Tags: The ghost of you AU, Angst, Major character death, Grief, Loss, World War 2, War, Violence, Hurt no comfort, 1940s, Gunshot wounds
Summary: Michael is your husband and tomorrow morning he leaves for war, promising his return.
A/N: This fic has been sitting around FOREVER, i started last april then fell off writing it around august. Im really proud of it lol i put in a lot of effort and research to make it as accurate as possible but there might be some stuff wrong. I cried proof-reading this so good luck soldiersđ«Ą
There was a certain buzz in the air of the dive bar tonight. It was busier than usual and much louder - the men laughing and drinking as if they werenât being sent off to die tomorrow.
You were gathered around the bar with your husband Michael, his brother Gerard and their friends Raymond, Robert and Frank. You were friendly with the men but you made sure to stay close to Michael. They knocked back their drinks quickly and irresponsibly and let out a rowdy cheer when somebody offered to buy the next round. You however, didnât plan on drinking that night - honestly you didnât know how they were all so calm and comfortable.
The idea of being shipped off to war had always unsettled you - of course - but now that it was your husband at stake, you were more frightened than ever. When he was drafted Michael had insisted that he had to go - that itâd be an honour and heâd be disgraced if he didnât - you begrudgingly agreed but you couldnât shake that terrifying thought of losing him. You almost wouldnât have cared if he was shunned for it, that stuff didnât matter to you, all you wanted was to start a family and grow old with him.Â
But for tonight, you choked down your discomfort and tried to enjoy your night, The bar was hot and sticky from the sheer amount of people out for a last hurrah and the strong scent of ale and cigarettes filled your nostrils. It really wasnât your scene but at least you were with Michael. Each time you began to grow a little uncomfortable, you were met with a familiar squeeze from his hand on your waist - letting you know he was with you.Â
As you swivelled your head to gaze up at him, you were met with that sweet tight lipped smile you loved so dearly and his loving eyes admiring you. As you saw all that you had, you saw all you could lose. He mustâve sensed your fearful thoughts as he shook his head slightly, dismissing the idea in that tiny gesture and planting a gentle kiss onto your forehead to soothe your swarming mind. As he returned to his conversation, you felt a little better, leaning your head on his shoulder and relaxing into the flow of the night.
As Frank told another hilarious anecdote from his time at school, the group erupted into laughter. Subconsciously, you glanced at Michael, almost to check whether he found it funny before you decided to laugh. To your surprise, you caught each otherâs eye which was enough to send you both into a fit of laughter. You hadnât had fun like this in such a long time, giggling together like the kids you once were. Things had gotten a little serious after you married Michael - with his mother pushing you both to start a family and his shitty job that hardly paid enough to sustain the two of you (let alone a little one.) Of course, Michael held and comforted you through it all, but in this moment, you were just those high school sweethearts, young, in love and you were just as crazy about each other as the day you met. Times like this showed you that your little crush on him never really died.
As the bar quietened down a bittersweet feeling hung in the air and you were sure you werenât the only one to sense it. Loud cackles turned to mellow chuckles, every conversation reminiscing on circumstances far happier than the current and comfortable silences just appreciating the company. Robert and Raymond were the first to leave, as they headed home to their wives who didnât feel like showing up - understandably so. Not long after, you and Michael decided to head home too, leaving Gerard and Frank in the bar.
The cool air brushed over you as you strolled down the road - Michaelâs warm hand held tightly in yours. At first you welcomed the breeze as it soothed your sweating discomfort from the sweltering bar, but it wasnât long before the chill began to bite at you sending a sharp shiver down your spine. Without a single word, Michael released your hand to slip off his jacket and drape it over you. He always knew exactly what you needed. âWhy didnât he know you needed him to stay?â Your mind began to spiral but you pushed away the notion. Your heart couldnât fathom his abandonment but your better judgement understood his position. You spent the rest of the walk home in silence, trying not to let the harrowing thoughts flood your eyes and gripping Michaelâs hand tighter as tears threatened to spill.
When you arrived home, Michael took his coat off of you to hang it on a peg as you felt the warm, homely air soothe over your chilly arms. The two of you stood frozen in the doorway, you gazed up at him, trying to soak up every detail of the face of that man you loved so deeply. The longer your eyes lingered over him, the harder it was to hold back tears.Â
Michael admired you with a sorrowful look in his eye, noticing the wells filling in your waterline and your quivering jaw. He brought his hand up to your face, smoothing his thumb over your cheek in an attempt to subdue your weeping. His warm touch always made you feel so safe and secure - your defensive walls almost immediately came crashing down as you collapsed into his chest in a heap of sobs. You couldnât hold anything back anymore, your loud wails muffled into his now tear stained shirt as he stroked your hair and rested his head upon yours.
âHey, hey, whatâs the matter sweetheart?â He asked, worried. You couldnât even bring yourself to form any words, but he knew exactly what the matter was. The most you could manage was a sequence of incoherent babbles. âShh Darlinâ its okay, its gonna be alright, I promiseâ He continued to shower you with comfort and reassurance, holding you through your cries. He noticed the way you winced every time he made a promise that you both knew he couldnât keep. You noticed how he sounded like he didnât believe a word he was saying, and how he tried to disguise his own sadness as it seeped through in choked breaths and stifled sniffles.Â
After a while, your cries plateaued out - more out of exhaustion than anything else. Michael planted a kiss on the top of your head and cradled your face with both hands, bringing your head up to look at him. âLetâs get to bed hm?â He said in a low, gentle whisper and you nodded weakly in response as he wiped the tears from your face and led you to the bedroom.
You readied yourself for bed and settled comfortably curled against Michael as he cradled you in his arms. You thought about how selfish you were being, letting him comfort you as if it were you who was being shipped off to war in a matter of hours. Your crying had calmed considerably as youâd collected your thoughts and you managed to speak your first real sentence since you had arrived home.
âIâm worried Mikes.â You mumbled, still sniffling and you could hear your heartbreak in your voice. Michael was taken aback by the nickname, you hadnât called him that since high school. A few seconds of silence lingered, as he stroked over your hair and tried to form another comforting response.
A simple âI know moonshine...â was all he could muster, trying not to fill your head with any more rickety promises and false fragments of hope. Heâd never told you why he called you that - he spoke the endearment with such admiration for you and it rolled over his tongue like silk. He only called you moonshine when times were particularly tough and emotional, it always brought such a warm rush of easement over you and you couldnât place why. You didnât even know the origin behind it but you knew it meant you were everything to him.
As if he could read your mind, he softly asked âYâknow why I call you that?â You hummed no, gently shaking your head. âBecause your like my moon sweetheart...â You were a little confused by the sentiment.
âIsnât the one you love supposed to be your sun?â you countered.
âThe sun is for everyone to love, when you see the moon in the day, it feels extra special and you canât help but stare. Plus youâre my light in the dark Y/n, I love youâ You were in complete awe of his words, always stunned by how much he loved you. You wanted to shower him with kisses and keep him by your ear forever so he could speak his sweet words to you all the time. Your chest fluttered painfully with adoration for him. If you could make it so this night would never end - despite your sadness - youâd do it in a heartbeat.
âI love you too Mikes, I donât know what Iâm gonna do without youâ you said, voice tear stained.Â
âItâll be okay darlinâ, theyâre saying weâll be home by Christmasâ uncertainty wandered around his words and he could tell you caught it. With a heavy sigh he continued, âListen⊠when you start to miss me late a night, just look up at the moon, okay? Iâll be looking up at the same one... I promiseâÂ
The beaming sun glazed over the vast lawn, warming your chilly arms from the wind. The grass grew a vibrant green, littered with the yellow of dandelions. The garden was slightly unkempt, wildflowers growing all around and moss coating the stepping stones. The pond at the back of the garden was a green-blue colour due to the algae that had amassed within and you could see small flecks of orange and gold swimming around.
The faint sound of a wind chime tickled over your ears, the noise was a soothing contrast to the playful giggles running around the garden. Hopping along the trail of moss-cushioned slabs were two children. A girl - no more than five years old - her hair was braided into pigtails with precision and tied off with two pink ribbons, she wore a teacup dress in a matching pink paired with thick white stockings and a pair of Mary Jane shoes, adorably small for her tiny little feet. And a boy - taller than the girl and seemingly a few years older - his knee length shorts were held up by suspenders that sat on the shoulders of his tucked in button up, he wore glasses with wire frames and had his hair gelled neatly just like Michael had when he was younger.
The two frolicked around the garden, chasing each other to their hearts content, analysing the ladybugs scurrying over the leaves and gazing over into the pond - the boy being careful not to let the girl fall in. Watching them, your heart swelled with wonder, as if you were viewing the world through their curious eyes. You couldâve sat and watched for hours.
A hand came to rest upon yours - which mightâve startled you if it wasnât the most soothing presence youâd ever felt. A thumb grazed back and forth over your hand and your fingers naturally began to intertwine. You welcomed the motion.
Your eyes wandered over to your right - finally growing curious about who was there comforting you so deeply. First glancing down at the hand, you saw a wedding ring⊠Michaelâs wedding ring. You could feel something in your brain telling you to pull him close immediately and never let go, but you felt no such urgency. It felt like you had forever here and there was no need to rush.Â
The ring appeared more tarnished than you remembered but the delicate etchings remained visible upon it. He wore his fatherâs wristwatch, the leather was slightly frayed and tattered on the edge, but it was still holding strong. You didnât make an effort to observe the face of the watch and read the time - you felt no need. Every second brought you a never-ending sense of tranquility as your gaze trailed slowly up to view Michaelâs face.
The sun shone brightly from behind him, half blinding your eyes. In its haze you could only make out small details. The wire frames of his glasses that rested on his ears, slightly scruffing up the hair around them. The way his cheeks obscured his eyes and the light caught his sharp little canine tooth - you could see he was smiling widely. The way his shoulders moved up and down ever so slightly with every long calm breath.Â
The more things you noticed, the brighter the back lighting got, but still you stared. Your eyes were burning slightly but you were determined to stay fixed on him - even if by this point he was only a silhouette of himself. The more intense the sun became, the colder you felt. There was little reminiscence of the warmth that it had enveloped you in earlier, the only thing grounding you was Michael, his hand still in yours despite his form fading in front of your eyes - it was more of an impression of him by this point. It was like you were being ripped further from him by the second.
You hadnât noticed but the ambience of the garden had disappeared, and the sun had relinquished its attack on your eyes, now only seeping through your heavy eyelids.
Your head wavered up and down slightly to the rhythm of Michaelâs breath as you attempted to pry open your sleepy eyes. Small mumbles escaped your throat as you acclimated to your situation - feeling cold at the loss of your idyllic dream and heavy with the weight of the day to come.
It seemed that Michael had been awake for some time - he was propped up somewhat against the headboard and his hand brushed over yours with such care, comforting you in the last few moments of true peace together. His wedding ring showed no signs of wear like it did in your dream. It was clean and polished, fresh. The ring appeared new and as you stared at its fine details you began to miss the tarnished surface. Though you had fallen in love with each other so many years ago, spending almost everyday devoted to one another, you felt your time was being cut short - it wasn't that you didn't feel fulfilled, you just felt you had so much more to do together. Then again, maybe forever wouldn't even be enough time with Michael.
The morning was unbelievably tough. You were preparing yourself to go out and attempt to wave your husband off to war with a smile on your face. Tears smeared the makeup from your face before you could even lay it on and the lump in your throat almost restricted your breathing when you thought too hard.
You and Michael occasionally exchanged almost sorrowful glances at each other, knowing that talking about it would just make it harder for the both of you. You wanted nothing more than to scream, cry and beg him to stay but instead you opted to hold him close every second you could, hoping he'd receive your silent communications and drop everything to stay home.
Deep down you both knew Michael wasn't cut out for war, he'd never been particularly manly or athletic. He was a lanky guy with glasses, he was a teacher's pet in school, he made miniature models in his free time and if he wasn't doing that his nose was likely stuck in a book. The closest experience he'd had to a fight was getting beaten up for lunch money numerous times in high school. You were so worried about him - not just for those obvious reasons but because all those things meant he almost had something to prove. You were scared he'd feel pressured to put himself forward or launch himself into something he wasn't ready for just because people often had low expectations for him.
You remembered the morning Michael received the letter telling him he was going to be drafted. You were whipping up some breakfast for the both of you while he sat at the dinner table. You were speaking to him about needing to go to the market to pick up some more eggs but you were met with no response. When you turned to see what was occupying him, you saw him staring at the letter, mouth hanging open slightly, breathing heavily and eyes filled with shock and fear. When you asked what the letter was, his ears were ringing too much to produce a reply. You came over and soothed your hand over his back while you read over his shoulder. You remembered how your heart sunk in that moment and that feeling never truly went away. That morning was hard - this one was harder.
Your brain was processing this like he was dying today. So you tried to think of other possibilities. What if he was killed in his first battle? In his last? What if he lost a limb or needed a wheelchair? What if he came back less gentle and kind? What if he was a shell of himself? What if he didn't love you anymore? That didn't help much.
As the endless thoughts spiralled over every way you could lose him, you hardly noticed you were about to leave and make your way to the train station. You choked down the tears brimming in your eyes and took a deep breath as you stepped over the threshold of the house. You watched Michael take in the mundane image of your home before composing himself and locking the door behind him.
The train station was swarming with people, neatly dressed men piled onto the steam train as wives waved their handkerchiefs. There was an eerily celebratory atmosphere on the platform - families being split before your eyes under the pretence of honour and patriotism, all with smiles plastered on their faces.
As officers horded the men toward and onto the train, you pulled Michael into one last hug, holding him as tight as you could. He reciprocated burying his head into the crook of your neck and pulling you ever-close. The gesture - despite lasting only a few seconds - was extremely weighted, like you were discussing all of you worries and comforting each other through it. But of course you weren't, there was nothing you could do now to stop him from leaving, so with an artificial smile on your face, you let him go.
Countless men were leaning out of the train windows to say their final farewells and you searched desperately to spot Michael until you heard a familiar call of your name and rushed over to him. As soon as he was within reach, you pulled him into a kiss - clearly regretting not doing so before. You rested your forehead against his, just taking in the seconds you had. You let your arms rest over his shoulders, one hand nestled in his hair and the other lulling over his back. His hands, however, gripped you tight afraid to ever let go. You noticed the way he sighed with every breath and the way his hair tickled your forehead and how his eyes were scrunched tightly as if trying to think of anything but what he was about to do.
As the conductor called out one minute until their departure, you realised you had almost forgotten to give Michael his small parting gift. You shot up, startling and almost headbutting Michael, to rummage in your bag frantically before pulling out a small slip of paper.
You handed it to Michael - who wore a very confused expression - and smiled as you watched him unfold the paper. It had been the first genuine smile of the day and the second followed shortly when Michael opened it up to find a picture of you. It was a picture he had taken, he remembered the day so vividly. He stared at the image and admired it before looking up at you - lost for words but his loving eyes welling with tears told you enough.
"So you don't forget me." you sniffled, now holding back tears of your own.
"Never." Pulling you close once more. "Never." He repeated, now muffled into your neck.
Your embrace was broken by a shift in the train and its deafening horn. Reluctantly you let go as the train began to pull away. "I love you moonshine." He called out.
"I love you too Mikes." You responded as he slowly drifted further from you. His beautiful smile stained your memory as he disappeared, tucking himself back into the carriage as the train finally sped out of view.
Life without Michael was easier than you thought it'd be. That wasn't to say it wasn't hard - because god was it hard - but after those first couple weeks (that were practically akin to hell for you) you fell into the swing of normality. At first you were inconsolably lonely, finding yourself accidentally speaking to him or calling for him which always formed a small pit in your chest. Counterintuitively, you shut yourself inside at first, which was a very bad idea - surrounding yourself only with things that reminded you of him.
Eventually though, you began to manage. You (and many other women) got jobs helping out down at the factory to fill in for the men, it was nice to be occupied and you could've sworn the efficiency of the factory increased tenfold with women working instead. Every week, you met for tea with Michael's mother just to check in and catch up. If you were struggling to the extent you were, you couldn't even imagine how hard it was for her, having both of her sons sent off to fight. The conversations between the two of you were light and surface level - neither of you wanting to acknowledge the looming unease.
