Request: “Can I request a Tommy Shelby x daughter where she goes to a nightclub on her 18th birthday, and he, Arthur and John follow her to make sure she’s alright” - by Anon
A/N: Day four Non-Stop August! This is an old request that had been sitting there for a while since my hiatus, and I was only too happy to get to it now. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this one, so thank you for the idea!
“Okay bye Dad!” You yell as you shrug your short fur shawl on top of your shoulders. You’d almost reached the front door and thought you’d hit your timing perfectly, but the signature abrupt yell from your father had you looking up and cursing the sky. So close.
“I don’t think so, come in here.” You grumble and stomp your heel at the door for effect before you shuffle your way into the living area. What you found was not an unusual sight, your father, Thomas Shelby, smoking a cigarette with your uncles, Arthur and John. When you appear in the doorway you’re met with absolute silence. Tommy finishes the large puff he’d been taking, blowing it out nonchalantly and shaking his head as he did.
“I don’t think so.” You raise your eyebrow defiantly and shrug your shoulders.
“You don’t think so, what?” You catch Arthur hiding a smirk out of the corner of your eye, but know better than to stand down to a stare off when it was your father involved.
“Get changed, you’re not wearing that.” You looked down to assess yourself.
You had gone and bought yourself a new dress for your birthday, with permission of your father of course, and that was what you had put on. The garment was a deep green and completely covered in sequins right down to your midthigh, where the hem of the garment ended and the delicate fringing that reached your knees began. You knew the piece was a little on the racy side of things, with a v neck line that showed off more of your cleavage than you had ever dared before. You weren’t purposely trying to upset your father though, and had the good sense to put on a pair of fine fish net tights underneath and the black fur shawl that hung around your shoulders.
“I absolutely am wearing this, you said I could buy a new dress.” Tommy’s eyes slightly widened at your statement.
“And that’s what you bought? When I said a dress,” he said your name in his signature parental scolding tone that you had grown accustomed to over the last 18 years, “I meant a dress, not whatever scraps of fabric they could find at the shop.” You let a very unbecoming whine escape your lips at his scolding that had both of your uncles laughing.
“This is what everybody is wearing.”
“Well, no Shelby would be caught dead in it, you have the family name to uphold I’ll remind you.”
“Oh c’mon Tommy,” John piped up, “it’s her 18th, let the girl have some fun.” You smiled over at John, the uncle you could always count on to have your back on matters such as these. You often put it down to him being the youngest of the three and having a little more of a party streak than what you ever imagined your father had.
A honking from outside pulled your focus, looking at the door quickly and then back at your father.
“That would be Helen, and my cue to leave.” You walk over to a still complaining Tommy and press a kiss onto his cheek, his stern gaze not wavering at the gesture.
“I still wish you’d have let me tell Ada.”
“There’s no way I’d have let her come.” You yell from the hallway. You scoop up your beaded black clutch from the hallway table and yell a goodbye to the three men, hearing an array of ‘be careful’s’ and ‘don’t drink to much’s’ follow you out the door. You shake your head at your worrying family. They’d been the same way ever since you’d been a little girl, and although you didn’t really think they’d stop as you got older, a girl could dream.
Another honk from the car pulls you out of your thoughts and has you running to meet the ever impatient Helen, who looked stunning in a red tiered fringe number.
“Happy birthday!” Your best friend squealed, pulling you into a bone crushing hug once you were seated in the back with her. Helen was your best friend and two years older than you, so she had been more than delighted when you’d asked her to be your guide around town for the night.
If you’d have been any other teenager you would have been sneaking in to clubs years ago, but your father kept a close eye on you. And as much as you liked to play the rebel, you had listened to your father when he’d said people would know who you were and know that you’d have been underage.
So here you were giggling with your friend as she popped a bottle of champagne for the car ride, chauffer taking you to your first stop of the night.
*******
You were sweaty, tired, and more than a little tipsy, but that was not stopping you as you and Helen continued to dance, flailing your legs and arms around to the beat of the music.
You were currently in club number four. You’d lost track of the time after club two, too happy and giggly to be caring about such trivial things.
Helen motioned behind her, wordlessly telling you that she was going to grab you both another drink each. You nodded happily, pointing to where you were stood to indicate you’d be right here.
The song changed when Helen had reached the bar, slowing down to a tempo that had the men and women who had previously been bopping suddenly pulled in close and swaying. You were about to exit the dance floor and join Helen at the bar when a tapping on your shoulder had you pausing and turning.
There stood a man who was a complete stranger to you holding out his hand and looking at you with a smirk on his face. On any other night you’d have said no, but it was your birthday, and you felt like enjoying this night to the fullest.
You accepted the dark haired mans hand, and he swiftly pulled you in so your bodies were pressed firmly against one another. The hand you’d taken stayed holding yours while the other placed itself at a respectable height on your waist.
“Richard.” He stated simply as your hand went to rest on his shoulder after it had snaked it’s way up the length of his arm first. You replied with your own name, a coy smile on your face as you did. The smile and gesture brought a larger smile to his face as he leant down to your ear to ask you a question. The words got lost in translation as you noticed someone at the bar talking to Helen that pulled all of your focus.
At the first club you’d thought you’d noticed the shaved side of a ginger head in passing that looked suspiciously like Uncle Arthur. At club two, a tweed flat cap that looked like it belonged to Uncle John, and at club three you could’ve sworn you’d seen your father at the door as you’d entered, smoke billowing from his mouth.
Now, there was no denying it. Sat at the bar talking to Helen was indeed your father and it made you furious. A small excuse to Richard had you leaving his question ignored as you broke from the embrace and high tailed it to the bar before Tommy could notice. As you got behind him you caught a snippet of their conversation.
“Of course I’ve been looking out for her Thomas, I would never let anything happen.”
“Oh yeah,” he said accompanied by a scoff, “is that why she’s on the dancefloor right now with some creeps hands all over her?” He whipped his head to where you’d left Richard to prove his point, where his eyes widened in panic at no longer finding you there.
“Looking for something, or should I say, someone?” Your voice had him frozen on the spot, stuck in the knowledge that he’d been caught in the act. When he finally turned to look at you, he saw you stood there with your hands on your hips and the signature Shelby annoyance plastered on your face.
“Look darling-”
“Don’t ‘look darling’ me Dad, what the hell are you doing here?” His mouth, that had been hanging open upon being interrupted, snapped shut as you could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to figure out how he could explain his way out of this.
