a breath he can’t quite catch. 

“Shit, Buck?” He hears before Eddie’s in front of him. “Hey, man, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just, talk to me, Buck.”

Another breath gets caught in his throat and the only thing Buck can think to do is bring his shaking hand up to his chest as if he could rub away the agony. 

Eddie goes to catch him before he even realizes he’s keeling over, his hand still trying to clutch at his chest, and Buck can only imagine how scary this must seem to Eddie. He tries to calm himself down for the sake of Eddie but breaths just keep getting stuck. 

“Is this another panic attack or is something else going on, Buck? Do I need to call Hen and Chimney down here? 9-1-1?” He can tell Eddie’s trying not to panic for the sake of not freaking Buck out even more.

“Don’t g-g-get Chimney,” He stutters out, he can barely get the words out of his mouth. “I- I don’t need med-medic-medical attention.”

Once Eddie believes that Buck is just overwhelmed, he jumps right into the only grounding exercise that ever seems to work for Buck and once he can feel something other than the mind-numbing pain that came along with the secret, he turns to apologize.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you already know this.” Eddie reassures.

Buck shakes his head. “No… I’m sorry for leaving. I just, Eddie, I- I love you, and I felt like I’d just messed up the only place I’d felt at home in. Everything came rushing back and- and I couldn’t face it when I was being forced to face everything else. I’m sorry.”

Eddie smiled as Buck admitted he loved him, cheeks tinged pink, but listened intently to the rest.

“Hey, you didn’t mess up anything. I love you, too, Buck. So much. You’re always going to have a place in our home, last night didn’t change that. I actually kind of thought it solidified that, but I guess I didn’t do too great of a job showing you just how much you belong there.”

The knowledge that Eddie loves him back both thrills and scares him. 

“Eddie. I-I, you have to know, I’m not ready for anything ri-right now. I love you, shit, I love you so much. I’m just a mess right now and I don’t even know who I am, not anymore, not ever and I feel like I’m just floating with no way to land and I can’t… put that on you. I can’t- I mean, before I came to you last night…”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can talk through everything later. I’ve still got your back, ready or not.” He sees Eddie hesitate and the nausea comes back. Please don’t take it back. “Can you tell me why you came to me in the first place?”

It’s tense, quiet for a minute, as Buck decides to tell his best friend, his person, the secret that came into his life like a bomb to blow up everything he thought he knew about himself and his life.

“They told me I was adopted.” 

It’s so quiet in there, he could practically hear the crickets chirp. Though, he’s pretty sure that might be his heart.

“I, wow, Buck.” He clears his throat. “I don’t even know what to say. What can I do? To help, I mean.”

Buck, ever the one to deflect, smirks sadly at Eddie’s wording. “There he is.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been too good with your words, I was starting to think alien possession made its way into our 2020.” He snorts. 

Eddie feigns offense. “Man, you know when it comes to you, I’ve almost always been good with words. You, on the other hand?” 

“Hey now,” Buck tries to fight back the first real smile since his parents had gotten into town, but gives up fighting it. “To answer your question, you’ve already done the only thing that can help me now.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“You stayed.”

[homebody-nobody]

close my eyes and jump

I did it I wrote fanfic for a children’s show about ghosts because i have add and it was either this or slam my head against my environmental engineering homework until i finished it or it finished me. Anyway, please read this idk i think it’s cute (also pls give me ur thoughts in the tags/reblogs/comment on ao3 I crave that sweet sweet feedback) ---------- There’s been no time for them to talk about it, barely any time for her to even think about it. Their immediate next concern was Caleb and the stamp draining the life from her boys -- her band, her second family. Also, she couldn’t touch him before and something -- anything -- it felt impossible, too absurd to even consider. But now, he’s solid in front of her, tangible under her hands, his fingers tucked between hers. And that… that changes things.  -------- ao3 ------

“This is still so weird,” Julie says on a half-chuckle as Luke’s hands hover above hers. They’re sitting on the couch in the studio, facing each other, legs crossed and feet tucked under. Their knees are touching, as are a good portion of their lower legs, and, for a ghost, Luke is surprisingly warm, the heat of him seeping through the layers of fabric and spreading over her skin. Alex and Reggie fell asleep hours ago, the latter draped across a beanbag in the loft, the former with his head on the pillow he kept in his kick drum as a muffler.