You never really touched Michael's things while he was gone (aside from the sweaters of his you liked to lounge in.) You made a point to leave his nightstand exactly as he had left it.
On the back left corner of the bedside table there was a photograph of the two of you on your wedding day. It sat in a beautiful wooden frame, passed down from his mother, and in the photo you were both beaming with happiness. In front of the picture was Michael's shaving kit - left open from when he had used it on the morning he left. He rarely had to shave and he had a habit of nicking himself. Also on the nightstand, was a copy of The Hobbit with a bookmark shoved in just past the halfway mark - nearly finished. You hadn't even emptied out his ash tray after he left - the cheap tin still soiled with his morning cigarettes right next to the scuffs on the wood where he'd strike his matches. Next to it was a packet of cigarettes - half full, he had told you he'd smoke the second half when he returned. You weren't sure why, but it made him feel less far away, like he had just popped out quickly and he'd be back soon. Each mundane object carried a piece of him.
On the particularly hard nights, you just remembered what Michael had said to you the night before he left. Through your window, you stared at the moon, admiring its features, the same way you'd admired Michael's - taking in every detail you could to be closer to him. It worked mostly - of course you were still alone, but the empty bed felt warmer knowing he was out there thinking of you, the same way you thought of him.
Those nights, you were with him in your dreams and it broke your heart to wake up without him.
Michael's letters home were always the highlight of your week. You'd read over them so many times that you had his handwriting committed to memory. If you'd looked any further into his words you might've been unsettled by his plain optimism and vague stories - and there was a small part of you that did notice - but you were far too excited by the contact with him to delve into it. You were totally enamoured by his words - he built you palaces out of paragraphs describing how he loved and missed you.
In one letter you received was a photograph of Michael. Clad in army greens and a helmet - his smile crooked to one side, baring his pointed canine tooth and squinting his eyes. You hadn't seen his face in so long, your heart melted at the sight of him. He looked so handsome and his smile felt so real. You kept that photograph with you all the time - even placing it under your pillow while you slept. If you imagined hard enough, it almost felt like he was there.
When you wrote back you often found yourself conflicted. You didn't know whether to tell him how much you missed him and were struggling without him or to tell him everything was okay. You didn't want to lie to him but you also didn't want him to worry. You knew that moping and complaining wouldn't make return home any sooner so you decided to sugarcoat it and make it seem manageable while still letting him know that you needed him close.
When you received your invitation to the USO ball, it was like all your prayers had been answered. Your heart buzzed with excitement for the event. You spent your shifts at the factory daydreaming about running into his arms once more. You spent hours planning what you were going to wear - you knew it didn't really matter and he'd be happy to see you no matter what but you really wanted to look your best for him.
The morning of the event, you were brimming with happiness. You couldn't wait to just see his face, hear his voice or to feel his touch again. Getting ready you were almost giggling like a schoolgirl excited to see her hallway crush. There were a few negative thoughts springing up in your mind - 'what if he had changed a lot already?' - but you shoved those thoughts far into the back of your mind, determined to enjoy your time together.
When you arrived at the event, you found yourself lost in a sea of dress greens. Each and every man, wearing them with the same sleek hairstyle too. Despite this you were sure there was no way you could miss Michael in the crowd - even though you hadn't seen him in many months, you knew he'd strike you instantly if you passed him. You sat on the bleachers and waited for him, observing the crowd with an eagle eye.
The room was loud with music and cheerful chatter but through the swarm of people you locked eyes with him and for a moment it felt completely silent. Before you could even register what you were doing, you ran toward him, locking him in a warm embrace. All of your problems, all of your struggles and strife seemed to melt away at his touch. Hearing the beat of his heart, knowing he was alive and well, felt like a blessing in itself. Being able to hold and be held by him felt like more than you could ever ask for.
You broke the hug to look up at him. He certainly looked like Michael. His eyes still looked at you with adoration and his smile still sent a thousand butterflies to your stomach. You brought your hands up to cradle his face, he certainly felt like Michael. He leaned into your touch and you felt that slight stubble graze your palm, his hair was still smooth and neat, his jaw still strong, his nose still pointed, his eyebrows still thick. He was certainly still Michael.
You felt the familiar burn of tears in your eyes but you almost welcomed it, they didn't feel even half as bitter as all the tears you had shed before. You were happy. It was almost as if he had never left at all.
Almost.
You couldn't pinpoint exactly what was different, he just seemed a little colder. It didn't show in his actions or the way he talked, but every now and then you'd notice that it was there. Like he was all shaken up, or like he was sat behind his own eyes looking on at his surroundings. A couple times throughout, the night you caught him zoned out, staring off into the abyss - and when you asked what the matter was he snapped out of it like nothing had happened. It worried you but you were glad to have him back at all.
You chatted for hours, easily falling into the flow of the night. You told him about work down at the factory and how you were sure you did his job better than him. You told him about how you kept his photo with you at all times - he told you how he kept your photo in his helmet. He told you stories of battles, mentioning how strenuous it was but clearly omitting details as to not upset you.
You clung to every moment with him, taking in every second, knowing you'd have to let him go again at the end of the night. You kept his hand in yours, embraced him whenever you could and never pulled your eyes away from him. It was as if when he blinked, you were scared to forget the colour of his eyes.
As a slow song rang through the speakers of the hall, Michael led you onto the dance floor, drawing you close as you began to sway to the beat of the music. You rested your head upon his chest just to feel the rise and fall of his breathing and hear the thumping of his heart. No matter how much fear swarmed you had one line of reassurance⊠he made it this far. He had endured so much already and you were beyond proud of him.
As the final song drew to a close, the men began to filter out of the hall. You and Michael stood frozen in time, not wanting to let go of each other, standing idly enclasped in each others arms.
Eventually though, the time came for Michael to leave, he gave you one last kiss and joined the crowd. He took one look back at you, giving a reassuring smile before turning to walk away again. It took absolutely everything in you to not to run into his arms, grab him and beg him not to leave you all over again. But instead you stood there, utterly helpless, just letting him walk away and slip from your grasp once more. With your hand over your heart, afraid it might burst, a sorrowful smile and your eyes welling with bitter tears, you let him go.
You didn't know it, but he had hoped you'd stop him, so he could run back to you.
In the early hours of the morning, on the 6th of June 1944, the sun reared its head over the eastern headland of Normandy beach. Packed like cattle onto navy ships, were over a hundred thousand men, travelling towards blood soaked sands. Air forces had already been sent in the midst of the night and although the shore was still distant - the sounds of war and the visible splatters of death were unmistakable. Still, the troops headed forward, each soldier as stoic as the next - trying to ready themselves for what was to come.
Among the vast flood of army green was Michael. No matter how many battles he fought in, he'd never get used to the intense unease that ate away at him every time. But even considering that, he had never felt this unsettled before. Maybe it was the sheer scale of the attack, maybe it was the knowledge that soldiers more trained and experienced had already met their end, or maybe it was how he could sense that every single soldier around him was filled with the same dread and fear.
One man, on the far end of Michael's row, heaved and gagged to the point that he threw up his rations. He claimed it was simply a result of the rolling and pitching of the boat upon the rough sea, but everyone felt sympathetic to his plight - feeling so nauseous with fear alone that they could do the same. Most of them were probably praying to any god that might hear them at this point.
Two rows in front of him, he had spotted his older brother Gerard. Michael could've bore a hole into the back of his head with his stare, hoping Gerard would sense it. He just wanted him to turn around and offer some look of reassurance - he didn't. Michael didn't exactly blame him, he was probably lost in his own swarm of fear and worry.
Nearing the beach, the sun lifted higher, working to eradicate the blue haze of night that lingered in the western sky. The summer heat was already beaming down onto the left side of Michael's face, leaving him uncomfortable, burning in the hot, salty, sea air. Seeking respite, he turned his head away, clinging on to the windy night for as long as he could. He spotted the full moon as it still hung in the sky and thought of you, it was faint and fading but still prominent enough to see as it fought a losing battle against the dawn.
He thought of you to soothe himself, wishing for nothing more than to be by your side. His fingers came to rest on the front of his helmet, where he kept your picture. He repeated in his head how he just had to make it through to see you again, all he had to do was make it through and he could grow old with you. He thought about how he regretted not starting a family with you sooner and how he wouldn't waste a second to do so once he got home. He imagined the rest of his life with you - he knew that maybe he shouldn't but it was just about the only thing that'd keep him sane in times like these.
However, his dreaming was about to be cut short - the ship was about to roll in to the beach.
The heavy-duty ramp thumped into the shallow saltwater. A horde of thick, leather, rough-out boots thrashed onto the shore, scrambling over small sand dunes. Each soldier splashing up water behind them as the ocean ushered them onto the beach. Cries of war rang out all around, melting into one buzzing sound of agony that fell upon Michael's ears.
Before any soldiers had even reached dry land there were corpses plummeting to the ground. Their bodies obscured the blue sea, the rough tide already washing up the fresh remains with crimson still pouring out. But still the storm continued on, trampling over their former comrades in an adrenaline fuelled stampede. Those unlucky enough to live past the first bullet wailed out in excruciation, wishing someone would have enough mercy to finish them off. They were met with no such luxury.
Michael felt lost in the bustling attack, soldiers being shot with no rhyme or reason - he just prayed he wasn't stood where the next bullet would land. The swarm of soldiers were nothing but a flock of pheasants, and the Germans were hunting for sport. They fired their machine guns recklessly and with no remorse, flinging bullets like spare pennies from their pockets.
It did take few loud explosions for the troops realise, but Normandy beach was littered with landmines. About every one hundred heavy-footed stomps on the beach, a soldier would be regretting where he placed his foot, being instantly blown away by the eruption. But the fighters had no time to be thinking about intricate and cautious footwork in that moment, they pressed on, leaving their fate to chance.
The soldiers attempted to retaliate the Germans attack but while frantically racing to find any cover they could, an accurate shot proved increasingly difficult. With no tangible hope, it was their instinctive will to survive that kept them firing at the well sheltered opposition. As a plethora of soldiers tumbled over the berm crest of the blood stained sands they were met with a small glimmer of hope. The Germans had set up large metal structures, clad with barbed wire, intended to obstruct any of the allied forces' airborne attacks. In theory, these structures were meant as a defence tool, they were there specifically to put their opposition at a disadvantage, however the soldiers were quick to seek refuge from the fire behind these bases.
Michael set his eyes on the base closest to him and veered his course to get there. Laser focused on reaching the feeble excuse for a shelter, he didn't concern himself with the frantic charge surrounding him that was becoming more disorganised by the second. He was totally fixed on the opportunity for any mild respite from the hail of bullets that showered the troops and when he crashed down crouching behind the metal structure, he felt an - albeit small - sense of relief.
His breathing was untamed and irregular, fluctuating between hyperventilation and deep breaths that'd make your lungs pop. He clutched his rifle close to his chest trying to make himself feel safer, though it wouldn't do much to protect him unless he had the guts to aim it. Michael had only killed two people in battle: the first time he was frozen with fear for his life and it seemed to be his survival instinct that had aimed and pulled the trigger; the second was more intentional - less defensive, he didn't need to shoot that soldier - the course of the battle likely wouldn't have been affected by this man living or dying. Both situations impacted Michael to the fullest extent - he was plagued by his own actions for a good while afterwards. The fact he could take someones life without thinking about it or the fact he could do it in a deliberate and calculated attack, he didn't know what sickened him more.
Just as he readied himself to make his way further up the beach, a comrade fell before his feet with a sonorous thud - spraying splatters of blood and flesh over his face, he'd taken 2 bullets to his neck. Michael stared at the gruesome sight in front of him with wide panicked eyes and quickening breath. The harder the soldier tried to cry out the more blood spilled from the gaping hole in his throat - his pain couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds before his eyes glazed over - the expression of agony still stretched across his face. A man Michael couldn't even put a name to, who likely had ambitions and values - maybe even a family, now just a corpse.
Michael was stunned by the sickening sight before him - almost heaving and shaking from all the pent up adrenaline. His wide eyes were fixed on the soldiers cold ones, glued to the gory scene. As the troops around him carried onwards, the body was ruthlessly trampled, flailing lifelessly being squished under heavy boots. More blood oozed from the wounds with every careless stomp atop the corpse. He tried desperately to steady his dizzied bearings and looked around to assess his next move.
The blaring ambience of war pierced his eardrums but amongst the head-splitting noise Michael could pick out one familiar voice - Gerard. He whipped his head around so frantically he wouldn't have been surprised if he got whiplash, he was so desperate to find his brother having lost track of him in the storm.
Finally they locked eyes from across the battlefield and for a moment Michael felt safe, protected. Just like when they were little - how Gerard always stuck up for Michael, even if he wasn't particularly tough himself. He thought about one time when they were at the play park and some kids came to pick on him, just as they were about to push Michael to the ground, Gerard had come to the rescue as he always did, managing to scare off the bullies and make sure Michael was okay. But of course, you cant scare off soldiers like kids in a playground.
Gerard was only one base further up the beach, not too far from him. The brothers communicated everything they needed to say within a few seconds of eye contact and God did Michael want to be wrong about what his brother was trying to say. But no, the look in Gerard's eyes was unmistakable - 'we have to run'.
And if that look wasn't confirmation enough, Gerard got up into a crouch behind the shelter and readied himself to go. Michael saw snippets of him through the running rampage of their comrades, he was looking ahead and trying to plan their course, he was going to lead them to any temporary safety he could find. He wore a focused and determined expression as he tried to bite back his feelings of distress in order to help his little brother.
He shot Michael back a look, putting on the most reassuring facade he could manage signalling that he had a plan of action. He nodded three times to a count and Michael attempted to ready himself to run for his very life. He nodded meekly back to his older brother, not radiating a shred of confidence.
"Mikey, Let's go!" Gerard screamed so loud their was no way he couldn't hear. He waved his arm, beckoning his brother to run with him and getting up to begin his sprint across the war zone with his brother close behind.
Except Michael wasn't close behind. He crouched behind his base, frozen with sheer panic. He tried desperately to regulate himself and follow Gerard - squeezing his eyes tightly shut and hyperventilating rapidly as he tried to imagine he were anywhere but there. His rifle rattled against his chest due to his shaking hands before he built up the courage to run after his brother. He took three deep breaths, pumping his shoulders as he did so to manage and channel his adrenaline and launched forward - his feet bounding onwards before his mind could protest any longer. He didn't know how long he had been frozen with fear - only a matter of seconds, surely, but it was long enough for Gerard to have disappeared into the horde.
Michael searched feverishly for his brother still launching himself forward like his life depended on it - and it did. But as he spotted his brother crashing down into the makeshift trench, he realised that he'd missed the window of opportunity Gerard had curated in his plan.
Gerard turned his head, expecting to have Michael within arms reach, but he found no such thing. Through a clearing of the stampede, there he was, collapsing upon the rough sand - struck down. Before he could even process what he was witnessing - two familiar faces, Frank and Robert, had their arms wrapped tightly around him, stopping him from running back into the open fire. And they were right to do so, Gerard almost immediately tried to get to Michael.
Just a small pinch as he charged forward through the lethal battlefield. Just a tiny, pinching feeling in his lower abdomen and it had thrown him off of his feet. The harsh fall had knocked all the air out of his lungs and he struggled to take enough back in. His breath was feverish and ragged as he heaved for air in gasping intervals.
Initially the impact of his body upon the beach was his primary source of pain, he felt like he'd been kicked in the chest by a horse, but before long that previously minuscule pinch began to burn. That's when it occurred to Michael, he'd been shot.
Cries of pure agony ripped from his throat as his pain worsened with every second that went by. He could feel all of the muscles in his abdomen tightening and pulsing around the fresh cavity. The wound spilled more blood with every pained spasm and every sharp gasp for air, Michael could feel it soaking his uniform but he was far too disorientated in that moment to register the sheer volume of blood he was losing.
The crippling affliction didn't relent for even a second as the burning sensation radiated through his entire body. The shooting pains only worsened as he writhed on the ground, gritty sand clinging to and infesting the oozing wound. It was like he could taste the gunpowder - metallic and astringent on his tongue.