“Alright so his name is Richard Quinn and he works at the offices in town. Now I reckon that…” You spun around to find Arthur standing there, obviously having not noticed your presence until he had dug himself in too deep.
“Thank you Arthur.” Tommy’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he pulled out a cigarette with a sigh.
“Oh so you’re spying on the people I talk to as well? Stalking not enough for you lot?” Both men refrained from speaking as you stood there shaking your head at them. “Right then, I’ve had it.” Quick as a flash you scoop up your belongings that Helen had been sitting by and march to the door. Once outside you lean up against the building and take what was supposed to be a grounding breath of cold air.
You thought you could feel yourself calming down until you noticed John Shelby stood on the opposite side of the wall you were on, debating whether or not to hide or stay put and hope for the best.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You march towards the Shelby who now knew that he’d been sighted as he tried to act casual by leaning against the brick. “You know Dad and Uncle Arthur is one thing, but I thought you were better than this Uncle John.” You spit out with an accusatory finger pointed at his face. He had the good grace to look sheepish at least, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he took your scolding. You stepped out to the edge of the footpath and raised your hand in an attempt to hail a taxi before your arm was pulled out of the air.
“If you want to go home we’ll take you. We’re heading the same place after all.” John’s calm did nothing to quell you into agreeance, instead you ripped your arm out of his grasp and raised it again, trying to catch the attention of an upcoming cab. You smiled to yourself when the car pulled over, feeling victorious in escaping your meddling family of Shelby’s.
You celebrated too soon, as the door you’d just opened was slammed shut by your father, who leant in the passenger seat window and told the driver to jog on.
“You’re coming home with us.” When Tommy saw you still stood, fuming, in the same spot when the other three had made moves to head towards their car, he stormed over and grabbed you by the crook of the elbow, pulling you along behind him.
“Let go of me Dad, I’m not a child.” You state, even as you thrashed and tried to remove his grip like a petulant kid. He spun around to look at you, a fire in his eyes that stilled your movements.
“The second you stop acting like a child I’ll stop treating you like one, now get. In. The car.” His words were clipped and punctuated, making you get into the back seat without another word. You knew when you’d lost, even if you did slam the door once seated.
The car ride was silent and filled with smoke, as Tommy and Arthur sat smoking in the front and John sat beside you with a cigarette between his lips. You’d been holding back until now, but it felt like the silence had gripped your throat and squeezed, forcing tears out of the corners of your eyes as you gazed out the window. You tried to wipe them away before they were seen, but John caught you in the act.
“Awh c’mon kiddo, it’s not that bad.” He shuffled over closer to you, pulling you into a side hug so that your head rested on his shoulder as he rubbed your arm up and down. The tears continued to fall as you sat there embarrassed, with your father looking at you in the rear view as he drove and Arthur occasionally turning to catch a glance.
“I’m 18 now you three. How long before you trust me?”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Arthur finally spoke from the front, “we just worry.”
“We know better than most that there are bad people out there darling. Our worrying got the better of us.” You sniffled on John’s shoulder raising your head with a final wipe of your eyes as you looked at your father.
“I know that Dad, but you can’t go following me around everywhere. You’re going to have to trust that I have the good sense enough to watch out for myself. I am a Shelby after all.” That had your uncle’s releasing a laugh, but your Dad simply held your gaze in the rear view as the car rolled to a stop outside your house. You took the silence as your cue to leave before the others were dropped home.
As annoyed as you still were with them the ride had calmed you down, so you leant forward to place a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, before repeating the process with John and getting out of the car.
“I love you guys,” you said through the open car window, “even when you piss me off.” Your uncles laughed again as you walked to the drivers door where Tommy sat looking at you as you placed your hands around the edge of the completely open window.
“Head inside darling, we’ll talk more in the morning.” He placed one of his large hands over both of yours, giving them a tight squeeze before releasing them. You leant in and kissed him on the cheek, smiling at him before saying your goodnights and heading to the door.
You turned right when you were about to head inside, seeing the car was unmoving, as you thought it would be until you closed the door. You gave a small wave that was reciprocated by two, John instead raising his hands and blowing you a big kiss. You went in and sure enough heard the car engine start mere moments later.
Your conversation with them was far from over and you knew it wouldn’t be easy to get it through to them that you were officially an adult now. But at the end of the day you were still glad to have been born into that dysfunctional family.
Because you knew that you’d always have them at your side, no matter what.
Request: "Hi! Could I please request Jack Kline with a cambion (demon and human hybrid) significant other?" - by Anon
A/N: Woohoo, Non-Stop August keeps on keepin' on. This is a heinously old request, so I am so sorry anonny and I hope you're still active to enjoy it!
I still have a few days at the end of August to fill in, so if you have any requests don't be shy, send 'em in x
You stand in your almost completely hidden spot behind a tree by the bunker, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth and hopping from foot to foot.
You knew Jack could never afford to give you a precise time of when he’d be emerging to meet you, due to the Winchester’s erratic sleep schedule, but the waiting was always the worst bit, no matter how prepared you were for it. You currently had only been waiting 40 minutes tonight, your record being 2 hours. Every time you found yourself second guessing whether or not you should hang around, Jack’s happy face cleared any lingering doubts.
Sometimes you caught yourself wondering what your father would say, or any of your fathers’ friends. A Cambion, half demon, half human, hanging around and waiting for a Nephilim, half angel, half human, to sneak out from under his guardians’ noses. You could hear it now, the taunting and teasing, the chiding and laughing. You were a Cambion, chasing around after some Winchesters play thing like a dog with a bone.
“It’s Jack.” You were broken out of your thoughts with hands covering your eyes from behind. You giggle to yourself, pulling his hands away and turning to face him, keeping one hand in your hold.
“That’s not how that goes Jack, remember you have to say ‘guess who’ first?” You relay, correcting him on the greeting you’d told him about last week. He seems confused but relents that he’d gotten it wrong, simply smiling down at you, happy to be back in your company.
“So, what are we doing tonight?” He asks as he gets into the passenger seat of your beat-up old Camaro.
“I thought we’d go see a movie.”
“Which one?” He asks excitedly.
“Whichever one you want.” You pull up at the theatre and head inside, giving Jack’s arm a tug as he goes to head for the queue. He looks at you in confusion before a devious smile spreads across your face.