Julie had barely noticed when the other two boys had drifted away and fallen asleep. After they’d discovered that the boys were solid, they’d collapsed onto the couch in a pile, reveling in the feeling of weight and warmth. She ended up tucked under Luke’s arm, her back pressed to his chest, Alex fully in her lap, Reggie leaning up against Luke’s legs, none of them wanting to let go. They talked and laughed and made plans and Julie’s heart ached when she realized that these boys -- her boys -- had just faced death a second time and were still fighting for their dreams. She went quiet with the heavy understanding, and Luke, talking to Reggie, traced his fingertips up and down her arm, holding her tighter to him. She tucked her face into his shoulder and inhaled the smell of him, flannel and old spice, paper and echoes, unsure of how he could feel so solid and real against her but reveling in the moment. 

Her dad had come in at some point, and she’d gone in and had a snack while he gushed about her performance and told her how proud he was of her. She’d changed for bed for appearances sake, but as soon as she heard his bedroom door close, she was sneaking back down the stairs and out to the garage. 

Now, with the other members of their band passed out (ghosts didn’t technically need sleep, but it still feels nice and helps them retain a routine), Julie and Luke play a game Julie’s dad taught her and Carlos to waste time in line at Disney World when they went when Julie was eleven. Julie flips her hands up and slaps the back of Luke’s with frightening efficiency, and he laughs, pretending to be hurt before they switch places. She’s pretty sure he keeps letting her win just to feel her hands on his. 

“Good weird or bad weird?” he asks, as he wiggles his fingers and Julie jerks her hands back, giggling. 

“Okay, so maybe not weird,” she relents, settling her hands back above his, but closer this time, so her fingertips are just brushing the heels of his palms. The light brush of skin sends goosebumps up her arms that have nothing to do with Luke being a ghost. “Different,” she settles, her eyes darting back to their game when she looks up to see him staring at her. 

“Different good, or --” he says, making an attempt, biting his lip when Julie’s too fast for him. “Different bad?” Their palms are touching now, and Luke’s fingers are long enough to brush her wrist. His hands are so much bigger than hers, strong and nimble with years of practice dancing across steel strings, fingertips so callused they’re practically numb. He drags them across her palm, until the pads of her fingers hook on his, and she curls their hands together. 

“Different good,” she says, the words rushing out on an unintentional breath. Luke knows her voice well enough to hear that it’s sitting higher in her chest, like when she’s reaching for one of her earth-shattering notes, or -- he realizes, with a sheepish smile he has no chance of keeping off his face -- when she’s nervous. Julie twists her fingers in his, pushing them up until they’re palm to palm, pressed together. Her hands are small in comparison, the same short fingers and wide palms as her mom, a pianist’s worst nightmare, but she makes it work, and makes it work well. 

She’s so warm, and soft, and he never wants to stop touching her. 

“That would be kind of difficult,” she says, “with school and everything.” Luke swallows hard, realizing he said that out loud. 

“No one would see me,” he jokes, keeping his tone light but maybe half-serious. They both keep their eyes on their hands, twisting and tracing and intertwining before pressing together again. If he looks at her, he’s not going to be able to not kiss her, and since he’s not totally sure where she stands on that and his impulse control is historically a little iffy, he’ll stay in safe territory “I won’t even trip Nick.” 

She scoffs. “Yeah, cause I believe that.” 

“What?” he laughs, “I’ll be nice,” He ducks his head and leans into the next sentence, a movement that seems instinctual rather than planned, and even for such a beautiful boy, such a gifted performer, he’s still gawky and lanky and seventeen, still just a kid. “I promise.” But he’s biting the inside of his cheek, and Julie knows if she had the courage to meet his eyes, they’d be twinkling with the kind of mischief that always leads to something ridiculous. 

They lapse into silence, and while it’s not uncomfortable, it’s not easy, either. It’s -- weighted. After Julie rejected Nick -- which, she remembers on a sharp inhale, he does not know about -- and went to go visit Luke’s parents, and their conversation after… There’s been tension between them. If she’s being honest, there’s been tension since the garage party, since she hasn’t been able to get the way he looked at her out of her head, the way she hums the guitar riff when she knows she’s alone, the way she remembers his eyes flickering between hers and her lips. 