Among the ear-shattering sounds of gunfire and landmines, and aside from his own screaming, Michael could hear one voice, totally clear as day, Gerard was shouting out his name. He tipped his head back, pushing against the sand in an attempt to trace his voice and locate his brother. All he needed to do was get to him and it'd be okay, he thought. As much as he strained his neck searching for him, it amounted to nothing, Michael was met with nothing but the orange, hazy sky of dawn through his blurring eyes - forced to listen to his brothers cries with no way to settle him.
Just as Michael's eyelids were weighing down and his body began to fall weak, he was rammed back into consciousness by a sudden, overwhelming pressure upon his tender wound. Past the tortured noises from his own throat, Michael could hear mumblings of reassurance from the figure above him - a medic, he figured. The constant repetition telling him it'd be okay, his worried and frantic voice, and the worsening pain in his abdomen, had Michael wondering whether the medic was talking to him or trying to convince himself.
"Michael."
Did he hear that right? That wasn't one of Gerard's cries out for him, no, it was closer. How would the medic-
"Michael."
There it was again. For a second Michael thought it could be God, but the voice was close and God felt far from here. This was the voice of the man pushing the pain of a thousand needles into his gaping wound. However the question still stood, how did he know his name?
Michael willed himself to gaze up at the medic, gathering the unreasonable amount of strength he needed simply to open his eyelids and focus on the silhouette of the man before him. Through fuzzy, spotted vision, he found a familiar face. He wasn't sure how he didn't recognise the distinct voice of his long term friend Raymond but he was - for a moment - glad to have somebody with him.
Michael tried to communicate with his friend but all he could manage were long, incoherent babbles of ache - met with an abundance of spluttered 'I know'-s . They ranged from attempts at comfort to spits of frustration as white cloth spilled from his fingers - turning red at the slightest contact with the bullet-site.
As Raymond blundered unravelling the billows of bandages, each reel he pulled out instantly drowned in the blood. Michael could pinpoint every minuscule sensation - suffering even as the cool breeze feathered over the surface of the contusion. What hurt more though was the wet, coarse sand nestled in the lesion - carried in by both the wind and Raymond's feverish attempts to stop the bleeding. It was like he could feel every grain that sat on the walls of his wound like thousands of glass shards were wearing away his tissue.
Michael's ears picked up Gerard's cries growing louder and more distressed by the second as Raymond's sighs of frustration became periodic, baffled by Michael's incessant bleeding.
Gerard struggled against the iron grip of Frank and Robert, pleading for them to let him go, begging for them to let him save his baby brother with tears streaming down his face. Michael thought about how horrible it was that his brother had to watch him die like this. Unable to help, expected to watch then move on like some soulless machine, playing a passive part in his own brothers death. Michael knew he was dying - he knew it from the defeated huffs coming from Raymond, he knew it from the searing sting that ran through his veins, he knew it from his army greens practically swimming in blood.
Dying wasn't what scared him most in that moment though. He couldn't shake the image of you receiving a heartless notice with faux pity and a box of his belongings. He couldn't die here, he had to get home to you, have a family and grow old with you - that's what was he was meant to do, that's what was meant to happen. So, ignoring his body's instinct telling him to let go, he held on, enduring every painful moment and powering through every difficult breath - the thought of you guiding him through.
There was a selfish part of Michael that wished you were there on that beach . Just so you could hold him close and cradle him in your arms. He imagined you with him, lulling him into death so sweetly. He was grateful you wouldn't know the extent of his agony - he hoped you'd never experience even half the pain - but he just wanted you there to make it all go away, to soothe him as you always did. He wished he'd ran back into your arms hat night of the ball. He regretted every second he had ever spent away from you, he regretted all the things he never told you, he regretted always assuming you'd have more time together.
He craved nothing but your presence, but your absence reminded him of the heartache you'd likely feel tenfold from having to live with it - he was lucky enough to die. He knew his fate, he was only holding on to think of you longer.
However, he grew tired as he felt his time approach. He felt nauseous with the abundance of unknown that awaited him and the charmed life he had to leave behind. Before his eyelids could fall shut a final time, he looked up to the sky. As his breath slipped from him in the blazing sun, he looked up for the moon - but you were nowhere to be found in the morning sky and he couldn't hold on any longer.
Raymond had to tend the the next soldier, distressed and defeated as he tried to tune out Gerard's screams for him to do something, to help his baby brother, crying like a tall child. Michael's tortured screams were no longer and his strained muscles stilled into a stiff, pallor cadaver.
That was no longer Michael, just another set of bones laid to rest.
You were startled awake by your blaring alarm clock beating your eardrums as the morning sun shone brightly through your window. You rolled out of bed to get ready for your shift at the factory and peered out of the window to search for the moon - as you always did. Usually you had luck with this - dawn only breaking just as you awoke - but recently with days only growing longer, he'd been harder and harder to spot in the sky.
With a defeated sigh, you made your way downstairs to fix yourself some breakfast before you left. You'd settled nicely into your routine by now - working Monday to Friday, heading to the farmer's market on Saturdays, having Sunday tea with Michael's mother and receiving a letter from your husband on Monday mornings. You were scanning the practically barren cupboards for what you needed to pick up at the market the next day when you heard a sharp knock at the door.
It was the postman, perhaps Michael's letter had arrived early, you thought excitedly. Ripping open the envelope quickly, you failed to notice that the address wasn't scrawled in your husband's handwriting. You unfolded the paper, desperate to write back as soon as you could. It read:
Dear Mrs. Y/N Way,
I deeply regret to inform you that your husband, Private Michael James Way, has been reported as having lost his life on Active Service Overseas on June 6th 1944. I wish to offer you and the members of his family my sincere and heart-felt sympathy.
There was more written on the page but you couldn't bare to read any further - your eyes were far too blurred with the welling tears to continue anyway. Your body tingled with unease as you tried to process what you'd just read. Every cell in your body felt ten times heavier as your stomach sank.
Your ears rang out like you were totally isolated for miles - time frozen still as you stared at the notice with wide, unblinking eyes, fixed open from shock. Tears soddened the paper before you could think about the reality you were living and your eyes began to burn from the attack of your salty tears.
It felt like you'd swallowed a paperweight - your cries choking in your throat as you gasped for air between them. June 6th, he had died three whole days ago. Dead while you daydreamed of his return at work. Dead while you willed yourself to get out of bed for him - knowing he'd want you to get out of the house. Dead while you wore a smile on your face for three whole days.
How could you be so stupidly hopeful? You kicked yourself for expecting him to come home. You and Michael both knew he wasn't cut out for war yet you let him get onto that train that'd send him to his death. Maybe if you'd pushed harder for him to stay, he would've given in. All the moments you could've stopped him. The night before he left, or before he boarded the train, or that night at the ball - the last time he held you in his arms. Your brain wracking through every possibility as if it would change what was written on the letter in front of you.
Your heartbreak was almost visceral as you felt the pain bubbling deep inside your chest like your heart was pulsing around the knife of your loss. It beat like it was trying to mine it's way out of your chest and for a second you were afraid it'd stop entirely. The next second you wished it would.
You didn't know how long your sobbing had lasted - still stood in the same doorway he'd held you in the night before he left. This time he wasn't here to make it all go away. You tried hard to imagine his arms around you the way you had on so many lonely nights - but it didn't work anymore. Even the thought of him was lifeless now.
Eventually your legs grew tired and slid down to the floor. Your eyes hardly had any tears left to give but your crying continued. You were a great heap of sobs as you wrapped your arms around your body trying to console yourself enough to get up for work, but to no avail.
You could see no end to your suffering - he was never coming home. He'd never hold you again, he wasn't going to be there to wipe your tears, he'd never even send you another letter. He was everything that kept you going and he was gone.
You'd been crying for what must've been hours and had completely forgotten about work. A rational voice in your brain told you to telephone your boss and explain but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You'd have to walk through the house filled to the brim with reminders of Michael, compose your weeping enough to speak and even worse than either of those - you'd have to say he was dead out loud.
It was a fallacious idea but it felt like saying it aloud would make it true as if it wasn't already so. You weren't ready to accept the crushing situation you'd found yourself in.
The floor became increasingly uncomfortable and you finally willed yourself off of the ground to traipse into your once shared bedroom. Your sore eyes failing to release anymore tears through your dry, unyielding sobs as you walked past all you would ever have of him. All the pictures of you together clawed at your gut, you were nauseated by the hole he'd left in your heart and the happiness you'd felt that you might never feel again.
You practically threw yourself onto the bed and melted into the mattress. You were exhausted from your bawling and the soft surface soothed aches in your body that you hadn't even noticed or acknowledged behind your grief. You layed your head upon his pillow - as if there'd be any trace of him left from so long ago - and tried to fall asleep to escape all of your overwhelming emotions. However, the blazing daylight surpassed your scrunched eyelids and you'd have to give up on that idea, locking you in with your swarming thoughts.
You let your eyes wander around the room, his memory was chained to everything in sight. You reminisced over everything in the back of your mind, far too drained to focus on the present. Whilst sat behind your mourning eyes, you stared at the possessions that remained on his nightstand, untouched from the day he left. The smiling faces you wore on your wedding day, immortalised and unaware behind the glass of the photo frame. The shaving kit, left open still waiting for its next use. The copy of 'The Hobbit' with the bookmark still shoved in the middle - permanently unfinished. The practically empty ashtray and the half empty pack of cigarettes beside it that he'd vowed to finish when he returned. You'd kept everything the same so he'd feel closer to you but seeing his things completely preserved felt like staring at his cold corpse.
You didn't want to imagine his body - of course not - but with nothing but time to think, you were contemplating every aspect of your loss, whether you wanted to or not. Your mind raced through every horrific possibility, replaying your husband's death a hundred different ways. You could do nothing but pray it was quick and peaceful. You wished you were there to hold him in his last moments and soothe all of his pain. What had he thought about in his last moments? Did he resent himself for leaving? Did he wish you were with him? Did his brother Gerard witness it? Did he have anyone to comfort him?
Distressing questions left unanswered, the sun began to set. You stared out of the window waiting for moonrise - doubting it'd settle you much but hoping for even a smidgen of ease or closeness. By now you should have learned not to hope for anything. The night was completely overcast - the moon tucked behind thick billows of cloud.
Though the thought of him on the battlefield wasn't much more comforting - you tried to pretend that he was still off fighting. You rationality was clouded by love and your heart was heavy with knowledge. Maybe Michael was still smiling for that picture he'd sent home, maybe he was still on that train carriage hopeful to return, maybe he was still just outside the ballroom as you considered running after him.
To you, if the moon could exist behind the clouds then maybe Michael could live in the moments you'd spent apart.
But nothing could bring those moments back for you to change. No prayer could give you back his kiss and no wish could give you back his hand upon yours. You found yourself yearning for the years gone by with Michael far away, knowing they might've been some of your hardest but they felt like heaven compared to the endless years to come without him. So many letters home that you'd taken for granted and you'd never get another. His messy handwriting would never narrate his love for you again.
You felt empty knowing it was over, all of those years spent together had amounted to nothing. All the things you should've said that were never said, the things you should've done that you never did. Everything you could've given him but you didn't - you just wanted him to come and make it all go away. Your life with him hardly even began, you were foolish to think you'd always have time. You never had the children you'd dreamed of having together. He never got to leave a piece of him with you and start a family of your own. All he left was a searing mark on your life that you'd never shake. He promised you the life you both wanted, it was so close you could almost grab it only for it to be ripped away. Unfulfilled, meaningless and agonizing.
So as your fatigue caught up to you and began to overthrow your mind, you longed to dream of him again. Begging for the lord to have enough mercy to wash you away and take you to him in your sleep. But you dreamt of nothing.
TAGS : sfw, school Au, fem!reader, frank is lowkey whipped.
Word Count: 2,583
SUMMARY: Frank found out about the new kid pretty quickly.
Time and time again, Belleville's new kids would drop Frank after realizing that hanging around him and his friends was the social equivalent of being friends with worms in the dirt. So, He stopped caring, stopped making an effort. Until you came around.
A/N: This is my first ever post ermm hope yall like it. Fun fact: I actually wrote this fic in a notebook about 4 years ago because I was visiting family and there was no Wi-Fi there.
This is posted to my Ao3 too!
Frank found out about the new kid pretty quickly.Â
It wasnât often that Belleville got new students, partly because it was the middle of the year and partly because Belleville wasnât the place most parents wanted to send their precious kids. In the wake of this information, everyone was talking about this new kid. And by everyone, Frank meant everyone. He counted at least five conversations with the kid as the main point on his way to lunch. Even his friends were swept up into the new kid story, discussing them like they were a shiny new creature-which for this school, was honestly true.Â
âWhy do you guys think they moved here for?â
âI donât know, but I hope theyâre cool.â
âI heard they were a girl.â
âReally?! Is she hot?â
âDâyou think sheâd maybe wanna join the crew?â
A chuckle made its way around the table at that remark.Â
Frank reached the lunch table just in time to hear the last two sentences, voiced by his friends Ray Toro and Mikey Way.Â
âGet real, guys, no one, and especially not a hot girl, wants to join the gang,â he drawled, crashing his tray and backpack onto the bench.Â
âAww, câmon Frankie, live a little or something,â Frank's leather jacket-wearing friend, Gerard Way, said. He continued, âMaybe we get lucky and she's someone just as rad as us.â
Frank, not one to buy into fantasies, quickly shut down Gerard. âOrrâŠshe gets snatched up by the popular clique and we never speak to or see her at all.â
âWay to be a mood killer, dude,â his friend replied, rolling his eyes.
As the conversation returned to a normal-er topic (where the weekly DND sesh would take place- the Way house), Frank's thoughts drifted back to the new kid, or new girl, as his group had so eagerly insisted upon. This apathy towards meeting new people was a recent addition; he used to be one of the first people in line to say âHi!â to new year transfers, and made plans to introduce them around town. It went fine, maybe it was a little superficial, but fine, until said kids found out about the Bellevillesâ social hierarchy and realized that hanging out around Frank and his crew was the equivalent of social suicide. Time and time again, they stopped talking, stopped hanging out after school, and even stopped looking in his direction, synced up to the school's âhate the loserâ mentality.
So, he stopped trying. Stopped wasting his time on niceties and started counting down the hours until he was just âthat loser kid Ieroâ to another soulless, nameless face.Â
But maybe, deep, deep down, Frank held on to a sliver of hope in humanity, the small, minuscule chance that not everybody in this shitty town hated his existence, that someone could show up and accept his everything, loser tendencies and all.Â
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the group of friends parted ways for their fifth-period classes. Tragically, the other three had class together, and Frank was forced to head out on his own. He blasted some music through the shitty, dollar-store headphones that were bound to break soon due to the sheer volume being pumped through their fragile speakers. Walking into class, the music drowned out the dull chatter of Frank's classmates, and he ignored the usual sneers and dirty looks that flew his way for just being in the room. His desk, the best seat in the house, a window seat at the far corner of the room, sat waiting for him. A quiet and secluded sanctuary that was his own. The people canât hate what they canât see, right? Three minutes remained until the start of class, and Frank decided to make the most of his time by staring out the window and daydream about whatever. (He wanted to stop by the record store after school, maybe get something at the burger joint next doorâŠ)Â
Frank, so lost in his thoughts, missed your entrance into the classroom.Â
Moving to Belleville wasn't ever something you saw being foretold in the cards.Â
Your entire life in your home state was shot point-blank in the face in the wake of your father's promotion, years and memories shoved into flimsy moving boxes and shipped to a no-name town in middle-of-nowhere, New Jersey. Your first day in your new school was filled with wide-eyed stares, feeling like an animal trapped behind a glass screen. According to the receptionist, who looked like sheâd rather be anywhere but Bellveille High School, you were the first transfer this year. She handed you a schedule, a yellowed map of the school, and sent you out the door with a bored âGood luck, youâre gonna need it.â
Not one step out of the office, were you approached by a gaggle of girls, dressed in bright colors and even brighter makeup, each a carbon copy of the next. Standing next to them in your baggy jeans and black zip-up, you stood out like a sore thumb.
âSo, likeâŠwe wanted to say hi!â Each word was accented by a shrill giggle coming from each of the group; it felt like it was a big joke to introduce themselves to you.