“This your first rodeo partner?” You question, knowing full well that it probably was. “You don’t pay for your ticket, you wait until the staff are too busy and you sneak in.”
“Isn’t that stealing?”
“I guess technically, but barely.” He seems hesitant at first, as he always was, but you fix him with a smile that has him agreeing to your plan. Just like you knew he would.
On paper the two of you shouldn’t have gotten along the way you did, but in a way you thought that you balanced each other out. You were both stuck in your weird situations, of no doing of your own, of being half of two worlds. Not quite human and not quite supernatural, it was clear when the two of you met that you were lost, searching desperately for how you fit into the bigger picture.
Sure, Jack was innocent and naïve, and you were reckless and liked to live on the edge. You made Jack live on the wild side a little, and he pulled you back when you were going to far. You figured that between the two of you, you’d figure everything out just fine.
You creep in and pull Jack into the bathrooms with you, instructing him that you’d have to hide for 5 minutes before you were sure the hostess would be gone. He seemed alarmed to be in the girls bathrooms at first, telling you that Dean had told him he wasn’t allowed to go in there, but you shushed him and calmed his nerves by telling him that everyone who needed to go would’ve gone well before now.
With your time up you pull on his hand with a devilish grin, peeking your head out of the door to double check the coast was clear. With a childish glee on your face you lead him quickly into the cinema and claim 2 seats in the otherwise completely empty back row. You turn your head and let a giggle out, resting your chin on his shoulder to whisper into his ear.
“See, how easy was that?” He looks down at your grinning face and smiles back, giving you a reassuring nod before fixing his eyes on the screen.
You hadn’t actually bothered to check what was playing, but to your amusement it was a fairly B-grade horror movie. The special effects were that poor that you found yourself laughing at a lot of the scenes, earning you a glare or 2 from other patrons.
Jack however was not enjoying himself. Whenever you’d laugh he’d cover his eyes with his hands, or nuzzle his head into your neck while covering his ears. You couldn’t help but stroke his hair whenever he did, eventually offering up a hand which he gladly accepted, squeezing on it throughout the movie.
“I don’t think I like horrors.” You don’t mean to, but one look at his ashen face has you peeling with laughter. Jack’s brows that were initially furrowed at your reaction eased as the laughter took a hold of him too, making you look like 2 giggling idiots. Although you often found yourselves in this exact same moment, laughing with each other night after night, you never got sick of the sound.
As much as you hated to admit it you knew you had to get Jack home soon, lest either of the brothers should awake to find him missing. You had had a couple of close calls, but you planned your evenings well enough that you always managed to evade them.
It would seem your luck had run out tonight though. You pull up to the outside of the bunker, shitty pop song blaring on the radio as you sang along and Jack enjoyed listening, to see that you were greeted by both of the Winchester brothers. You involuntarily roll your eyes, taking your time in putting the car into a rolling stop.
As soon as the car had ceased its movements Dean was yanking open the passenger side door and grabbing Jack’s arm, pulling him out of the car.
“What do you think you’ve been doing?” You hear Dean ask as you too get out of the car, unsure whether the question was directed at you or Jack.
“Chill papa D,” you decide to answer, raising your hands in mock surrender, “I’ve returned your precious little angel, not a scratch upon that pretty face of his.”
“Now you listen here,” Dean replies, releasing Jack and advancing on you with a finger pointed, “you stay away from Jack, you hear me?”
“Dean.” Jack chimes in from his spot beside Sam. Dean turns his head to look at him as he talks. “She’s my friend.”
“Do you even know what she is?” Sam queries. Jack simply nods at Sam, looking between the brothers with that innocent gaze that told everyone he couldn’t see the problem.
“So then you know she’s bad news.” Dean fixes his gaze back on you, his hard stare that was clearly meant to intimidate running off of you like water on a duck’s back.
“Jack’s not some easily corruptible child you know. He can make his own decisions, and that includes who he hangs out with.”
“Not where you’re concerned.” You let a tsk pass through your lips, looking at Sam with a look that was supposed to shame him for speaking. Dean retreats from you, going to whisper in Jack’s ear. The man’s whisper may have been a yell where you were concerned, and you caught his sentence as clear as a bell.
“You are not to see that girl again, you hear me? We’ll talk more inside, go.” Jack remains standing in place with his eyes sullenly fixed on you, to Sam’s shock and Dean’s annoyance.
“C’mon toots, can’t you let a girl say goodbye?” Dean looks ready to boil over at your attitude but a cough from Sam has him simmering down. A pat on the back and a nod towards you from the tallest Winchester was all the encouragement Jack needed to hastily make his way towards you, throwing his arms around your waist as your arms hold him firmly around his neck.
“They’re not going to let me see you again.” His words were muffled by your neck, but he raises his head and fixes you with a confused glance when a chuckle escapes your mouth. With his arms still around your waist you place your hands on either of his cheeks, fixing his face to you as you speak.
“You really think I’m going to let the Winchesters keep you from me?” His frown immediately transforms, but you shake your head at him at the motion. “No no, keep that frown in place Jack, they need to think that you’re still upset.”
He nods in understanding, placing a far more comical version of his earlier frown on his face. You place a delicate and lingering kiss on his cheek, pulling him in close so you could whisper in his ear.
“I’ll be waiting outside on Friday. Now go act heartbroken.” As if to sell the scene, when Jack pulls away from you he refuses to release one of your hands as you go to walk to your car. Sam sympathetically walks over and claps his shoulder, your hand becoming free in the same instance.
You seat yourself in the driver’s seat and forlornly smile at Jack, starting the car before blowing a small kiss to him. He makes a show of catching it and clutching it to his chest, bringing a smile to your face as you pulled away from the bunker.
As you look in the rear view mirror you could see the Winchesters shuffling back inside with Jack in tow, although his eyes remained on your disappearing car.
You smile to yourself and turn up the radio again, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel to the beat.
If the Winchesters seriously thought that telling you off would be enough to keep you away from the Nephilim then they had another thing coming.
You weren’t going to let either of you keep living the half existence you’d been trapped in before you met. Your halves completed each other, and if the Winchesters weren’t so prejudiced against your kind they’d be able to see that too.
No matter. You were going to see your angel on Friday.
Warning(s): Alcohol consumption, mild description of violence (against you), being attacked
Word Count: 5.9K
Summary: When one of the infamous Shelby brothers decides you'd caught his eye, you answer his advances with the same thing every time. Not a chance. One fateful late-night throws you closer to the Small Heath bad boy than you ever thought you'd get.