There’s been no time for them to talk about it, barely any time for her to even think about it. Their immediate next concern was Caleb and the stamp draining the life from her boys -- her band, her second family. Also, she couldn’t touch him before and something -- anything -- it felt impossible, too absurd to even consider. But now, he’s solid in front of her, tangible under her hands, his fingers tucked between hers. And that… that changes things. 

“Speaking of Nick,” Julie says, before she loses the courage to do so. 

He stops fiddling with her fingers and leans, just barely, out of her space. Luke is always bouncing, twitching, bouncing his leg, twiddling with something, chewing on a guitar pick -- the boy never sits still; but, he holds her hands still in his lap, and that’s how she knows he’s really listening, every inch on him edge, waiting for what she has to say. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, barely. 

“He asked me out.” The air goes out of him at once, and even the warmth of him seems to pull away. He’s not looking at her, but she watches the shutters close in his eyes, blinds coming down over the light and joy that had been pouring out of him all night. And then, she takes a breath. “I said no.” 

His eyes snap up to hers, and brown gets lost in grey-green, and he thinks, one out of countless times, that nothing is as warm and soft as Julie’s eyes. “You --” He swallows, and licks his lips, and has to take another half a breath when she watches him do it. “But I thought --” 

She shrugs. “He asked me if I liked somebody else, and…” Julie thinks back to the conversation, watching herself reject the boy she’d liked since middle school, Luke’s smile in her mind’s eye the whole time. “It felt wrong to let him get his hopes up when --” Luke readjusts, his sunshine-smile creeping out as he realizes what she’s talking about. She likes him. She likes him!! Gripping her hands tighter, his shift brings him closer to her, and as he nears, her brain short-circuits, throwing out the rest of her sentence to focus on his eyelashes, long and dark, every single one of her (few) functioning brain cells wondering how they don’t tangle together when he blinks. 

“When?” he prompts, and he’s leaning closer, putting his lips right there but making it her choice, even pulling their hands out of the way so he can angle himself closer to her. 

“When I…” But how is she supposed to finish a sentence when he’s so close she can feel his breath across her face, making her shiver, and how do ghosts have breath but now’s not really the time to care about that because he’s dragging his thumb over the first knuckle of her index finger and he’s so warm and close and real that it doesn’t matter that he’s dead and she’s not and it doesn’t matter what Flynn says and it doesn’t matter if this makes sense because she’s wanted to kiss him for so long and now she can and he’s right there. 

If Luke had a heartbeat, it would be racing as he waits for Julie to finish her sentence or maybe pull back or maybe even slap him for assuming what he’s doing is anywhere near okay, and the seconds drag on like hours as he watches her eyes and she watches his lips. This feels kind of like the end of their performance at the garage party, except then it was harmless because nothing could happen, not when they were in front of her family and all her friends, not when he couldn’t touch her. It feels kind of like when they got back from his parents house, when he felt like his chest was going to explode and he was going to finally tell her exactly how he felt about her, but then her hand phased through his, and Caleb’s jolt struck down any chance of anything happening at all. 

But now they’re finally alone, and he can touch her, and she’s so close and he used to think that he knew what it felt like to hope with his whole chest, when it was still 1995 and he was chasing his dreams with his two best friends, but that was nothing compared to now, with this strong, intelligent, talented, powerhouse of a girl in front of him, that he cares about so much, that he hopes against hope feels the same way about him. 

And just when it feels like the clock has ticked down too many times, and the moment starts to wean, and panic starts to settle in Luke’s chest, Julie surges up to meet him. She disentangles her fingers from his and holds his face to hers, her kiss fierce and passionate and unrelenting, the same way she does everything else. 

Luke holds one of her hands against his face, trying not to let his smile break contact, feeling like no song he ever writes will really capture how it feels to kiss her, to have her holding on to him like a lifeline, the way their lips move together in the same kind of harmony that makes their music so special. Before she reached him, she was hoping he couldn’t feel how nervous she was, how badly she didn’t want to mess this up, hoped that he wouldn’t be able to tell she'd never kissed anyone before. But now he’s kissing her back, and it feels so easy, so natural, like singing with him, push and pull, give and take, letting him lift her up, pushing closer and pulling him across the stage, pulling him down on top of her as she lays back on the couch. 