âUhm, hi, itâs nice to meet you..?â Your response was dull compared to theirs, your posture curled and timid, your figure a dark haze compared to their preppy vibe. It was clear you werenât the type of person they were expecting to meet, and you could just see their interest in you waning with every passing second. Eyes grazed over your body, and as a collective mind, they came to a decision, spinning and flouncing down the hall. Not one more word was spoken to you.Â
You stared after them, bewildered at the events that had just transpired. No way this is what you left your life behind for.Â
The ringing of the bell snapped you out of your daze, and you became another faceless person in the wave of kids exiting the cafeteria and making their way to their next classes. You were swept away with the crowd, pushed and shoved and crushed between waves of fellow teenagers. Eventually, you were able to push your way out into a less populated hallway. The sign on the nearest door read: ARTS CORRIDOR. While you consulted your yellowed map for directions, you felt a warm body collide with your back.Â
Stumbling forward, you spun around to find the culprit of the crime.Â
âAw man, sorry for that, we weren't watching where we were going!â A boy with shoulder-length black hair grabbed onto your shoulders to steady you. Two others came up behind him, a boy with glasses and straight brown hair, and another with curls.Â
âUhm, it's fine, don't worry...â You started to walk away, but stopped and looked back at the group. âActually, Iâm new here. Can you help me find my class?â They looked nice enough, definitely a big difference compared to the last people you met.  Â
âOh, so youâre the new girl!â The boy with black hair smiled at you and pointed to himself. âI'm Gerard, the one with the glasses is my brother, Mikey, and over here is our friend, Ray.â You gave them yours and then showed them the classes on your schedule. âRoom 240? Yeah, that's on the other side of the school, just follow that hallway and take a right.â Leaning over his brother's shoulder to look at the paper slip, Mikey spoke up, asking, â240, that's English, right? Frankâs in that class.â The mention of âFrankâ lit their faces up with large smiles. âYouâre right, Mikes!â Gerard turned to you, âHeâs our other friend, a really nice guy. He usually sits near the back. You can sit with him, tell him we sent you, and heâll look after you.âÂ
âWowâŠthanks you guys,â you said earnestly, âYou donât wanna know how badly my first impression went with some of the people here.â
âDonât sweat it, new girl,â Ray grinned down at you. âBut you should get a move on if you want to make it there in time.â
You shuffled away with a wave and new directions fresh in your mind, slightly overwhelmed by the conversation, but happy you met such nice people. You heard Ray call out a âFind us if you need anything!â and you ambled your way towards room 240.Â
The beige walls contained stragglers getting to class, hurrying along next to you without batting an eye. One speedwalk later, you stood in front of the door for your English class, slightly out of breath. You opened the door and were greeted by the teacher, a woman in her mid-to-late sixties. She shared the same dull and worn-out stare as the receptionist. You gave her your name, she barely took note of it, and waved you off to âgo find a seat.â At least she didn't make you introduce yourself to the whole class?
Remembering Gerard's words, you scanned the far back of the room for âFrank.â The two people sitting back there were a guy decked out in sportswear, who was loudly shouting across the room, and another guy sitting hunched over by the window with headphones on. Five dollars, for which one Frank was.
You moved over towards the guy in the back, stopping in front of the desk, and knocked on the top of it to get his attention. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours with a glare, before quickly glazing over. He was honestly beautiful, with dark brown hair contrasting with his pale skin, a silver ring taking residence on his lip.Â
âHey, are you Frank? Your friend, Gerard, said itâd be cool if I sat with you.â You kept going, feeling awkward because he was staring with a blank look. âUhm, only if that's okay with you, though. I can totally go somewhere else.â
Frank looked up to see an angel staring down at him.Â
A girl, a beautiful, pretty, gorgeous, hot girl, was standing in front of his desk, talking to him, and he didn't even hear what she said. Frank ripped those cheap headphones off swiftly and lamely said, âWhat?â
âAre you Frank?â
 The pretty girl knew his name.
âYea-yeah, Iâm Frank,â he said, gazing up at her in amazement. She asked to sit down next to him, Frank spluttered out a âyesâ and moved faster than he ever had in his life to sweep his crap off her desk. (Since no one sat next to him, heâd gotten used to taking up the extra space.)
âI met your friends, Ray, Mikey, and Gerard? They seem like nice guys,â she stated with the whisper of a smile on her lips, placing her bag next to her chair and letting her hair cascade over her shoulders. He felt hyper-aware of the warmth her body was emitting; the desks being pressed up against each other meant that her thighs were millimeters away from brushing against his.Â
âYou met the guys?â Frank couldnât believe his luck could get any better. The girl was pretty, and she already liked his favorite people?! âThose guys are awesome, the most honest, cool, and raw people in this place, hell, even this town.â He would shout praises for his friends from the rooftops; they deserved it and more.Â
âAre you from Belleville?â The girl asked, leaning her chin on her palm. Her eyes were warm and zoned in right on his face, and Frank thanked every being above that he chose a hairstyle that covered his ears, the first place to turn red with blush.Â
âBorn and raised,â Frank answered with pride, a true New Jersey native. âWait⊠Oh shit, youâre her!â He looked up at her with a look of surprise mixed with recognition. So this was the girl the school couldnât shut up about. Now meeting her, Frank felt embarrassed by how low he had thought of her before.Â
âItâs me?â She tilted her head in question, her lips shiny with gloss.Â
âYouâre that new kid everybodyâs been talkinâ bout!â
âOh yeahâŠI see my wave of fame has reached even your secluded corner,â She teased, referring to Frank's lonely seat at the back of the class. Ugh, she made jokes, too? âIâm (Name), it's nice to meet you, Frank.â She held out a black-polish-tipped hand up for a handshake. Frank wiped his hands on his jeans (discreetly, of course) before shaking. Oh wow, (Nameâs) hand fit perfectly between his. Her hand was just the perfect mix of delicate and strong, and Frank couldn't help but imagine what other things her hands could do.  (#FREAKYFRANK)
Frank let go of the handshake about five seconds too long and tried his best to compose himself. Everything that he ever said about ânot getting involved with new people anymoreâ was suddenly shot out of existence. Out of all his past tries, Frank felt this one was the one he couldnât let slip away. Even though it was their first time meeting, he felt a real connection with (Name), and wanted to make sure that he got to see how far it grew. Frank was going to fight with everything he had to make sure this time, this time, everything went right.Â
Class went by, and Frankâs resolve to get to know (Name) better grew tenfold. She liked so many of the things he liked too; they talked about similar music, her favorite band just so happened to be his too. She talked about her old life, about what she was gonna miss, and about what she was happy to be rid of. âAw, you know what Iâm gonna miss the most? There was a record shop literally down the street from my house; they always had something sick hidden away.â She sighed deeply, âWell, it ain't gonna do anybody any good to be sad about it.â This was Frank's opening. Â
âYou just moved here, right? Gotten the chance to go around town yet?â (Name) frowned, âNo, not yet, we got here over the weekend. Havenât really gotten the chance to go exploring yet.â
âWell,â Frank started, âIf you want, I could, maybe, show you around? We actually have a pretty cool music store downtown, it's more lowkey, so not a lot of people know about it.âHis voice fizzled out by the end, unsure if she would want to go with him, but he had to try. He hoped, pleaded, and prayed to anyone above listening that she would say yes.Â
He watched as her face showed mild surprise before melting into a grin. âYouâre a real nice guy, Frank Iero.â (Name) took a pen out of her jacket's pocket, grabbed onto his arm, which was still lying on the table, and wrote down a series of numbers and words. Her address. âI'll be ready by six. Donât keep me waiting!â
Class ended, (Name) and Frank went their own ways for their next subjects. He waved her off to class gleefully and practically skipped down the hallway. He may have knocked into a couple of people, maybe they cursed at him, maybe they rolled their eyes and looked down their noses at him, but Frank could not care less. (Name) managed to disprove his whole ânew kidâ philosophy in less than 60 minutes, and he was beaming. Frank was gonna make sure his once-in-a-lifetime shot rang straight and true.Â
warnings/tags: meet cute (?), high school au, mentions of bullying, inok frnk, one use of y/n and one of the word âgorgeousâ
GENDER NEUTRAL reader! not proofread.
a/n: yes, cringe and loser frnk (endearingly). i listened to this telenovela theme song again for the first time in years and got inspired. lowk lost myself writing this, i will probably write a part 2 depending on how this is received. let me know!
it was another dull day for frank whoâs a junior at this very preppy catholic school heâs been attending since forever.
the only ânon-dullâ part of his days there, aside from being shoved to the floor, inside lockers, and onto pile of bird shit, was the schoolâs music room. heâd sneak there during his study hall hour, which was surprising at first because the class to teacher ratio wasnât big like public school. not that he really knows much.
another thing he enjoyed was running out of the school gates after school with his friend quincey. yes, run because for some reason the school security were to make sure you were picked up by your parents or guardians. something about keeping their students âholyâ and âaway from temptation," whatever that means. the fact that they even chase you down often made frank and quincey laugh.
that is what lead them here in a new bodega a good mile away from the school.
âhow much ya got, frank?â quincey asked as he browsed the shelves of candy and chips like a man on a mission while holding a heckload of stuff already. it was rare they had enough money to spoil and give themselves potential cavities.
frank quickly tucked three bags under his chin, trying to pull out his wallet. âhold up, man.â frank was trying to not look suspicious so he walked a little while counting his money as best as he could.
suddenly, he collided with a person. hard enough somehow that said person hit a shelf and let out a surprised oof.
âoh, shit! watch where youâreââ frank looked up at you, but was quick to eat his words.
âdude, you were the one not looking.â you retort quickly, rubbing your sternum where his shoulder collided with. âjesus. for someone as short as you, you pack a fuckin force.â usually, you donât swear at people youâre not familiar with but the damn collision caught you off guard.
frank was still looking at you, only with his mouth slowly gaping. fuck, theyâre gorgeous, he thought. he noticed you were wearing casual clothes but had a backpack on one shoulder.
you kind stood there with growing concern cuz he hasnât said shit.
âyou good, man?â
frank snapped out of it. âuh, yeah. sorry for running into you.â he kinda stumbled over his own words, which made you chuckle a little.
âdonât worry âbout it. you kinda had me worried there.â
fuck, that was embarrassing, âwell, itâs not often i,uh, run into people,â
âmaybe it shouldn't be,â you laugh a little. this guyâs kinda cute but real silly. you look at his uniform, or what was hanging onto him. he wore familiar slacks, a while button up open a few buttons by the collar. âyou go to st. pencey?â
again, it looked like frank snapped back to reality. âyeah, iâm a junior there.â he got clammy but you didnât notice. you just looked at his face while he scurried around his brain to keep the conversation from going downhill. âuh, you go to revere?â
ânah, phoenix.â
âthatâs far from hereâŠ?â no shit, almost five miles from here, you thought. âwhat brings you all this way?â
âare you this air headed or is it an act?â you eyed him unabashedly this time. âpeople can travel, you know that right? thought catholic kids are the smart ones.â
oh, yeah, that got frank hooked.
âokay, damn. you wound me.â he played it off. you scoffed at his chance at pivoting away from his flustered state.
âhonest answer?â frank gave you a sure shoot look. âi like staying out the house as long as i can.â
i like that too (who doesnât?).
frank was about to say something but quincey popped up. âdude, whatâs holdin you up? thought you didnât have enough, so i paidââ he noticed frank was burning holes into you, âoh.â
you looked up, smiling easy. âsorry for holding your friend up, man.â
ânameâs quincey.â quincey shook your hand, âsee youâve met frank.â
your brows raised, âguess i have, nice to meet you guys.â frankâs name actually suits him. âiâm y/n, i go to phoenix high.â you didnât notice quincey elbow frank.
nice name for a nice face, frank face palmed internally.
you looked down at your watch for a split second, noticing it was half an hour til 6pm and you werenât too familiar with the bus routes here. your parents give you shit every time you donât haul ass in time. ugh.
âhey, it was nice meeting you two. but gotta bounce, you know, parents.â
frank visibly deflated. âoh, right-yeah. see you aroundâ?â you were already booking for the bus stop three blocks down.
âyeah, yeah! take care, frank, quince!â you shouted over your shoulder, getting a few looks.
for a moment, the two friends stood in the middle of the bodega with a catchy spanish song on the speakers.
frank was given a playful push, âthe hell was that, frank?â
âi, i donât know. i just ran into em, literally, andââ
quincey snorted, âjeez, youâre like a deer in headlights.â
âshut up, man,â frank was quick to retort, âi was normal as hell, donât know what the fuck youâre saying.â
âsure, sure. if there was an award for the most painfully obvious, youâd be nominee number fuckin one.â frank pushed a laughing quincey back, taking the bag of goodies and bolting.
This is also another one that hasn't been requested, but the FOB brain rot is real guys. Anyways, this one isn't exactly age accurate I guess?? More so of an AU if anything.
How Misery Loved Me
Patrick Stump x Fem! Reader
[Tumblr did it again and ruined the quality of my gif..]
Summary; I don't know how to write summaries for works that aren't requested, my bad, guys this is my own fault, especially when I know I have asks.đ
Warnings; Mutual pining, foul language, some angst, and there's multiple pov changes.
Word Count; 10,307
<Now playing - Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy>
0:54 ââă âââââââ 3:00
"So, which one do you think looks better?" You ask, turning around to look at Patrick, who was sitting on your bed.
"That one's nice, but I think the second one you wore was better. But seriously, I think you should pick which one you want."
"That's the thing though; I don't know which one I want to wear because I like three of them," You say, falling face down onto the bed in the spot where all the previously discarded dresses were.
"Then take all the other dresses out and pick just those three, and then we can narrow it down to what you want," Patrick says, looking down at you.
You groan and turn over, then get up again, beginning to pick all of the other dresses except for the three that you liked, hanging all of the other ones back up and putting them into your closet.
You take the three other dresses with you behind the divider you had in your room, changing into one of the dresses and walking back out.
"Okay, this one has a pretty colour and it's comfortable, but I think it's just a little too short for my liking, so I think this one can go." You say, looking at yourself in the mirror, smoothing out the dress.
You walk back behind the divider, changing into the second dress and hanging the other one back up.
"This one is a perfect length, and it's a nice colour but the straps constantly fall off my shoulders, but I think if I were to sew them to fit me, or even just safety pin them to my bra, it would probably be okay."
You do the same as you did before, going back to the divider, changing into the other dress, and walking back out.
"This one is comfortable, and it fits good, as well as a good length, but I'm afraid that it's going to end up being too much." You say, looking at yourself in the mirror and turning around.
"That's the one that I liked. I don't think it's too much, though. It looks nice on you," Patrick says, scooting farther back onto the bed.
"So, should I wear this one or the other one?" You ask, looking down at yourself, feeling the material of the dress in between your fingers.
"I think that one,"
You nod, smiling as you go back to behind the divider, changing into your pyjamas this time and laying the dress down nicely for Friday's dance, then putting the other one away into your closet.
After doing so, you close up the divider and lay down on your bed halfway with your legs dangling off of it. You close your eyes and listen to the music playing from your CD player, nodding your head to the song.
You open your eyes slightly, looking up at Patrick and admiring his features. His hair was medium length, with those sideburns that you adored so much. Oh and his smile, he could light up a room with that smile. His eyes were such a pretty blue.
You see Patrick look down at you and then quickly look away when he sees that you were staring at him, you doing the same.
You quickly sit back up from your bed and walk to your player to change the CD.
"I still haven't completed the math homework that's due Thursday and was thinking about what other ones I still had to do. Have you done them yet?" You say trying to get rid of the awkwardness, taking your Catalyst CD by New Found Glory out of its case, then taking the other one out of the player and replacing it, pushing the play button and turning up the volume dial.
You turn back around and see Patrick's eyes widen.
"Oh shoot! I forgot about that! What was it again?" Patrick asks, his hands covering his face.
"We just have to do the problems on page 27 from our books, it's not that hard but I can let you copy mine if you want, I'm not done with it yet so you'll have to finish the rest." You say, walking over to your bag to get your book out.
"That would be awesome, I'll just copy them down on a paper if you don't mind it,"
"Knock yourself out, 'Trick,"
You place the book down onto your small desk in the corner of your room. The desk had scattered sheet music, old graded history and english papers, a table lamp and pencil jar placed on the left, and your closed laptop sitting in the middle of the desk.
The wall it was facing was decorated with old concert tickets and wristbands, framed pictures of you and your family, as well as unframed pictures of you and the rest of the boys, most of them of you and Patrick.