A/N: Wow, look at that word count. IDK what came over me but I started writing and then I just didn't stop. This is my favourite that I've written for Non-Stop August so far, by far.
If anyone has any requests send 'em on in and I just might be able to find a place to slip it in this month.
With a smile on your face you hand the brown paper bag with the delicately folded edge over to Mrs Murphy, careful to pass it to her with the bottom flat and unmoving, lest the cream on top of the bun should get flattened.
“Husband still has no clue?” You tease as you accept her few coins in your outstretched hand.
“I have it down to a fine art. Eat it in the alley just before the turn off to my street and dump the wrapper in the neighbour’s bin. It's full proof.” You laugh along with her, the kind of laughter that two women who share a secret from the men around them allow, before waving her off as the bell above the door loudly exclaims her exit.
It was near on closing so the small bakery only boasted a couple of customers whose chittering about which type of bread to accompany their dinners filled the shop. You decide to get a head start on your nightly routine, changing the prices on the small pieces of whiteboard to reflect your end of day urge to get the last few stragglers of baked goods sold.
The bell above the door chimes again when your back was turned to the door. The store quiets to a complete still, before scurried feet and the bell going again tells you of your previous customers hurried escape. You sigh, closing your eyelids firmly before turning around, knowing exactly the only people that could have that effect on your patrons.
“You know John,” you start, turning around to face not only the one Shelby you were imagining, but two in the shape of John and Arthur, “Mr Mooney would be outraged if he knew you were coming in here and scaring off his customers. Any more of that carry on and he might not be able to keep the shop open.”
Your level stare at the men did nothing but bring a grin to the already smirking face of John Shelby, the toothpick in his mouth lolling to the side at the movement.
“C’mon darl,” he held out his hands by his side in an exaggerated shrug, “when have you ever known me not to be a generous customer?” Arthur had distracted himself with looking around, clearly having been dragged in here on their way to wherever they were actually supposed to be.
“Well hurry up then, what is it you want tonight?” Your urging makes John raise a hand to his chest, clutching at his heart as if wounded.
“Did you hear that Arthur?” John asks all but rhetorically, as Arthur pays his younger brothers’ antics no mind. “What is it you want,” John mimics, “you can tell Mr Mooney that if there’s any dip in sales it’s from how his shop lady talks to the customers.”
John places both of his hands against the front of the counter, leaning slightly towards you. Your eyes stray to the toothpick hanging out of his mouth, noting to yourself that you had seen him with it more often than without. John mistakenly thinking that you were looking at his lips shoots you a wink, making you take a step back from the counter.
“You want customer service?” You question, clearing your throat with a dramatic cough and leveling him with the best fake smile you could muster. “Good evening gentlemen and welcome to Mooney’s Morsels. Now unfortunately we are running low in stock, but if I can divert your attention to the front cabinet, you’ll see you’re lucky enough for there still to be a selection left to sample.” Your voice is both jovial and dead at the same time as you wave your hands illustriously across the very few items remaining for the day, making a spectacle of yourself to prove a point.
“Well, I liked that one much better myself.” You let out a small tsk at the older Shelby who had spoken up from the back of the shop, but not daring to push your luck the same way that you did with John, lacking the same familiarity.
John from his still leant position at your counter lifts up a hand and lazily wiggles a finger at you, gesturing for you to come closer. You comply and rest both of your elbows on your own side of the counter, placing your chin in your hands so you can gaze at him with the set of fake puppy dog eyes you were sporting.
Even though John knew that you were only teasing, your proximity and hunched posture meant that you were close enough that he had to look down at you, your eyes piercing through his chest without you so much as trying. The smell of freshly milled flour from your apron drifted pleasantly up his nose as he allowed himself a moments pause to take you in before continuing.
“You better listen up darl, cause this is a one time offer,” he said, accentuating the word ‘one’ by raising up a singular finger in front of your face before swiftly tapping you on the nose with it, “I’m going to buy every last thing left in this shop.” Your nose relaxed from its scrunched position and the hand you’d just used to swat John’s away stilled at your side. If John bought everything that would mean that you’d get to skip off home early, maybe even be able to have a cup of tea with your mother before you’d both start on dinner.
“But as a reward you have to come for a drink at the Garrison with me. Whaddya say?” He drums his fingers a few times before standing up to his full height, face smug as if he’d just given you an offer you simply couldn’t refuse.
Although for a second you had forgotten that you were talking to John Shelby, the brief prospect of heading home early being snatched away from you as soon as it was offered had you deflating. Not that you’d show it to the men. Instead, you make a show of tapping your chin with a set of your fingers from your still leant position, giving the appearance of genuinely thinking about the offer. You abruptly stood up, a clear sign that you had made your decision, much to John’s initial delight.
“Not a chance Johnny boy.” Arthur chuckles from behind his younger brother, prompting a glare to be sent his way. “Now if you’re not actually going to buy anything can you get out of the shop, you’re scaring everyone away.”
“We’re not doing anything.”
“I think you know as well as I do that you don’t have to.” John rolls his eyes in annoyance, but even he can’t deny the truth in your words.
Arthur clearly fed up with the whole charade his brother had just made him endure purchases a loaf of ciabatta, you happily wrapping it up for him. He hands you his payment but refuses to accept his change once you offered it to him, stating that you could keep it for the trouble. You smile and accept it gratefully, wishing the gentlemen a pleasant evening as Arthur leads John out of the shop by the elbow. Once outside the younger brother shakes off his brother’s hand in irritation, following Arthur down the street and only breaking eye contact with you once he leaves the line of sight of the shop window.
You release a sigh once he was out of view, your chest feeling less constricted by the action. You really thought the Shelby boy would’ve given up well before now.
You’d shifted to Small Heath with your mother and two younger siblings 8 months ago, and 8 months ago you’d caught the eye of John Shelby after your first day working in the bakery.
“You watch out for that lot,” the cheerful Mr Mooney had warned you after seeing the three Shelby boys crossing the street en route to the shop, “those Shelby boys are mixed up in all the wrong things, nothin’ but trouble.”
Although you had appreciated the older man’s fatherly advice, you didn’t need it. You could see it for yourself. People parted ways to make room for them on the street, either avoiding eye contact or giving a pleasant and rushed greeting. They walked with an authority that said how unafraid of everyone and everything they were, that was all you had needed to see to have each of them pegged.