He pulls back as they situate themselves, Julie on her back, Luke mostly above her but keeping his weight off her by putting himself mostly between her and the back of the couch. Her lips are shining and the most perfect pink, her fingers twisted in his hair. He feels like he could fly, if she asked him to. She lets out half a nervous chuckle, the same one that always slips out just after the boys disappear from the stage. “I --” she tries “was that -- I mean --” 

Looking at her, Luke doesn’t think he could answer her question, even if she finished it. He should be used to surprises with Julie, at this point. First, finding out that she could sing, and then that she was such a talented writer, and then such a good friend, and now, not only that she likes him, but that she can kiss like that. 

“Was that okay?” she finally manages, and Luke’s mind is so thoroughly blown that the only thing he can do is kiss her again, one arm propping him up, the other hand on her waist, and her hands in his hair, holding him close to her. 

It’s so easy to lose himself in her, and he doesn’t know how long it is before he pulls away again. “So okay,” he says, dropping his face to press it into her neck. “Way better than okay,” he goes on, pressing small kisses there in rapid succession that make her giggle and squirm out from under him. He drops to his side and she wiggles so that she’s facing him, his arm under her head, his other hand on her hip, her fingers loosely curled in the front of his shirt. The world feels quiet and warm and just for the two of them, like they can’t hear Reggie snoring from the loft or hear the cars passing occasionally on the residential street, their headlights throwing shadows across the walls and ceiling. 

“I’m glad it was --” she laughs again, and it’s better than any music he’ll ever make. “Way better than okay,” she goes on, dropping her voice to mimic him poorly. 

He doesn’t rise to the bait like he usually does, knowing she’s still nervous and unsure, desperate to set it right before they can hide behind their humor and teasing once more. “Julie,” he says, and the sound of her name seems to pull her even closer, like the word has its own gravitational pull coming out of his mouth. “You’re beautiful, and smart, and so talented.” She blushes and chuckles and pushes her forehead into his shoulder. Lifting his hand up, he pushes her face back gently, so he can look into her eyes as he speaks. “You’re incredible,” he says, realizing how much he means it when the weight of it spills out of his chest. The next words are automatic. “And I --” 

He stops, shocked with himself, and her eyes get big, and if he wasn’t already dead he might wish for it, embarrassment and regret pushing their way up his throat as he realized what he was about to say. It’s too much for her, and too soon, he knows, and he never should have opened his mouth, never should have kissed her, never should have initiated any of this, because he’s dead and she’s not, and the afterlife is such an unpredictable thing that they don’t have any sort of future, and he can’t love her and leave her, not when she’s already lost so much. Inhaling, he opens his mouth, ready to apologize or just blunder his way through too many words without accomplishing much at all, but Julie says something before he can. “Really?” 

His eyes return to hers, and that gaze feels like home, blowing all of his worries away with one blink. He doesn’t understand how it’s so easy to think until he looks at her. He can plan to say so much, have entire explanations prepared and then those big, brown eyes settle on him and he’s so mesmerized he can’t remember a single thing he was about to say. He breathes in a shaky inhale, and nods. She crushes herself against him, her head under his chin, her forehead pushed against his collarbone, her wild hair itching his face. He wraps his arms around her, so deeply grateful that he can do that now, that he can hold her and put a boundary around whatever feels too big for her to handle by herself. 

She heaves a stuttering breath before pulling back and meeting his eyes. “I --” she stutters, “Um --” and then, biting down a shy smile. “Me too.” 

And then, again, joy explodes in his chest and he’s kissing her again, flipping himself underneath her. They’re both smiling too much for it to feel exactly like a kiss, so he just pulls her to him and holds her, and she closes her eyes, her ear pressed to his chest, one arm tucked under his shoulder and the other pressed around his waist. 

They stay like that for a long time before Julie starts to feel herself dropping off, and when she whispers that she should get back inside so she can sleep in her bed, Luke asks her to stay, just until the sun rises. So she adjusts into a more comfortable position, laying on her side but mostly on top of him, her head directly over where his heart would be, her face tilted up so her nose brushes the hollow of his throat. One of his arms is around her, the other holding her hand on his chest. They kiss for a while, slow and tentative, learning each other, until she can’t keep her eyes open, and he traces his fingers over her back in shapes that just might be lyrics. As she drifts in the space just between waking and dreams, a heartbeat echoes faintly in her ear, steady and slow -- just real enough that she knows it isn’t her imagination.