Patrick walks to the desk, sitting down in the chair and grabbing one of your blank lined papers from a spot where more sheet music books were stacked up.
You sit back down onto your bed, humming the beginning of All Downhill From Here to yourself and picking at the fibers on the plush throw.
"Has anyone asked you to homecoming yet?" Patrick says, still looking at the book and copying it down.
"No, not yet. I honestly wouldn't mind not getting asked and just hanging out with you and the rest of the guys though,"
"Really? I'm surprised no one has yet. But Pete has a date to homecoming now actually so I think it would be just me, Andy, and Joe together," Patrick says, placing the pencil down and turning around in the swivel chair.
"Pete got a date? Did he finally ask that girl?" You ask.
"Yup, he lit her yard on fire with the word "homecoming?" and she said yes," He explains.
"He lit her yard on fire?! I don't know about her but if someone lit my yard on fire to ask me to some dance saying yes would be the last thing i'd do, I think that's just common sense though, or at least it should be, but apparently not for her!" You exclaim, looking at Patrick in shock.
"Yeah, I told him it was a bad idea too and he still did it. I've got to give it to him though, at least he was confident enough to do that and it actually got him a date," Patrick laughs.
"Are you going to ask anyone to the dance?"
"I want to ask this one girl, but I don't think I'm going to end up actually doing it, I'm not as confident as Pete is when it comes to that sort of stuff," Patrick says, spinning around in the chair.
Ouch.
"Anyways, I should probably get going now though, it's going get dark out soon and my curfew is coming up, I don't need my mom yelling at me again," Patrick says, getting up from the chair and walking over to you.
"Oh shoot, have you really been here that long? I didn't mean to keep you here that long, sorry about that," You say, getting up.
"Don't apologise, I like hanging out with you, it's much better than just sitting in my bed reading comics the whole time. I mean, I love those comics but again, I much prefer hanging out with you instead," Patrick says awkwardly.
"Okay, get going though, it'll be too dark for you to walk home soon enough," You say.
You give Patrick a hug, him leaning down a little bit as he was just ever so slightly taller than you.
"Alright, bye Y/n, I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you for letting me copy, you seriously just saved my ass," Patrick says, opening your door and leaving the room.
You close the door and sigh, sitting at your desk, finishing the last three problems you had, then turning off your lamp and CD player.
You get your bed ready to sleep in, putting the extra pillow on the floor and get under the covers.
I'm so stupid, he's nothing more than a friend and it's always going to be that way, stop creating these stupid thoughts in your head.
You sigh and close your eyes, falling asleep within a few minutes.
---------------------------------------
-Patrick's POV-
"Dude just ask her. If you don't ask soon then some other guy will. Homecoming is tomorrow, she's going to get asked, Patrick, believe me." Pete says, leaning against the lockers next to mine.
"I don't know, Pete. I mean, if she says no then it's going to be awkward between us or something, I don't want that." I say, rummaging through my locker for my math book.
"Believe me, Patrick, she'll say yes." Pete puts an arm on my shoulder and gives me a look.
I sigh and close my locker, not being able to find the book. It's fine, I didn't need it right now anyways. I'll have to look for it when I get home though.
The bell rings and I walk to my class with Pete, him departing ways with me shortly after as he had a different class this period.
God I really don't want to be here right now.
Ding! -"Good Morning everyone! Today is Thursday and it's currently 20 degrees out. The yearbook club is meeting today during lunch, as well as chess and game club. Those that need to retake their photos have today and tomorrow to do so, and those that need to retake any midterm tests will do so next week on Tuesday in the Algebra classroom or room B213. And now for the most exciting announcement; homecoming is coming up tomorrow and tickets are still being sold during lunch time, so maybe get yourself and a special someone a ticket as they won't be sold at the door. Those that are helping plan the dance will need to meet in the student lounge until Friday. Have a great day, and once again buy those tickets!"- Click!
'Ugh. Another reminder that I still don't have the balls to ask her out to the dance.' I think to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose and getting all of my things out for the class.
I sit through the class, taking notes as the teacher talks, ignoring the balls of scrunched up papers being thrown across the classroom. The class seemed to go on so much longer than it usually felt like it did, but maybe it might be the rowdiness of my classmates.
I finish the class and continue to go to all of my other periods until lunchtime. Finding my regular table with everyone else and place my bag down and head to the lunchline, which was almost always shorter except for Wednesdays as the food tended to be much better then everything else all the other days.
Honestly though, most of everyone's lunch breaks are just spent waiting in line unless you either got lucky enough to be first or if you brought your own lunch for the day.
After standing in the line and finally getting my tray, I head back to the table.
"...No, no, no, no, no. You don't understand guys, this is like, the first time I've ever been asked to any kind of dance ever. This is huge for me!" Y/n exclaims, slamming their hands on the table.
"I don't know man, the guy that asked you is kind of an asshole," Andy says, everyone else other than Y/n agreeing.
Shit, I should've listened to Pete.
"Come on dude, you're really gonna ditch me, Patrick and Andy for some guy that you've never had a conversation with?" Joe says as he continues chewing on his sandwich.
I place my tray onto the table, sitting down in between Pete and Y/n in the seat that I was always in.
"Pat! Hold on I was looking for one of my CD's this morning when I was getting ready and found this under one of my blankets I had on the floor. I think you might've left it the last time we studied together." Y/n says, pulling a large math book out of her bag and handing it to me.
"Oh shit, thanks, Y/n. I was looking for this earlier this morning," I say, taking the book from her hands, looking at it for a second and then placing it inside my bag.
"Yeah no problem. Oh, oh! You'll never guess what happened during the second passing period," She says excitedly, grabbing my left shoulder and shaking it slightly, then patting her hand quickly on it.
"What happened?" I ask, taking a bite out of the sandwich on my tray of food.
"So, you know that guy Mark in our chemistry class right? He kinda has like this dark brown semi-curly hair, the one that always wears that letterman jacket,"
"The guy that pushed me directly into that one girl because I wouldn't give him my notes?" I say, swallowing the bite of my sandwich and opening my carton of milk.
"He did that to you?" Y/n asks, gently placing her hand on my back.
I dismiss her hand, "That doesn't really matter, did he ask you to the dance?"
Y/n's face had a hurt look, one that I couldn't quite place my finger on. Her face then softened, continuing with what she was saying.
"But uh, yeah. He asked me if I wanted to be his date to homecoming and I said yes. He's not a bad looking guy so I figured why not," She finishes, giving a small shrug.
I nod slowly, staying silent as I continue taking bites out of my sandwich, listening to everyone else talk about their own things for the remainder of the lunch period.
I get up and throw my tray with everyone else, grabbing my bag and waiting for Y/n at the table so we can walk to class together.
How come you always have to chicken out on things like this? If you don't start saying something soon to her she's going to-
A sudden light punch on my arm brings me out of my trance, I turn to see Y/n and gently punch her back, smiling at her.
"You okay, Pat?" She asks, a soft smile on her face.
I nod my head, starting to walk with her to our next class together. "Yeah, I'm fine, I just got lost in my head for a second there". Y/n hums and continues walking, pushing past everyone else in the crowded hallway.
Does it make me a bad friend for not being completely happy for Y/n, anyone would be but I can't seem to shake off this feel of jealousy in my body.
Me and Y/n enter the classroom, going to our shared work table and place our bags down on the floor next to it and take our seats.
"What did we work on yesterday in this class? I dozed off," Y/n whispers.
"Oh, I could tell. Did you know that you snore?" I say jokingly.
"Oh shut up, I was out for forty minutes, but can you please tell me what we did?" Y/n says sarcastically, giving me a light punch in the arm.
"We just had a study hall for class. Mr Hadford didn't feel like teaching so he just told us to do whatever, so you're fine unless you absolutely needed to work on something else,"
"Good to know," Y/n places her head onto my shoulder.
---------------------------
-Reader's POV-
"Come on, Y/n. Are you sure you really want to go with Mark Anderson? The guy is a douche, you've seen how he treats people like us!" Pete exclaims.
"What do you mean by people like us? Pete?" I ask, turning around from my desk to look at Pete.
Pete was over at your house because you two wanted to hang out together. He was in the same spot that Patrick sat in your bed the other night. You couldn't help but feel slightly upset with yourself that you agreed to go with mark instead of asking Patrick to go with you. Or instead, hoping Patrick would ask you.
Sure, it'd always been fun just going with the rest of them, you guys just did your own thing and stayed together, dancing how you wanted without caring if other people thought it was odd, because all five of you always had fun.
But for once someone had actually asked you, wanted to go with you, and to be honest, some terrible part of you wished that Patrick would get jealous and ask you to go with him instead.
"You know what I mean by that, Y/n. We've always been the geeks no one else really hangs out with, we've always been the only ones that hang out with each other, because be honest with yourself, when was the last time we ever talked with other people for more than a class period?" Pete explains.
You turn away, going back to what you were doing before. You hated that he was right. Why would some asshole jock ask you in the first place, you'd never even talked to him until earlier, and the conversation lasted 2 minutes at most.
"I didn't mean to be mean, well, maybe just a little, but I have a bad feeling that Mark didn't have good intentions when asking you." Pete says, getting up from the bed, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"But what if Mark is being genuine? What if I said no and missed out on something that could be serious?" I sigh, turning to face Pete.
"But Mark really isn't the best person at all. I mean, he's done something shitty to most of us by now, who knows if he'll do it again, or to you.. As your friend, I don't want you getting hurt, and neither would the rest of the guys, especially Patrick, and you know that. At least I would hope you do,"
"I know, I know.. It's just, ugh god. I mean, you can't say anything, you asked that poor girl by lighting her front yard on fire!"
"So? At least I'm a better guy than Mark Anderson. The guy is notorious for being a douchebag, don't compare me to him." Pete says, falling down onto my bed dramatically.
God, Pete is starting to make me question my decisions, maybe I should listen to him, what if Mark really does have bad intentions.
"I can't believe you didn't ask Patrick to go with you. You know he wouldn't have said no, right?" Pete says, his arm over his eyes.
"When he was here the other night I asked him if he was going to ask anyone to the dance and he said that he wanted to ask this girl. I didn't bother after that, if he already had someone in mind I wasn't going to ask, I don't want to be that type of girl. I've seen other girls do that to guys and it either makes them feel like they're being pressured or in an awkward sort of position." You sigh, finishing organizing the plethora of loose sheet music on your desk and placing it in a folder.
"Whatever man. All I'm saying is that you could've said no to Mark and hung out with the rest of the guys. You didn't have to go with him."
"Piss off, Wentz. I don't want your shitty advice, it's just making me feel worse," You say annoyed.
"I had the balls to ask someone I liked to homecoming, you didn't. You made a mistake and still insist that 'oh come on Pete, he can't be that bad, even if he made your guys' lives miserable, I'm pretty sure he'll be nice even if we haven't ever talked to each other, I want to give this dumb asshole a chance.' And to be honest Y/n, you're kind of a dumbass for that." Pete was now standing up, stopping in front of you two feet away, rolling his eyes and mimicking you.
"Get the fuck out of my room, Pete.." You say, your voice starting to get that raw feeling and tears threatening to form in your eyes. You felt stupid for starting to cry over something you started.
Pete storms out of the room closing your door, you could tell how annoyed he was by the sound of how loud his footsteps were, then leaving your house with a slight slam of the door.
What he said hurt. A lot. And just as before, you hated how right he was, how he was able to tell you every single thing you could've and shouldn't've done and he was still right. He acted like an ass but you knew it was with good intent and that he didn't want you to have the possibility of getting hurt, he was like an older brother in that way, but it pissed you off that he felt the need to scold and talk to you as if you were a child. How did something as simple as hanging out with each other turned into an argument so quickly?
You were too frustrated at that point, and on top of that, homecoming was the next night. God I'm an idiot, I need to sleep..
-Timeskip the next day-
The girls in the hallway giggled and talked to their friends about how excited they were for homecoming. How they were going with their boyfriends or how someone cute or popular asked them.
Despite how excited everyone was around you, you remained nervous and the feeling of anxiety only grew stronger every step you took down the hallway, finally making it to Patrick's locker where Andy, Pete, Joe, and obviously Patrick were standing.
"Good morning, Y/n, or not such a good morning..? Are you okay, man? You look like shit," Joe says, reaching across to examine your face.
"Thanks, Joe. Good morning to you too, I'm just fine," You say, swiping at his hands to get them off of your face.
"Hey, Y/n," Patrick says, giving you a small wave with a smile on his face. Gosh he was always so cute without even trying.
"Hey, Patrick, good morning," You say, mustering a small smile despite how you currently felt. "Good morning, Andy. How are you guys feeling other than excited like the rest of everyone else?" You ask, letting out a sigh.
Groans emit from everyone except Pete, one would know exactly why.
"I don't know, man I'm pretty excited, shouldn't you be too, Y/n? Are you excited to go with Mark?" Pete says, looking at you with a grin on his face.
"Sure, whatever you say, Wentz." You say, glaring at him.
The bell rings throughout the hallways, everyone starts to scramble to their classes, seemingly still talking to their friends about the dance as they do so.
"Me and Andy gotta go to pre-cal, we'll see you guys during lunch. Try not to die from excitement," Joe says, walking down the hallway, giving a monotone "woo-hoo".
We all depart and walk to our separate classes. Math was probably one of the worst first classes to have, or more specifically Trigonometry. It wasn't even that you hated it, but rather the kids in it. They were loud and were often rowdy, and the teacher didn't care enough to say anything about it, and today you knew it was going to be much rowdier than most days. And when you walked in, you were exactly right.
You sat at your desk, placing your bag down and grabbing your book out of it. One more day until winter break starts, just one more day until you don't have to be around this chaos and sleep in.
The class went by quicker than it usually did, you just finished some problems in your workbook and listened to music on your iPod to drown out the sound of your classmates not very quietly talked to others.
After finishing your other two periods you walked through the hallway to get lunch.
Someone from behind grabs your shoulders and gives them a squeeze, "Boo," the voice says quietly. You turn around to see Pete standing in front of you
"Oh uh, hey, Pete." You say, adjusting the straps of your backpack awkwardly.
"Hey, Y/n. I'm sorry about last night by the way, I was kinda being a dick to you and said some things to you that would've been better if they were left unsaid. I don't want our friendship to go to shit so I wanted to apologise." Pete says, looking at you sympathetically.
You sigh and look up at him, "I'm sorry too, Pete. You were right and it upset me that you were, I also don't want there to be any sort of tension between us. I'm honestly kinda glad we resolved it,"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Pete asks, smiling as he begins to walk with you to the lunch line.
"Well, I mean I could've totally lived without being your friend, you're not all that important or whatever," You sarcastically reply.
"Pfft, I think I can say the same for you too, L/n," Pete says and gives you a small punch to your arm.
Both of you get lunch and then head to your usual table where just Andy was sat, reading an issue of Uncanny X-Men with one of his earbuds in.
"Hey, Andy. You're not gonna get any lunch?" You ask, placing your tray onto the table and sit next to Pete.
"Nah, not right now. I'm gonna wait for the line to clear up so I can finish this," Andy replies, taking his other earbud out and wrapping the cord around his iPod.
"Where's Joe and Patrick? Did they come by yet?" Pete talks with his mouth full, shoveling the spaghetti on his tray into his mouth.
"No, they haven't come by yet, I'm assuming both of them got stuck in computer lab, I heard the teacher's an ass so I wouldn't be surprised if they did. Hey, does the spaghetti come without the meat in the sauce or is it just that?"
"Ah okay, thanks, Andy. Yeah they have just the tomato sauce, the meat is an add on type thing," You reply, taking a bite of your food.
Andy gives a nod of affirmation and continues to read the comic in his hands.
You and Pete continue to eat, Andy soon finishes his comic to go get lunch and comes back shortly after.
"Have Patrick and Joe still not come by yet?" Andy says, as he sits back down in his seat and sets his tray down.
"Nope, nothing yet," Pete replies.
Worry began to set in your stomach, nothing could've happened to the two, except maybe Joe getting in trouble and dragging Patrick along with him.
You decide to pull your phone out and ring Patrick and after a couple of rings it goes to voicemail. You hang up and look at your phone for a moment before closing it.