You’d never met the men, but you knew them before they had even stepped a foot through the bakery door. You’d grown up around men like them. Your mother had dated men like them, your brother had hung around with men like they before you shifted. They were trouble with a capital ‘T’, and you may have been the only woman in all of Small Heath to have not been glad to have caught trouble’s eye.
The propositions hadn’t started on that first day, but by later that same week they had started and had ceased to stop since. Every time John asked you out it went the exact same way.
“Let me take you out to dinner.”
“Not a chance.”
“Lets go cruising, just the two of us.”
“Not a chance.”
“There’s a new club opened, I bet we’d look good together on the dancefloor.”
“Not a chance Shelby.”
No matter how many different ways he invented to ask you, your answer was always the same. Not a chance.
You’d have thought that by now the youngest Shelby would’ve gotten bored, having gathered from the gossip around Small Heath that he was the most restless of the three. Week after week you were proven wrong, as the bell dinged before his cocky smile was staring right at you.
How many more times was it going to take before trouble stopped knocking on your door?
Having not been able to close early for the night, you flip the battered sign hanging in the door to closed before locking the front door after you. If anybody was following you home, they’d have been surprised to see you turning off on a street several before your own. If they’d been following you for any good period of time though, they’d know this was a weekly stop.
You rap on a beaten down, shabby red door, before a frazzled mother, whose appearances very much matched her front door, yanked it open. Her annoyed expression softened when she saw it was you. You exchanged pleasantries briefly before you handed over a tote bag containing what few loaves had been left at the end of the day.
“You’re sure you’re not going to get in trouble for this?” Mrs Hawley queried as a handful of her many children raced down the hallway behind her.
“Mooney would have to know to care.” You say with a reassuring pat to her shoulder. You say your goodbyes after she thanks you profusely before your head to your final stop of the night.
The house was quiet as it usually was during the evenings, your mother being an advocate for making both your younger siblings read for an hour or two before dinner. Her reading skills were poor at best, and although she couldn’t afford a good education for your brother and sister, she did what little was in her power to do.
You prepared dinner in almost complete silence, with you humming out a few notes of a song you had caught out of the window of a passing car on your way home.
“Shelley said she saw those Shelby boys in the bakery again today.” Although you liked little old Shelley Wickham that lived in the apartment across the road and up a storey from the bakery, you were sure that your mother had had ulterior motives in befriending her.
“Yes, they were mum.” You sigh out, ready for yet another lecture about the dangerous brothers three.
“I just want you to be-”
“Careful. Yes I know.” You interrupt, earning you a displeased scowl in return. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. That John Shelby couldn’t tempt me if he offered us a gold adorned mansion to live in.” You continued cooking in silence, your mother sufficiently calmed for the evening.
“Now dear even I’d be tempted by a gold mansion.” The joking lilt in her voice has you both dissolving into giggles, you nudging her with your elbow lovingly, glad that you had been able to ease your mothers mind. If only for one more night.
*****
You were watching the clock tick down. It had been one of those kinds of days. You closed your doors at 4, meaning you only had 20 minutes until you were allowed to lock the doors. Mr Mooney had told you that he was really needing the bread stoves cleaned after your shift, and you were only too happy to accept the paid overtime, him telling you to take as long as you needed before leaving for the day.
The bell above the door dinged, forcing a smile onto yourself after you allowed yourself a grimace. before turning your focus to the customer. You immediately allowed the smile to fall off of your face when you saw it was only John Shelby.
“I’m not in the mood tonight John, okay? Can you just head on down to the Garrison like you usually do and find someone there to annoy.”
“Woah woah woah there darl. Is it really too much to ask for to get a look at that pretty face of yours before I drink away my sorrows after you shoot me down again?” That signature grin adorned his face, but you weren’t in the mood for playing games, leaving the frown firmly upon your lips.
“You know you could just skip out the whole middle bit and head to the Garrison to drink happily with the knowledge that you haven’t been rejected in one whole day.” You add a sarcastic tight-lipped smile to the end of your sentence, which only spread his own. He looked up to the clock on the wall before speaking.
“Your shift ends in 15, how about I wait here then walk you down to the Garrison with me for a drink? I swear I’ll be the total gentleman. I won’t even give you a goodnight kiss, even when ask for one.” You opened your mouth to respond but he interrupted you before you got the chance. “Let me guess? Not a chance.” He says, raising his voice slightly in a very poor imitation of you that you find yourself letting out a small laugh at. Much to your annoyance.
“You got better plans tonight then darl?”
“If you must know actually my plans are over time here cleaning the ovens before having a cup of tea with my mother, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You add the last part when it looked as though John were about to launch into a speech about how much more fun your night would be if you spent it with him instead.
“Over time on a Friday? How are you getting home?” He asks with a genuine concern that has you hesitating.
“Walking like usual.” John was very clearly unhappy with that answer, shaking his head back and forth at you, toothpick swaying on his lips.
“No. I’ll come and give you a lift.”
“After drinks at the Garrison? I don’t think so.” You scoff out.
“Then I’ll come and walk you home. Final offer, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” You glance at the clock, seeing that closing was rapidly approaching. All you wanted to do was to get started on that oven, so you did something that you hoped you wouldn’t regret.
“Alright fine.” You said yes to John Shelby. The smile on his face makes you wish you could take your answer back, but you can’t unsay what’s been said. And you can’t un-feel the butterflies that knock about your stomach as you usher him out the front door, him placing a kiss upon your hand before you snatch it back and lock the door.
You find that you put more elbow grease into the furnace than what was strictly necessary in an effort to rid your thoughts of John. You’d dip your brush into the bucket and there he would be, grinning down at you. You’d pick at a stubborn spot and you’d feel his lips upon your hand, soft and warm. You’d get fresh sudsy water and you’d be able to feel his breath upon your face.
You startle out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the glass in the front of the store. You race out of the back room to find two drunken men drawn by the light still on in the shop knocking at the glass and trying the door knob.
“We’re closed. Better move along.” You say, pointing at the hanging closed sign as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. One of the men you recognise from down the street to you, so you address him when the men do not immediately move on. “Mr Hawley, won’t your wife and kids be waiting for you?” You question with a steel gaze that has the addressed man’s lip curling up in rage.
“What’s it to ya?’ He slurs out at you, his companion trying the door for what would have to have been the fifth time since you’d been standing there.
“Absolutely nothing to me, but I’m sure it’s something to your wife and kids.” Graham Hawley stares right back at you with an intent that has shivers racing up along your spine before it settles back in the pit of your stomach.
With his friend still leering and trying the door beside him, Graham grabs him by the collar and pulls him off out of view down the street. You only hope that he was off to his family and not off to find more alcohol.
Your work takes about another hour before you’re satisfied with how the oven came up. Even with the strain that runs across your back and the aching neck you acquired in the process, you turn the lights in the bakery off with a smile, opening and locking the door behind you.
The feeling that comes over you when you realise that John Shelby was not waiting for you has you scrunching up your nose in disgust. Funny how he could have that effect on you without even being in your presence. Usually of course, you were screwing up your nose for entirely different reasons, but for the sake of your sanity you were ignoring that you were disappointed that he hadn’t shown up.
Despite yourself. you find that you linger at the door far longer than necessary. You double check the door and cup your eyes against the glass to see that all the lights were turned off, even though it was plain that they were. With a defeated sigh you give up and start making your way down the cobblestones.
As you usually finished much earlier in the day you were shocked by the calm that the night brought, how cobblestones slick with water and oil from passing cars sparkled under the dim street lights.
For a moment, you pause in your steps, straining to hear into the distance. You start your steps again slowly, but cease them almost immediately after, catching the this time unmistakable sound of steps following behind you. You turn and assess the street, shaking your head at yourself when you realise that there was no one in sight. If you’d have realised you were this prone to paranoia you’d have been counting your lucky stars much earlier than this that your shifts usually ended so early in the day.
Suddenly a hand is thrown over your mouth. Fat, sweaty fingers make screaming an impossibility as the accompanying arm is firmly latched around your waist, pulling you into the darkness of a nearby alley. Your head is slammed forcefully against the brick of the wall, making you see stars as you desperately try to blink them away.
When you get reoriented you see that the figure holding you against the wall is Graham Hawley, his friend hanging just slightly to your left in the shadows.
“You think you’re some real high and mighty bitch, huh? Think you can tell me when I should be getting home and when I shouldn’t?” Your reply is slapped from your mouth as Graham’s hand left your mouth long enough to smack it hard against your cheek before returning its stifling grip on your mouth.
“Think we’re some charity case, is that it? Bringing over what scraps of bread nobody else wanted like I can’t provide for my own family.” Your words of denial can’t make it past the drunken man’s fingers, and you feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you fight to be heard, by him or anyone else that may have been passing.
“C’mon man, we better go.” His friend pipes up, making you nod your head as vigorously as you could against the cold brick, muffled sounds of approval puffing past his heavy fingers. The tears begin to fall down your cheeks, slowly at first, when a sadistic grin spreads across your aggravators face.
“Go?”, he questions to his friend, “I haven’t even gotten to teach this bitch a lesson yet.” He releases the arm around your waist, replacing the pressure there with his beefy torso, as he rears back his fist to the increasing volume of your muffled screams. You close your eyes with ragged breaths, awaiting the feeling of your nose crunching and your skull hitting the wall.
“Let her go.” A new voice joins the fray and the tears freely pour across your cheeks and onto Graham’s fingers when you see John Shelby’s silhouette, illuminated by the street light.
“What did you say, boy?”
“I said, let. Her. Go.” You’d never truly understood the fear the gripped the chests of Small Heath at the sight of the Shelby’s, but John’s clipped, authoritative words had the blood in your veins stilling.
The reaction it has upon the men is instant, with his friend tugging at his sleeve and begging to go, while Graham’s hold on you lessened ever so slightly. Still clearly high on the liquid courage he’d imbibed in he doesn’t relent, shaking off his friend and trying to match John’s stare.
“And what if I don’t? You gonna get your brother to deal to me?” Wordlessly, John reaches up and removes the flat cap from his head, holding the brim between his fingers so the light could catch at the metal hidden within its seams.
“No. I’m gonna deal to you.” Graham’s friend had taken more than enough for the two of them, letting out a frantic ‘lets go’ as he this time successfully pulled on his friends arm, sending the two of them peeling down the alley and into the next street over. Out of your sight but not your mind.
John has you held in his arms before you’d even realised your knees had given out, catching you and keeping you on your feet. He says your name softly once, then when it garnered no response he says it again. His voice was still soft, but the urgency that was laced in the letters were enough to pull your teary eyes to his face.
“Are you okay?” It was a loaded question. Physically, you would be okay. The implications of the evening hadn’t set in for you yet though, the adrenaline wearing off making your knees tremble and your hands shake from their position clutching the fabric of his tweed jacket.
“Lets get you home darl, c’mon.”
“No.” The panic in that one word has John’s brow stitched together until you repeat yourself. “No, I can’t have my mother seeing me like this. She can’t know this happened.” Your mother would never allow you to take any more over time if she found out about this fiasco, and as much as you were shaking like a leaf and incapable of pulling a steady breath into your lungs, your family were in no position to be turning down any extra hours.
John nods at you, seeming to understand everything you were thinking in that small, panicked sentence you were able to muster. Without another word he places a gentle arm around your waist so your sides were flat together, and he delicately places the arm not desperately clinging to his own around the back of his neck.
You successfully place one foot in front of the other as you lean on the support you hadn’t known you needed until it was given. John leads you down the street and although you have no idea where you’re going, with his small muttered words of encouragement you diligently follow his lead. In that moment you’d have followed John Shelby anywhere.
Seemingly out of the blue John stops at a nondescript door, pulling a key out of one of his many pockets and letting you both inside. He places you down on a plush red lined sofa, leaving your side only long enough to light the fire in the room and start the kettle before he’s back by your side with a rag and an unlabelled clear bottle.
With a movement of his head, he motions for you to turn around. You do so obligingly, offering him up the now pounding area on the back of your skull that had collided with the wall. You feel his fingers gently graze over the area, a hiss escaping your lips when he places a tad too much pressure on the centre of the point of pain.
“This is going to hurt.” The popping of a cork has you turning your head slightly to see John pouring the liquid all over the rag. Re-corking the bottle, you face your head forward, nodding for John to continue.