"Patrick leaves his cell on silent during school, try Joe instead, or you could always go look for them." Andy says, swallowing a bite of his pasta before talking.
Shoot you forgot about that. You open your phone back up and dial Joe's number, it doing the same thing as when you tried Patrick's number.
"I'm gonna go look for them, do you guys wanna come with?" You ask, getting up from the table.
Pete looks at Andy then back at me, "Nah, I think we can just stay. Me and Andy still have to finish our food,"
You nod and walk out of the lunch hall, heading down to upstairs building C to get to the Computer Lab. Once you were at the classroom you knocked on the door, not long after the teacher opened it.
"What is it you need?" The teacher says seemingly annoyed.
"Have you seen Patrick and Joe? I believe they have you as their 3rd bell and I haven't seen them." You ask, slightly intimidated by the teacher's height and demeanor.
"They're in lunch detention right now, actually."
You let out a small 'oh' and thank her before walking back to the lunch hall. Wow, Andy must've been right about her being mean.
You return back to your table and sit back down next to Pete, sighing. "They got themselves stuck in lunch detention,"
"What? How did they do that?" Andy says, Pete snickering next to you.
"I don't know! I went to the computer lab, knocked on the door, then asked the teacher if she'd seen them or knew where they were and she just told me that they were in lunch detention," You explain, running your hands through your hair.
Pete is now laughing even louder and so is Andy, now you can't help but laugh a little with them too.
Lunch finishes and all three of you dump your trays. You grab your bag and start walking to your 4th bell History class.
As you walk in you see Patrick sitting at the table you two share with his head down. You walk to it and place your things down and sit next to him.
"What happened, Stump?" You say, placing a hand on Patrick's arm.
"I don't wanna talk about it." Patrick says with his voice muffled from still having his head down.
"Alright, I won't pry about it, but you have to put your head up so that way we can work. I can't have a partner if he's got his head buried in his arms the whole time." You chuckle, taking your hand off his arm and getting your things out of your bag.
The rest of the day went by and soon enough you were in your room blasting AFI's Sing The Sorrow album as you got ready for the dance.
You had the dress that Patrick helped you pick out and some simple makeup on, just a little bit of eyeliner on your waterline and a light coat of mascara on your bottom lashes, just leaving your top lashes curled.
You pause your music and put the CD back into its case, grabbing your phone on your way out of your room.
You spot your dad sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal, "Hey dad, how do I look? Does it look okay or should I change something about it?"
"Hey, kiddo. You look nice, that looks just fine. Let me take a picture before you head out, okay." Your dad gets up from where he was sitting and gets the camera out
You stand in front of an empty space where paintings he made were the only thing that adorned the walls behind you. You smile and he takes the picture, then he comes next to you and takes a picture of both of you.
"Alright, have fun and don't do anything stupid. Take your coat too, it's cold out." He says as he gives you a hug.
You grab your coat and tell him bye before going outside. Joe was your ride to the dance, so you waited outside for him to come. In a few minutes he pulled up with his hand me down 1998 Toyota Corolla, Andy sitting in the passenger seat.
"Hey, Joe, thanks for taking me. Hi, Andy," You say, getting into the backseat of the car.
"No problem. You stoked for it? Your date is that Mark guy, right?" Joe asks as he begins driving.
"Yeah, I guess."
"You seemed to be stoked about it yesterday, what's wrong now?" Andy asks.
You shrug your shoulders and sigh, regardless of the fact that they couldn't see you. "I dunno, I just- feel bad about leaving you guys, we've been going with each other the past two years now. And on top of that Pete won't be there either because he has a date too."
"Don't worry about us, Y/n, we'll be fine, and you can always come with us and hang out if you get tired of Mark," Andy says and Joe nods in agreement.
"It's not really that, I guess. I mean, I didn't get to ask the guy I wanted to and just kinda said yes to Mark even though I didn't want to go. To be honest the guy is a dick and I've seen how he reacts to other girls rejecting him, and I just didn't want him to spread gross lies about me like he did with the girls that said no to him."
I was stupid for saying yes, but I would've also been stupid if I said no. It was a lose, lose situation and my grave was already dug when he asked me. I'm hoping that he just ditches me and says that it was a joke that he asked me, that no one would ever ask me. You wanted to get out of that situation even if it meant him humiliating you in front of a crowd of other people. You knew that's exactly what would happen if he did do it.
"Why didn't you ask the guy you wanted to before? We had like, two weeks to do so." Joe asks, his eyes still focused on the road.
"Honestly, Joe, I don't know."
Other than the soft music coming from the radio, the rest of the ride to the school was quiet. All of you get out of the car once you make it to the car lot and park. Joe locks his car and you guys walk to the building that leads to the gym, all three of you giving your tickets to the teacher that had a table set outside.
You head into the hall and tell Andy and Joe to go on ahead while you wait for Mark. You felt uneasy about it, just as you thought on the way here, hoped that he would come to say something about you and ditch.
Mark arrived and greeted you and walked next to you until you were inside the gym. You see Pete and wave to him, then spot Joe and see Patrick peeking over to wave to you. You smile and wave back to him but it was cut short as Mark took your arm and pulled you to a spot where other guys and girls he often hung out with were standing.
God, this is not gonna be a fun night..
He introduces you to his friends. Some waved but most of them snicker and sneer at you. You shuffle in your spot uncomfortably as all of them talk to each other, not really knowing who they were and not wanting to be included in the conversations.
The band that was supposed to start the dance off with one song started to play and everyone began to clap to the beat of the beginning.
'She says, she's no good with words but I'm worse. Barely stuttered out a joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue,'
These guys are pretty good, holy shit.
'Way down with words too over dramatic. Tonight it's "It can't get much worse," Vs. "No one should ever feel like"'
You would like to dance and enjoy the music but it just wouldn't feel like it does when you were with the guys. You had no clue what to even do, you just kinda, stood there as everyone in the group just continued talking to each other.
'Dance, dance. We're falling apart to halftime. Dance, dance. And these are the lives you love to lead. Dance, this is the way they'd love, if they knew how misery loved me,'
"Hey, uh, I'm gonna go to the food table, alright?" You tell Mark awkwardly.
"Yeah, uh-huh, whatever, go do what you need to." Mark says, dismissing you with his hand and immediately going back to his conversation.
'Why don't you show me a little bit of spine. You've been saving for his mattress, love,'
You walk to the table, having to push past the crowd before getting there. You grab a cup and pour some punch into it, then grab one of the dessert cups and a spoon.
You sit at the bleachers to eat the dessert and drink your punch, throwing the empty cups and spoon into the trash once you were done and grab a dessert cup for Mark then head back to where he and his friends were.
You tap Mark on the shoulder and raise the dessert cup to him, motioning that you got it for him. "I got you one of these while I was over there."
Mark looks at you with a look on his face you can only decipher as disgust and destain. "I don't know how someone such as you can think that anyone other than your weird little friends would actually want to be next to you. I thought you were supposed to be the smart girl and somehow you still didn't get it." Mark says, laughing at me. His friends doing the same.
'Why don't you show me a little bit of spine. You've been saving for his mattress. I only want sympathy in the form of you. Crawling into bed with me,'
You look at him for a brief few seconds with a blank look on your face before shrugging. "Yeah, that's fair enough, but if you wanted a reaction out of me like all those other girls you could've at least tried a little harder. Thanks, man." You say before walking away, the dessert cup in your hand. You walk back to the table to put it back so it wouldn't go to waste and head to the bleachers. You see Andy sitting, reading one of the comics he brought with him.
You head over and sit next to him. "Hey, Andy. What are you doing here by yourself? Where's Patrick?"
"I could ask you the same. Patrick's in the mosh pit." Andy says, pointing to the pit that formed in the middle of the crowd.
"He's what? How'd that happen? He's not one for that sorta stuff. I'd expect that from Pete," You laugh.
"I think I saw someone drag him in. He was just kinda dancing by himself, I saw some girl slap Joe in the face earlier too, we can only guess why," Andy sighs, setting his comic down.
"So, what happened with Mark?"
'Dance, dance. We're falling apart to halftime. Dance, dance. And these are the lives you love to lead. Dance, this is the way they'd love,'
"He asked me just so that he could embarrass me in front of his friends," You shrug.
"Are you okay? I'm sorry that happened, dude." Andy says.
"Oh I'm fine, it only bothered me a bit but most of it was because he included you guys into it. I'm glad it happened, I get to hang out with you guys now, that is if Patrick comes out of that pit alive." You say, laughing at your own words.
"That's good, I'm glad you're okay," Andy says, picking his comic back up and continuing to read it.
The song ends and the dance circles and small mosh pits begin to empty, most of everyone else going to their own group as the band starts taking all of their stuff down.
Joe makes his way to where you and Andy were sitting, a glass of punch in his hand. "Oh hey, what's up, Y/n?"
"Nothing much. What earned you a slap on the face by the way?" You ask, Andy snickering next to you, his nose still in his comic.
"We're not going to talk about that, okay.." Joe responds, rolling his eyes and taking a sip out of his cup.
Pete makes his way towards you guys with his date and introduces her to you guys. You wave and say hi, introducing yourself to her as well. She seemed like she was a nice girl.
"Y/n, what happened to Mark?" Pete asks, his hand holding the girl's.
"He just asked to try and embarrass me in front of his friends. It didn't bother me though, I was kind of expecting it honestly. I just walked away after telling him it didn't and came over here and just hung out with Andy," You explain.
Pete gives you a knowing look as a way of saying "I told you so," without saying anything. You roll your eyes at him in response and look at Amy. "So, I'm just curious, what made you say yes to Pete when he asked you to homecoming by lighting your front yard on fire?"
Pete looks at me and then back at Amy. "You don't need to answer that, how about we go and get some punch?" He says. Amy giggled as he began to pull her along with him. He glared at you before he walked away with her.
You stand up and groan a little from your aching feet that the heels were causing, turning around to look at Joe and Andy before telling them you were going to look for Patrick, earning a thumbs up from Andy.
You push past a few people to try and look for him, finally spotting him talking to some girls and then them walking away giggling and whispering to each other.
You walk up behind him and cover his eyes with your hands. "Guess who?" You whisper into his ear.
"I guess Y/n." Patrick chuckles.
You remove your hands from his eyes and he turns around, adjusting his glasses a little bit.
"You look good, Pat." You say, smoothing out his suit jacket with your hands.
"Thanks, so do you." Patrick responds. Both of you look at each other for a few seconds, not paying attention to anything else going on around you. You look away in slight embarrassment, stepping back a little and clearing your throat.
"How was your first mosh? And how did you not die?" You laugh.
"I was just kinda thrown into there unwillingly but I guess it was cool, a little more aggressive than I thought a mosh pit would be, especially for a high school homecoming pit, and I fell once and then left after that happened," Patrick says, looking at his shoes.
There was another awkward silence. You'd known each other for almost 4 years and this is probably the one time where you two didn't know what to say to each other.
"If you guys are done being weird, we were all going to get the picture taken before it starts to get too crowded," Joe says, standing in front of you two and motioning to go with him. You thanked him in your head that he broke that silence
You and Patrick follow Joe to the wall that had a fancy background for students to take pictures, where the rest of the guys, including Amy, were standing waiting for you.
"God, we've been waiting ages for you guys. What were you doing that took Joe so long to find you two?" Pete scolds. He sounded like a mother that had a teenager stay out too long after their curfew and was upset with them. Pete was just always kind of the parent of the group, though. Surprising for someone that acted like such a child sometimes.
"Shut up, Pete. We have people behind us that want to take a picture too, just get the picture taken and then we can do whatever we want afterwards." Joe says, pushing you and Patrick forward to the area as Andy hands the teacher his digital camera.
Everyone gets into their spots, Pete was next to Amy and had his arm around her waist, Joe and Andy stood next to each other smiling, and you put your hands on Patrick's left shoulder and leaned on him like you always did with these photos and smiled. The teacher counts down and takes a couple pictures to get some good shots.
"Do you guys want to do a silly one or are you all too old for that?" The teacher asks.
Everyone says yes and we all get into a new position. Andy and Joe made a heart with both of their hands and leaned towards each other like they were going to kiss, Pete and Amy had their tongues sticking out, and Patrick was holding you bridal style and you put your right arm up in a sort of cheering motion. The teacher then took those pictures and when she was finally done you all got out of position and thanked the teacher as Andy got back his camera from her.
"Let's see, did they get the pictures better than they got them last year..." Andy whispers to himself, but just audibly enough to where people next to him could hear.
You laugh to yourself as you recall last year's pictures. The teacher that was taking them took nothing but blurry pictures or ones where some of us had our eyes closed, there was only one picture that was decent enough that we printed out for ourselves.
You all look over Andy's shoulder or arm as best as you could as he went through the pictures, deleting a few blurry or bad ones here and there, and laughing at the shots of the funny ones.
"We actually got good pictures this year, guys. I'll look through them some more and print out the best ones for all of us." Andy says, turning off his camera and putting it with the rest of his stuff.
"Are you gonna want some prints too?" Andy asks Amy.
She looks at Pete for a second, and then back at Andy, "Yes please, that'd be great."
Andy sends back a thumbs up to her, and Pete takes her back to the "dance floor". That is, if you could even call it that.
"Alright, I'm gonna go find a girl to dance with, maybe more than just to dance with if I'm lucky. Peace!" Joe says before walking away.
"I don't know about that, but maybe you'll be lucky enough to earn a punch to the face this time," You call out, earning a glare and an angry grumble from Joe.
There was a silence for a minute or so after you laughed at what you said and the reaction you got from him. But it wasn't an awkward silence, just one where there was nothing to say afterwards.
Patrick takes a long and deep inhale, not letting it out before saying something. "Maybe I'll find a girl to dance with." Patrick clears his throat and and adjusts his glasses as he turns to look at you.
"I'm sure you will, Patrick. Go to the floor and ask someone." You say, smiling as you encourage him.
Patrick lets out a sigh and looks down at his feet, then back up to you, avoiding your eyes as he speaks. "I'm trying to.. What I'm trying to say is do you want to dance with me, Y/n." He stutters out at first, speaking a little faster as he says the rest. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed red.
You freeze in shock and stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth was slightly agape and you would only assume that your face was probably the same shade of red, if not darker than Patrick's based off of the way you can feel your cheeks starting to burn up rather quickly.
"Um, uh, y-yeah. I'd um, I'd love to, yeah." You stutter out awkwardly, smiling at Patrick.
You look out of the corner of your eye to see Andy with his face in his hands, shaking his head as he does so.
Patrick awkwardly holds his hand out, looking everywhere but at you. You take it and walk with him to the dance floor, and just as you do, a sappy slow dance song comes on.
How on earth could this be one of the only times that a slow dance song comes on? You would've assumed that Pete might've been up to it, but it was probably some unlucky 1 out of 1,000 chance.
"Uh, Y/n? Can I please have this dance with you?" Patrick awkwardly asks. You turn your head to look at him then quickly look at your shoes after a few seconds out of embarrassment.
"Yeah, that'd be great." You say quietly with a smile. You laugh to yourself, glad that you weren't the only one that was nervous. And you had no idea how, but you felt your cheeks getting even hotter than they were before.
You and Patrick face towards each other and you awkwardly place your hands on his shoulders. It was especially awkward when Patrick asked if he could put his hands on your waist.
You both stayed silent and avoided eye contact for the first couple of moments of you dancing together. And no matter how much you were enjoying it, how euphoric it felt, you just couldn't look at him. Though not in a bad way.
You finally look at each other and Patrick gives you a nervous smile, his cheeks still a reddish tint.
You smile back at him and wrap your arms loosely around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. It was a bold move even for yourself, and you quickly regret it, wondering if it might've been too bold of a move.
Patrick stiffens a bit, but quickly relaxes and proceeds to dance with you, slowly swaying with you to the music.
"Hey, Patrick. Can I tell you something?" You say, your voice shaking a little.
"Yeah, go ahead." Patrick says just as equally nervous, or at least it sounded like it.
You think for a moment, debating whether if you should tell him what you were going to say or not, then finally deciding you should.
"You can't laugh at me or anything, please." You hesitate for a second. Patrick looks at you with his brows furrowed, what seemed to be a confused look.