John hadn’t been lying about it hurting, a pained yelp running over your lips as the stinging in the back of your head takes over your senses. You reach out behind your back, fumbling for something to ground you, when a soft hand if offered up to you. You take it and squeeze out of pure reaction alone, finding that tethering yourself to John made it easier to ignore the pain. The more he patted the less it hurt until your breaths were coming in long and slow for the first time since you left the shop.
John clearing his throat makes you realise that you hadn’t felt a pat to the back of your head in a while. Keeping his mooring hand in yours you shuffle around to face him, your feet firmly planted to the ground with your body facing his, while one of his legs was tucked underneath him, allowing him to be facing you completely.
“It’ll sting for the next few days, but you’ll be alright.” You nod in understanding, not knowing what to say or how to even start on how grateful you felt that he had been there.
“How does the rest of me look, like I’ve been in a scuffle?” You ask with a humorous lilt to your voice. John quickly assesses your tear stained face with his eyes, smiling when it was done.
“Your cheek is a bit red,” he reaches up his spare hand and gently places it on your cheek, allowing his thumb to move back and forth in a feather light caress, “but that’ll be gone by the time you get home.” Seeing the brief panic flash in your eyes his reassures you, “I promise darl.”
Despite yourself you feel a smile form on your face. Whether it was John’s calming reassurances or his hand on your cheek while the other was still clutched firmly in your own, you didn’t know.
But what you were suddenly very sure of was John’s eyes had never looked bluer than they did right now, and his face never looked more handsome than when he looked at you with firelight dancing along his features.
You felt yourself getting overwhelmed the longer your eyes stayed on his face until your lip was trembling and your eyes were stinging with tears once again.
John pulled you in to him, resting one arm around your shoulders while one hand went to the back of your head, carefully avoiding your injured spot as he pulled you down so your face was resting against his firm chest when the first sob was pulled from your body.
He held you against him as you continued to cry. His fingers danced across your hair as he rocked you back and forth, shushes leaving his mouth with your name and softly spoken ‘it’ll be okays’ scattered throughout.
Your sobs died, as did John’s shushes, until you were acutely aware that you were being held in the safest arms you’ve ever been in. You allow yourself to pull back just enough to let you look up at John’s face and suddenly your breath was gone as his eyes met yours. You were speechless, swallowed whole by John’s tenderness and beckoning lips that seemed to be coming closer to yours with every punctuated beat of your heart.
The kettle whistling loudly in the background pries you both from your daze and has you clearing your throat to fill in the previous sound of your quiet, drawn-out breaths. With a small smile John is leaving you, pottering around in the kitchen until a cup of steaming coffee is in your hands and a much more respectable distance is between you both, one of his legs now resting over the other.
You take a careful sip of the offered drink, screwing up your nose to John’s short laughter when you realise that it was spiked.
“You needed something to take the edge off.” In any other circumstances you’d have been making yourself a new drink and chiding John for the cheek, but right now you gratefully accepted the warmth the hidden Whiskey offered you as you continued to sip.
You sat in contented silence, sipping lightly on your drink as John kept a weathered eye on you in between looking around the room and twiddling his thumbs.
“John?” His elbows now resting on his knees, his head in hands. He turns to look at you, giving you a small, genuine smile to encourage you on. “If you hadn’t of gotten there-”
“I should have been there sooner.” He bit out, throwing his back into the couch as he rubs a hand down the length of his face. “If I hadn’t agreed to one more drink-”
“I don’t want to hear that.” You cut off, making him look at you as you continued. “You were there when it mattered. And I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.” He smiles at you and you think it may have been the first one you’d seen that didn’t have some cheek or devilishness hiding just below the surface. You could feel your heart falter as you gave him a smile back, hoping that it conveyed all the thankfulness and warmth that had crept into your ribcage since he’d sat across from you.
“Can I ask you a question?” You all but whisper, nervously looking down into your nearly empty coffee cup before looking back into John’s face. He gives you a quick, singular nod, that genuine smile still planted on his lips. “Why do you keep asking me out every day?” He scoffs at you, shaking his head and looking at you incredulously, clearly in wonder that that was what had been so pressing you’d been nervous to say it. After everything that had happened.
“I mean it John. I’ve shot you down more times than I can count, and you come back in everyday as if the last didn’t happen. Am I that much of a pretty face?” You add cheekily, making him laugh at the memory of his words earlier that evening.
“You definitely are that much of a pretty face.” The cheek returns to his smile briefly before it flattens out into a more serious expression. “But you’re also the girl that takes the leftovers to the family that needs it, but definitely doesn’t deserve it.” Your cheeks heat in time with the prickles that raise the hairs on the back of your neck as you bashfully look into your lap before having the nerve to meet John’s piercing gaze. “And you’re the girl that takes over time because she knows her family needs it.” Your breathing halts before a tiny mangled, squeak sounds in the back of your throat.
All this time you thought that John had only been interested in you, the pretty faced bakery girl that wouldn’t give him the time of day when every other girl would. Little did you know he wanted you. All of you. He had really seen you, and maybe if you’d have afforded him the time of day you could’ve really seen him too, for who he really is. A younger sibling who loved his family, with a cheeky smile that hid a heart of gold.
“Speaking of family’s darl, if we don’t get you home soon yours is going to start a search party.” He accentuates his sentence with as playful rap of his knuckles on your knee. You grin before you down the little contents that remain in the mug and hover at the front door as John extinguishes the fire and locks up the house.
The walk to yours was quiet, no words needing spoken between you as you simply exist in each other’s company. Without warning you gently snake your hand into the crook of his elbow which he gladly accepts wordlessly.
You hadn’t realised how close you had been to your house before, or maybe the walk felt too short because you weren’t ready to leave John Shelby alone for the night. You both huff in unison as you stare at your door, both of you knowing you had to cross the threshold but neither of you wanting to separate from the other.
John softly spoke your name, making you slowly tilt your head to catch his gaze. His eyes flick between yours as he subconsciously licks his lips in thought.
“I know how you can make it up to me.” The light lilt in his voice let you know that he was joking and he didn’t actually expect payment for playing the hero. You nod anyway, happy to play along. “Go a date with me. A proper one, to a restaurant.” You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at John’s serious expression, as he seems genuinely concerned at what your answer could be. You stare at him in silence once your laughter had died, but the smile he had elicited stayed firmly in its place.
With a squeeze to his bicep, you lean in and place a lingering kiss on his cheek, reaching up onto your tiptoes to whisper into his ear.