"Um, I like you. More than one should be for being just friends with someone. I- what I'm trying to say is that I like you romantically." You admit, shutting your eyes closed in fear for what his face would turn into.
Patrick stops dancing, yet not letting go of you and stays silent for a few moments. You open your eyes to look at him, knitting your eyebrows together to try and pinpoint what exactly his expression was, but not being able to.
Patrick pulls you closer and gently places a shaky hand on your cheek and leans in to kiss you, his lips touching yours.
You freeze for a moment in shock, but ease into it and kiss him back, wrapping your arms a little more tightly around the back of his neck to pull him down, deepening the kiss.
It was definitely an inexperienced kiss, not that you would know that, being this was your first, but it soon turned into a more enjoyable one.
You two pull back, breathing just a little heavier than you normally would. You two looked at eachother, laughing lightly to yourself as you feel the high of exhilaration.
Both of you don't say anything the rest of the song, you just continue to dance holding each other closely, your face buried into his neck and his cheek pressed to your hair.
The song ends, too quickly for your own liking, and another upbeat pop song starts to play.
You hold onto each other for a while longer.
"Do you wanna go back to the bleachers?" You ask, finally pulling away from him.
"Yeah, there's not really much to dance to with this music, it's kinda weird when everyone else isn't with us." Patrick replies, adjusting his glasses.
You smile and slip your hand into his, walking with Patrick to the bleachers where Andy was.
Patrick stops when you two were a few feet away from the bleachers. "Am I just going insane, or do I see Andy making out with that girl over there."
"I was just thinking the same thing." You say, your mouth slightly agape at the sight.
Someone from behind grabs your shoulder, you turn around to see who it was and to no surprise, it was Pete.
"Hey guys, what are you two doing standing here like weirdos? Why aren't you guys dancing together?" Pete says, shaking both yours and Patrick's shoulder gently.
"Because we were just looking at that." Patrick says, briefly pointing at the scene happening on the bleachers.
Pete looks in between you and Patrick to look. "Oh wow, they're really going for it, huh? When did that happen?" He says, seemingly having the same reaction as you and Patrick did.
"We have no clue. We came here to plan on sitting with Andy and it was just already kind of happening. Oh, by the way, where's your little girlfriend, by the way?" You ask, teasing Pete.
Pete rolls his eyes at you and his face quickly turns into one of what you immediately recognised as mischief, one that induced fear upon you. He was about to say or do something you knew you wouldn't like or be happy about.
"How was that kiss by the way? It looked like you two really enjoyed it, me and Amy are happy for you! Maybe we should tell the guys so they can congratulate you guys too!" Pete says enthusiastically with a shit eating grin on his face.
Patrick looks at you with a mortified look, you mirror his expression and turn back to Pete. You couldn't find any snarky remark to say back to Pete, you were just completely speechless after what he had just said.
Amy walks up to Pete and taps him on the shoulder and puts her hand in his when he notices it's her.
"Hey guys! Are you having fun! I saw you two dancing a little while ago." Amy says, a sweet smile on her face.
"Oh uh, hey Amy. Yeah, yeah, we're having fun. Um, what about you?" You ask, stumbling over your words a bit, still thinking about what Pete said.
"Thats good. Me and Pete going to go back to dance, do you guys want to come with us? The dance is about to end in 15 minutes."
You open your mouth to talk only to have Patrick beat you to a response.
"No, we're alright. But thank you for asking, Amy." Patrick replies.
"Alright, have fun! If you need us we'll be somewhere in there." Amy says, grabbing Pete's arm and dragging him to the dance floor. Pete looks over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at you and Patrick.
"Do you wanna go outside?" Patrick asks, a small smile on his face.
"Yeah, yeah. It's kind of noisy in here." You respond, following along with Patrick. You slipped your hand into his as you continued to walk with him.
You now realized just how sweaty you were. You don't know if it was because of how hot it was inside of the gym or if it was because you were with Patrick. Now that you think about it, it's kind of gross.
As you walk out the doors, you feel the cool wind blow on your face, immediately cooling down how hot your cheeks felt. You both sit down on the grass.
There was a calm silence around you, only having faint music playing from the gym and distant chatter of students and teachers keeping the noise present.
"I would've never thought that would've ever happened." Patrick says, a faint blush on his face as he looked in the distance.
"What? Pete finally getting a girlfriend or Andy making out with that girl?" You snort.
Patrick looks at you and rolls his eyes. "Well, yeah maybe the Pete part, but I mean us. It sounds so cliche but I wouldn't think that I would ever get to, well y'know.." Patrick shrugs.
The way the moonlight illuminated his face made the light freckles peppered across his face more visible, and the way it made the colour of his eyes look all the more beautiful. The chill of the wind made his nose slightly red, and his cheeks had a flush to them.
You smile and look at him. "Honestly, me either. But I'm glad it did."
"I don't know what they put in that punch because I do NOT remember being that confident or bold." You add on, laughing a bit.
You lay down on the grass and look up at him, admiring his features like you did the same way you did the day he was helping you pick out your dress, except when he looked at you this time, you didn't look away.
"It's kind of cold." Patrick says, rubbing the tip of his nose.
You smile and laugh, getting up. "Do you want to go back inside?"
"No, I think I'm ready to go back home. It's too crowded and hot in the gym and too cold out here." Patrick replies, getting up off of the grass and offering you a hand to pull you up from the grass.
"I agree with you there. Do you think you can drive me to my house?" You get up, brushing your dress of from any dirt of dead grass that may have stuck onto the fabric.
Patrick nods and you both walk to his car.
"Should we say bye to the guys before we leave?" You say, getting into the passenger seat of his car and closing the door.
"No I think they should be fine. And Pete would probably just tease us." Patrick says and starts his car, pulling out and exiting the car lot to get onto the road.
The drive to your house was almost the same as the ride Joe gave you to the school, but it wasn't an awkward silence that filled the car but rather a pleasant and calm one.
After about 10 minutes of driving Patrick pulled into your driveway. Both of you got out, as Patrick had insisted on walking you to your doorstep.
"Thank you, Patrick. I had fun with you tonight."
"Yeah, of course. I had fun with you too." Patrick smiles.
You grab onto Patrick's shoulders and lean towards him, gently placing a peck on his cheek, pulling him into a hug after.
"Goodnight, Patrick. I'll talk to you later on, okay?" You say, burying your face into his shoulder.
"Goodnight, Y/n. I'll talk to you later." Patrick says, placing a kiss to your temple.
You two break the embrace and you turn around to open your door, walking into your house and closing the door.
All of the lights were off and it was silent, so you would only assume that your dad was already asleep.
You take off your shoes and take them in your hands and walk into your bedroom.
You close your door and change out of your clothes, throwing them into your hamper and changing into your pajamas.
You smile to yourself as you recall the events of the night, only to be interrupted by a knock at your door.
"Yes?" You shout before opening your door.
"Your friend Andy is on the phone right now, he wanted to talk to you. Here, can you bring it back to me when you're done?" Your dad says, handing you his phone.
"Yeah, of course, dad. Thank you." You say before going to sit onto your bed.
"Hey, Andy, what's up?" You say, holding the phone to your ear.
"Where are you? We've been looking for you for like 15 minutes now." Andy says worriedly.
"I'm at home right now, Patrick drove me. Why didn't you call my cell?"
"Because when I called you I heard your phone ringing in your bag. You left your bag and jacket over here and we thought you were still here because it was left here on the bleachers." Andy scolded.
"Shit! I'm sorry, dude. I didn't mean to worry you." You apologize.
"It's fine. But I'm kind of upset you didn't say bye to me. Do you want me to drop your stuff off later?"
"I'm sorry, I should've said bye. I'll make it up to you, Andy I promise. But if you could bring my stuff for me later on tomorrow that would be awesome."
"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Y/n."
"Goodnight, Andy. Thank you."
"No problem." Andy says, hanging up.
You shut the phone and get up, walking to your dads room to put his phone onto his nightstand and walk back to your room.
You close your door and pull your covers up and slip into your bed, immediately falling asleep due to the exhilaration of the night wearing off.
<Now playing - Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy>
3:00 âââââââââă 3:00
AN; I think I started this in early December and now it's already the third of February so it's been a process. I'm sorry this took me so long to post but it's probably one of my longest works and because I also kept hitting parts of the story that I had no clue what to write. I do hope that you enjoyed it, though. I also have another Patrick Stump x Reader fic that you could find in my masterlist.
Tags: mentions of drinking, no use of y/n, fem reader (could be read as gen!neutral?) established relationship, use of pet names (ex. babe, baby), Danger Days era, tooth-rotting fluff (I thinkk thatâs all, plz lmk if thereâs more tho!)
Summary: After begging to leave a halloween party thrown for him, Frank surprises you with something unexpected yet long overdue.
A/N: Figured that I would write something in honor of Halloween and, of course, my favorite rhythm guitarists birthday <3 You probably wouldnât guess off of my works so far, but I am a Frank girlie through and through! (have been since middle school LOL) Anywayss, I hope you enjoy this, would you call it a drabble? (prob not) Anyways, as always plz leave asks / suggests / corrections & if you celebrate, happy Halloween, plz stay safe out there!đ§Ąđ
Word Count: 2,131
âYâready to head out?â Your long-time boyfriend asked as he tugged at the collar of his costume in what would be assumed to be an anxious manner.
Your brows knitted together, âWhat? Already?â
You wore a frown on your face as Frank, your boyfriend, nodded his head before taking one last drink of his beer. He limited himself to one bottle for the night, given that he was your ride - and that, of course, his number one priority was getting you home safe rather than getting himself drunk.
Frank smirked once he saw you pursing your lips. He had to hold himself back from kissing you with a pout like that.
âIs it a crime for a guy to wanna spend the night with his girlfriend?â To him, the word âgirlfriendâ felt so overused, outdated even. It was just a matter of time untilâŠ
You huffed.
He leaned in close to you, his hot breath tickled your cheek as he spoke, âDonât you wanna lie on the couch with me, candy, and horror flicks?â
You tilted your head giving him a âreally?â look. âFrank.. Mikesâ basically threw this party for you.â
Frank groaned, he knew that you were right. Mikey, knowing all the people that he did, invited everyone over for a Halloween get-together to celebrate his bandmate and buddies birthday.
âAnd look at how cute we look!â You exclaimed as you swayed your hips - Frankâs eyes dragged over you as your dress caught movement.
You continued, âCanât let these costumes go to waste, can we?â You giggled as he placed kisses all over your face while you pushed at his chest playfully.
You and Frank had settled on dressing up as Chucky and Tiffany, characters from one of your favorite horror-comedy, Bride of Chucky. Frank was dressed up in a tacky Chucky - printed - costume that heâd bought from a Spirit Halloween a few minutes away from your shared apartment.
You, however, put more effort into your part of the costume. You were wearing a short and white thrifted dress with your usual fishnet tights and broken-in docs. For the occasion, you borrowed a leather jacket - this one not being disintegrated - from Gerard.
Frank brought his hand up to your chest and gently brushed his fingers against the golden necklace that hung around your neck, âTiffâ, written in cursive. You looked great in gold, but you had a preference for silver - heâd made damn sure he knew that for a fact.
It was then that he noticed the temporary tattoo youâd applied earlier, a heart - a knife staked through it - with Chucky printed above it. Though it was very obviously fake, it reminded him of the tattoo heâd gotten of your name on his chest.
It was just before he started his work on My Chemâs debut album - I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love.
You two werenât even officially together when heâd dragged you out to the tattoo shop, nonetheless making you drive to the appointment. âYâlike it?â He said through giggles as the tattoo artist wiped him clean.
You shook your head, disbelieving that heâd actually gotten it. Sure he had said he would, but you didnât take him seriously. Why would you? Youâd known the guy for maybe, give or take, 2 weeks by this point.
âI canât believe you actually did it.â You covered your mouth trying to cover the smile tugging at your lips.
âImma get your face done next!â He joked standing up and out of the chair. Heâd laughed so hard once he looked at the horrified look on your face. It was then and there that Frank somehow knew you were the one heâd end up with.
It had been over 8 years since then and 3 MCR albums later, and something that Frank had now realized?
You really took Halloween seriously, heâd thought to himself before he realized that he had practically been staring at your chest this entire time.
He let out a dry cough looking back up at your face, realizing you were watching him, you opened your mouth as if you were about to say something - âDonât.â He decided to cut you off with a pleading look.
âJust - can we please go? Look!â He pointed to Mikey, who was currently making out with some random chick across the room from you two.
âWho even is that?â You questioned with a laugh and playful roll of your eyes. Mikey was always up to something. Or someone.
Frank shrugged, âCouldnât tell yaâ, baby.â
You adjusted your blonde wig and bit at your cherry colored lips. Frank noticed, he knew that you were now considering leaving.
âSee? Mikey doesnât mind us leaving, he wonât even notice that weâre gone!â Frank slid his arm around your waist.
Unsure, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. Why was he so adamant about leaving early? âYouâre sure?â
âPositive. Now, letâs go, because as cute as you look in this get-up, I know youâre just dyinâ to get into your jammieâs.â He teased.
You pretended to mull it over for a moment, even tapping a finger on your chin. âFine, Frankie. Youâve convinced me, you win!â You smiled as Frankâs lips met yours in a chaste kiss.
Pulling away, Frank smiled and his grip on your waist tightened slightly - always so protective - as he led you out of the crowded house. On your way out, a few friends had stopped the two of you for quick goodbyes and birthday wishes for your boyfriend. To which in return, Frank, gave small smiles and quiet âthank youâs.
All he wanted was to get you home and for his ultimate wish to come true.
In what felt like no time at all, youâd managed to get home safely despite all of the teenagers - probably unlicensed at that - driving along the roads. Most-likely college kids you assumed.
You imagined having children of your own with Frank one day - you could only hope that they would never be reckless teenagers like the ones you had just passed by on the intersection.
With a rustle of your keys and a creak of the front door, you and Frank were now stepping through your apartment's entry way, and soon enough, your dog - whoâd woken up upon your arrival - skidded over to the two of you.
You shut the door as Frank dropped to his knees and started to appease the barking dog with head scratches and pets. âHey, pretty girl! Miss us?â
You snorted, âWe were only gone for, what? An hour or two?â You shrugged your jacket off and hung it onto a coat hook. Sneaking your way behind Frank, you threw your keys into a tray with a clink.
Easily distracted by noise, your dog rolled off of its back and followed soon after you once you fell onto the couch.
Letting out a sigh, you closed your eyes and felt your lap shift as your pup made herself comfortable atop your legs. Much too relaxed to realize, a few minutes had passed before Frank tapped your shoulder from behind the sofa.
âHm?â
He was now wearing plaid pajama pants and a worn out band-tee, opposed to his previously worn costume.âI broughtchaâ a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.â
Your dog hopped off of your lap as you made way to get up from the cushioned seating. You turned the couch corner and grabbed the clothes from Frank, kissing his cheek, you smiled - âThanks, babe.â
You skipped over to the bathroom as Frank sat onto the couch. He found himself restless as he adjusted the throw pillows you had picked out upon signing the initial lease. To ease his mind, he leaned forward and grabbed a bowl of candy - meant for the trick or treaters - but he could grab more, right? And the remote to your TV.
The secret he held from you was practically burning a hole into the fleece pocket of his pajama pants.
An hour had passed and you were now laid out on the couch with your boyfriend - your back was pressed up against one end of it while your legs were draped over Frank's lap. He drummed his fingers against the soft flesh of your thighs, so lost in thought that he could hardly focus on the sounds coming from the TV - all he knew was that it was no-doubt based on the screaming, a horror movie playing on cable.
He looked down to your shared bowl of candy, now that it was empty he figured that he might as well bite the bullet. Whatâs the worst you could say, right? But, gosh, was he nervous.
âAugh, cmon! Really? Now is when you cut to ads?â You complained. Commercial break. Frank took a deep breath in before looking at you, now was the time.
He reached over and grabbed the remote, clicking the âmuteâ button. He exhaled shakily and called your name.
You turned your head over, âYeah, Frankie? Something wrong?â Suddenly, all his worries on whether this was the wrong time or not disappeared once he saw the sheer concern expressed on your beautiful face.
That hadnât meant that his nervousness had dissipated, though.
âN-no, itâs nothinâ - would you just?â He lifted your legs softly off of his lap and stood up from the couch - reaching out for your hands.
He let out a slight sigh of relief as he felt your fingers intertwine with his as you followed his lead. You laughed awkwardly, trying to figure out just what was going on now that you were standing up with him, âWhatâs up?â
He shook his head, âItâs just that uh- weâve been together for almost 9 years now, yeah?â
You nodded and squeezed his hands, âMhm?â You prompted him to continue.
âAnd I - the last few years with you have been incredible.â He spoke, trying to even out his breathing, his last intention was to freak you out. Was he freaking you out?
You smiled and quickly agreed, âThey have been - truly.â
âAnd I'd be lying if I said that I could live without you..â His eyes began to water as you looked at him once over, clearly worried as to what was happening.
âBecause I canât.â He continued.
You quietly cut in, âMe neither, but you already knew that.â Your eyes were starting to water as well. Had you figured out what he was doing?
With a newfound confidence he promised, âThen you wonât have to.â
Suddenly, he dropped down to one knee and you let out a gasp before covering your mouth with both of your hands. It was as if you were worried that one sound would break the moment.
In a shaky breath, he voiced your full name, âWill you do me the honor and marry me?â
Upon hearing his question, you quickly dropped to your knees - meeting him at his level. âYes.â You whispered nodding your head frantically.
Frank sniffled, overcome by his emotions, and let out a laugh once he realized he hadnât even been holding out the damn ring case - rather choosing to hold your hands instead - as he proposed. âYou havenât even seen the ring, baby!â
You wiped at the tears running down your cheeks, âDoesnât matter, Iâd marry you even if there were no ring.â
He shook his head and dug into his pocket for the ring, âNonsense.â
Once he pulled out the case, he made no wait to slide the diamond onto your ring finger.
âI-I love it so much, I love you so much.â
Frank connected his lips to your knuckles, now adorning a promise of eternity with himself. He could hardly believe it, this was certainly a dream. But to his pleasure, you made it known that it hadnât been once you looped your arms around the back of his neck - pulling him in - and collided your lips against his in a passionate kiss.
The light of the moon reflected off of his wedding band and the diamond adorning your finger. He couldnât help but stare, after all - his birthday wish for the past almost-9-years since he had met you had finally come true. It was when Frank saw the soft rise and fall of your chest that he realized that this was forever.
He knew from the very start that he would never have regretted getting your name tattooed, permanently, on him - forever.
Happy halloween to me, he smiled as he fell asleep holding you close to his heart.
tags/warnings: Love at first sight, mutual pining, confessions, kiss, FLUFF
Although Reader's gender is not specified the translations below (specifically VrÄjitore) are feminine!
Summary: Bucky and Sam come your apartment for a few days to hide out and a certain Sokovian Baron is enamoured by you.
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: I've said it before and I'll say it again - I'm a hopeless romantic. - Love, Grem x
A/N 2: I loved this so much that I created a follow up (here) and decided to make this a mini-series which you can find here. - Love, Grem x
Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics
Translations:
Draga - dear
VrÄjitore - Enchantress/witch (in the context below - it's enchantress)
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Zemo hadnât known what to expect when the door to your apartment opened but it certainly wasnât instantaneous infatuation. You were a friend of Sam and Buckyâs and somehow, somehow, got roped into helping them hide him. Despite the initial feelings of scepticism and meticulously planning his escape from the dingy apartment building, when you opened the door it all changed.
You were stood in your pajamas, rubbing your eyes, speaking in a soft sleepy voice that alluded to you either just about ready to fall asleep or you had just woken up. Zemo was staring and he knew it. Even though you hadnât looked at him yet, you were the picture of perfection with your slightly tousled hair and the disgruntled expression you were giving Sam as he explained what was going on. When your e/c eyes finally flickered over to him, finally meeting his eyes, he felt his breathing stop.
âYou better come in,â you sighed, stepping aside and allowing them inside your small apartment.
You immediately headed to the small kitchen-cum-living room, turning on your kettle and grabbing mugs.
âTea? Coffee? Food?â You fire off questions in rapid succession but Sam nor James pay attention to you. Theyâd began a hushed conversation about ideas and plans in your living room. Zemo looked over to you and was surprised to see you were looking directly at him. He felt like a deer in headlights. He was at a loss for words. For once.
You raised an eyebrow at him curiously. âYou... want anything?â
Zemo clears his throat and stiffly approaches the counter top that seperates the two of you. âTea will do. Thank you.â
âI have earl grey and English breakfast,â You say, holding up the two boxes. âWhat would you prefer?â
Zemo blinks, his throat dry. âEarl grey, please.â
âSugar and milk?â
Zemo only nods and watches as you turn away to prepare the tea. Surely, you knew he was dangerous? Surely, you had seen the news from years before? Surely, you knew you shouldnât turn your back to him?
But you had. And Zemo was helplessly lost in you whilst the hushed conversation of Bucky and Sam drifted around the apartment. He couldnât remember when he had last felt this way. It had been a long time, thatâs for sure.
After five minutes you turn around with two mugs in your hand and slide one to Zemo. He carefully lifts the mug to his mouth and sips, relishing the sleepy warmth of the lavender drink. His tongue darts across his lips, something else is in the drink, making it ever so slightly sweeter. You register his expression and offer him a small, sheepish smile.
âIâm sorry,â you mumble. âI think Iâve given you mine. I always add a dash of vanilla syrup.â
Vanilla. Zemoâs eyes widen but he smiles and nods. âAn excellent combination.â
Your smile brightens. Zemo thinks his knees might give out; that smile lights up your entire living room and youâre not even trying. He should be trying to manipulate you, make you uncomfortable; not nervously running sweaty palms on his slacks or being tongue tied. And you should be cold and harsh, threatening to maim him like Bucky or Sharon not warm, friendly and inviting.
âHave you ever tried an Edinburgh Mist?â You ask, eyes brightening with each passing second. Zemo briefly wonders if it's because your friends, the ones who have barely spoken with you, the ones who have landed a fugitive terrorist into your hands, have never bothered to indulge in the beauty that was you. He shakes his head gently, watching you speak.
âItâs like the cocktail London Fog but an actual hot drink.â You explain. âitâs earl grey with vanilla, with foamed milk and dusted with cinnamon. I loved it so much I had to start making it at home.â
Zemo finds himself smiling over the rim of his mug at you. He hums in response, nodding a little before adding, âI may have to trouble you for one when you have the chance.â
You scoff a little, suppressing what looks to be a blush and Zemoâs heart does a flip. Unfortunately, youâre both torn away by Sam and Bucky wanting to talk strategy.
The next few days feel like a dream.
Zemo practically follows you around like a love sick puppy, offering to help with everything he can. Laundry. Cooking. Cleaning. Each time you dismiss him, citing that he is a guest in your home and will be treated as such. Your mother didnât raise you to be unwelcoming.
When itâs clear he doesnât really know what to do with himself, you roll your eyes and pretend youâre so hard done by with the lack of help you recieve from Bucky and Sam, that youâll gladly take Zemoâs company instead. Which he humbly (albeit very enthusiastically) accepts.
As you do chores, you chat about anything and everything. His favourite books, your favourite shows, his music taste, your favourite foods. Whilst you cook he watches eagerly, asking inquisitive questions and occasionally teasing gently to make you laugh. Part of your brain believes it to be a ploy, as does Sam and Bucky. Some grand manipulation that they had warned you he was capable of. But somehow you doubted it. There was something about how he made you laugh, how he always acted the gentleman and offered his help, something about the softness in his eyes that you knew he meant every word he spoke and action he did.
Perhaps that was what caused the argument between you and Sam.
âHeâs a terrorist,â Sam snapped at you on the fifth day. Bucky was out and Zemo was in the shower, making it an opportune time to discuss the behaviour Sam had witnessed over the last few days. âAnd a master manipulator. You should not trust him.â
âGod forbid men have hobbies.â You quip. Then seeing Sam's frown you sigh.
"On a technicality, you are too." You point out, scrubbing at a dish violently. Anger had bubbled inside you at the subtle accusation that you were falling for a manipulation, especially when said terror had been placed in your lap. âYou brought him here as well.â You huff with agitation.
It was Samâs turn to huff. âYou donât get it. Heâs dangerous.â
You slam the scourer down and glare at Sam. âNo, youâre not getting it. You brought him here. Hell, yesterday you and Bucky went out and left me with him for hours.â
Sam opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words. He knows he canât argue against that and he knows damn well better than to try.
âJust... be careful. Okay?â He grumbles, heading to the spare room. âThatâs all I ask.â
Once the door is closed you roll your eyes and turn back to the sink, haughtily mimicking Samâs words. You startle when you hear Zemo chuckle from behind you.
âApologies,â He murmurs, looking over  at you with a smug smile. âI didnât mean to frighten you.â
Whether or not it was his intention, you know that he isnât sorry about it at all and it makes you smirk back. As with everything the last few days, you canât seem to find yourself to be genuinely upset with him.
âItâs alright,â you sigh, drying your hands. âTea?â
âPlease, dragÄ.â Â
You blush at the use of the nickname, but turn away quickly. This was another ritual that had formed in the last few days, and you would be lying if you didnât enjoy the sweet nickname heâd given you and the way his honeyed eyes followed your movements. You didnât want to tell him you knew the meaning. That youâd briefly dabbled in learning Sokovian. Something about him using his native tongue to compliment you, believing you had no idea what he was saying as he looked at you,  made your heart beat faster and your fondness for him grow. Again, this only made arguments of him manipulating you weaker; why say things to you that you couldnât understand? Quick compliments or praise in a foreign language he thought only he could speak, muttered under his breath that made your resolve crumble apart like a cookie dipped in hot  tea. You couldnât deny that he had charm but something else drew you to him. It was like you were under a spell and the thought that he may have to leave soon was too much to bare.
âYou know,â Zemo started, voice quiet. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. âIâve noticed that they donât appreciate you, dragÄ.â
You turn, eyebrows high, mid-stir of the teas. âWhat?â
Zemoâs eyes drop to his hands. âPerhaps I am out of line,â he says carefully. âBut you are correct in that all of us being here was sprang on you. Yet you welcomed us, even me, into your home without hesitation. You have cooked meals, offered your shower, home and did laundry... and only once or twice I have heard a thank you.â He looks up, meeting your eyes with his. His expression is soft, almost apologetic. âSo, thank you, dragÄ.â
You blink at him, slightly shocked. So, heâd overheard your argument with Sam. He couldâve taken a different route; planting seeds of doubt about your friendship with the heroes, allowing tendrils of resentment to grow and blossom into anger. However, he hadnât. Zemo had only pointed out the truth of the current situation; you had accepted the bizarre situation to help your friends and hopefully the betterment of the world without question and without thanks. Your mouth opened to defend Sam and Bucky, but your mind faltered trying to find an example from the last few days.
In fact, Bucky had grumbled his thanks of a coffee once and Sam for his food once. Zemo had been trying to help you for the past five days and somehow always managed to thank you and compliment you. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you snapped your mouth closed. You shrug half heartedly and remove the teabags.
âThank you.â You murmur and then realise it sounds like a very stupid thing to say back. âFor saying thank you? Sorry. Um.â
You turn back, handing him his tea but not meeting his gaze. Youâd already learned to make it how he liked. That was probably not a good sign. You clear your throat.
âI appreciate it.â
Thereâs a beat of silence and you look back at him. He smiles. You smile back.
Your heart beats a little faster than before and you shift on your feet. Youâre being drawn in again.
âAnytime.â Zemo bows his head to you, still smiling, his tone utterly sincere; like he would never tire of thanking you. His gaze meets yours again and he exhales gently. âYou... are something else. Do you know that?â
You tilt your head at him, smile widening to a lopsided grin. âNo? How do you mean?â
Zemo huffs through his nose, chuckling slightly. âYou have bewitched me, dragÄ. From the moment I saw you.â He takes a sip from his mug watching you with a mesmerised expression. In a low rumbling voice he adds, âVrÄjitore.â
Your breathing stalls for a moment. You donât think anyone has ever looked at you like how Zemo is looking at you; like youâre almost too good to be true. Your stomach twists into knots and your heart and mind race to try to come up with a quip or statement as equally romantic and poetic as heâd uttered but you canât.
When you donât respond, Zemo steps away, looking at the floor. âForgive me. Iâve said too much.â
âNo!â you blurt suddenly, and cover your hand with your mouth. You cringe slightly and smile sheepishly at Zemo, whose tilting his head curiously at you now. âI thought it was just me.â You say lamely.
Zemoâs eyes widen and a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth but he says nothing as you rake a nervous hand through your hair.
âSo....â You start awkwardly, wetting your lips and dropping your hand from your nape limply.
âSo.â Zemo repeats back to you, his eyes sparkling. You can feel your heart thunder at the sight and you open your mouth to continue but Sam erupts into the room.
âWe need to go,â He says hurriedly to Zemo, throwing on his jacket. âBucky and Sharon have ran into some trouble.â Â
Zemo nods, setting his mug down and striding to the coat rack for his purple fur coat. Sam shoots you an apologetic glance when you ask if theyâd be back.
âWe may have to find another safe house. Weâve stayed here for too long, you might get caught being with us.â He shrugs. âBut thanks for everything. I owe you one.â Sam grins over at you cheekily and adds, âand so does Bucky.â
âAs do I.â Zemo adds, smiling softly over at you as he straightens the collar of his coat. Sam looks like heâs about to shush Zemo when his phone rings. Samâs expression turns serious and he stalks for the front door muttering instructions to either Bucky or Sharon. He points at Zemo before he opens it. âParking garage in five minutes. Make sure youâre not followed.â
The door closes behind Sam before he sees Zemo nod and make his way back over to you.
Zemo stands before you, looking down at you with the same wondrous expression he had before. Heâs close but not too close; a polite distance even after  everything tonight.
âSo....â You start again, smiling wryly at him. âI guess this is goodbye?â
âFor now, vrÄjatore.â Zemo says with a gentle smile. A gloved hand reaches up hesitantly to cup your cheek. You can feel the heat of his palm through the leather, and you lean into it; searching for his warmth. Your eyes flutter ever so slightly and you heave a sigh. Just your luck.
âIâll find you once the dust settles.â
You raide an eyebrow at him and chuckle. âAnd Iâll be waiting.â
Your own hand encompasses his on your cheek and it feels like an eternity passes as you both stand in silence gazing at eachother before Zemo leans down and places a chaste, tender kiss to your lips. Your heart stutters and you move to follow his lips as he pulls back, making him chuckle.
âIâll find you,â he repeats, firmer this time. âAnd then you may kiss me for as long as you wish. Until then, duty calls.â
He grins at you again, adoring the flushed expression youâre wearing, but pulls further away from you. Your arm stretches out, still holding his hand and with one last, small squeeze you release him; watching him stride out of the front door and follow Sam. The silence in your apartment is palpable, and when you remember to draw a breath, the air is stale and dry. You sigh to yourself and finish your tea while replaying the events of the last hour.
 You hadnât seen Zemo in two months.
That hadnât meant his presence was missing.
The mission had finished a month ago, however, Zemo was still currently on the run. Bucky and Sam had attempted to find him but from what they had told you, they had assumed he was long gone in some faraway island, living it up. But you had known better.
Lavish gifts from expensive chocolates to tea had appeared at your apartment. The latest was the newest, beautiful bouquet that you had centred perfectly on your coffee table, somewhere you could look upon it everyday, and a pack of cherry blossom tea. You took photos of all of your gifts and added little notes of them into your phone â as you had no way of contacting the Baron, you ensured you could thank him for each and every gift heâd bought for you when you saw him in person. Bouquets came every ten days like clockwork â as soon as one bouquet wilted, the next would appear to take its place. The gifts would be every two weeks. Maybe, you joked with yourself, so it didnât seem like it was excessive to send two gifts every week.
The only indication that it was Zemo sending you these items was because each gift came with a small 6-by-4 card with one word written in plum-purple cursive.
tumblr needs more pietro maximoff x reader content. like i know he died in his first movie but that is NOT an excuse.
life was so easy when i was in my peter maximoff era (fox x-men universe). i remember i read a 3 book series for him. however, it was wattpad but in my defense i was young.
tumblr don't make me resort to wattpad for a pietro maximoff x reader cause i'm so close to doing it.
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