“Do you think I’d miss it for the world?” You place your feet flat on the ground, reaching over to open your door and leave him in the night as you speak.
A/N: Awhhhh yea, day 3 of Non-Stop August bringing you some Bill Hargrove content! I wrote this before I’d even finished Season 2, what can I say? I was inspired by what I saw on screen. If you like what you’re reading give the post some love and my inbox is open <3
A/N/N: pssssssttttttttt- there is going to be a sequel
You paced back and forth, the skin of your thumb stuck between your teeth as your eyes darted around you. Between the seats you could see the jocks on the rugby team having their before school warm up, which made you shrivel up your nose in disgust. You hated those guys. The only other people you ever usually saw around, or under as you found yourself, the bleachers were the stoners, but as it was before school you weren’t expecting to see them until much later in the day.
You pulled your thumb away from your mouth for long enough to check the time. 7:25am. You usually liked to be sorting yourself out for the day at your locker about now, before heading to the library and getting some work in on whatever project happened to be due that particular week. He was already 10 minutes late so with a huff you decided to cut your losses and head inside.
“What, leaving already?” You whip around on the spot to see the ever late Billy Hargrove leaning against one of the metal supporters. He looked good, you thought, standing there in double denim and a red shirt that was barely buttoned. He looked good everyday though, in that effortless way that you couldn’t get if you spent hours piecing together an outfit.
“You’re late.” You replied lamely, looking down at your shoes as you spoke.
“Well I’m here now,” he stood away from the post, his hands still in his pockets he motioned towards himself before removing them, “so get over here.” A one handed ‘come hither’ motion was all the encouragement you needed.
With a smile on your face you hurried to cover the distance. One hand went to your cheek, the other to your waist to simultaneously pull you towards him and to push you both so that your back hit the post with a metallic ding. Your arms instinctually went around his neck as his lips met yours in a heated exchange.
His lips were soft but his movements were anything but as he nipped your bottom lip, drawing a groan from your throat as you tried to press your body even closer to his. The hand on your waist strayed up higher, firmly grabbing one of your breasts as your kisses became more desperate.
He pressed his lips along your jaw and down to your neck where he nipped and sucked at the sensitive spot just above your collarbone. You threw your head back with a heated sigh, your hands travelling into his hair as his other hand gave your other breast some much needed attention.
Voices and footsteps broke through your lust filled daze, having you push yourself away from Billy and crouch down to play with your bag to make sure no one could see you. Billy looked around to find the source of the noise and laughed when he saw it was just a particularly loud group of kids getting off of the school bus.
“Nice save Ritzo.”
“Don’t call me that Billy”, you stated with a pointed look. He raised his brows at you and threw his hands up in mock surrender. It’s never the reaction you were hoping for when it came to Billy, but you learned to expect his devil may care attitude in pretty much all aspects, even when your feelings were involved.
The bell ringing made your eyes widen in shock. You frantically glance at your watch to confirm that were going to be late.
“Shit!” You scoop up your bag and throw it over your shoulder in one motion, “I’ve got to go.”
“Same time as usual after school?” You threw back a hurried answer in the affirmative as you race to make sure you were in class before Mr. Meyers read your name on the role.
You made it through the door in a huff, Mr. Meyers shooting you a knowing look as he read out Abbey Milne’s name. You smile, knowing she was two before you, and take your usual seat next to your best friend, Francine.
“Where were you?” She whispered as you both turned to the instructed page, finding out your lesson was going to be on invasive species.
“I slept in,” you half heartedly lie, the smile that spread across your face giving you away.
“You were with Billy again?”
“Shush Franny,” you admonished, “it’s a secret. Remember?”
“Yeah,” she answered with the roll of her eyes, “how could I forget.” You decide to ignore the biting tone your friend gave you, not wanting your morning to be ruined.
If someone had asked you how you and Billy’s secret triste had started you’re not sure you could even remember the exact moment. All you knew was that you had always flown under the radar for most, and been bullied by those you didn’t.
With Billy it was different. You’d caught looks in the hallways. Occasionally brushed hands when passing class material in history. And then suddenly, as if you’d willed it into existence, you were meeting under the bleachers for what had turned out to be the best few minutes of your day. You wish you could have yelled it from the school roof, ‘Billy Hargrove fancies me’, but your situation was under very strict terms of engagement.
Billy didn’t want anybody to know. If you told he’d call it off and deny it.
You had kept strong to your word, although I don’t think even Billy would have expected that vow of silence to reach to Franny.
“He’s taking advantage,” Fran chastised as you worked through the questions being drawn on the whiteboard.
“How is he taking advantage when we’re both getting exactly what we want?”
“Oh, so it was your idea not to tell anybody?” She asks with a pointed look that makes an uncomfortable shiver run up your arms.
“No but-”
“Exactly.” You could have said so much more but you dropped the conversation, not wanting to have the same pointless argument the two of you had since you’d told her about it in the first place.
You knew Francine only wanted the best for you, but a part of you couldn’t help but wondering if a fraction of her worrying was the fact that she was jealous. Not that you’d ever say that to her.
“We still on for tonight?” Francine asks as you rifle through your locker at the end of last period. The both of you were going to go to a drive in together, as they were playing the original French Beauty and the Beast.
“Of course. I can’t go over right now though, I’ll pick you up before the movie?”
“Why can’t you come over right now?” Her question is answered as her eyes follow yours to see you oogling Billy who was leant against a locker talking to a group of his friends. He never once looked your way but that didn’t stop the dreamy sigh and love heart eyes you gave to him.
“Twice in one day?”
Before you could defend yourself the last of the school books you had in hand were smacked out of your grasp and hit the ground with a deafening thud. You look to see Fred, Bruce, and Isaac, your three least favourite members of the rugby team.
“How’s it hanging Ritzo?” Fred queried, which was received by snickers from the other two as if he had made some witty remark instead of the overplayed nickname that had followed you around ever since you played Rizzo in Grease last year. You curse yourself everyday you’d forgotten to take the open packet of crackers out of your pocket before you’d stepped on stage as you could have spared yourself with the fact that you’re almost positive that Fran was the only one at this school that still referred to you by your actual first name.
You tried your best to ignore the boys by reaching down to pick up your books, but Isaac’s muddied converse pressed on top of them as you tried. You looked up at them from your crouched position with what was supposed to be a piercing look, but you’re sure it came across more withered than anything.
“What’s the matter Ritzo? Needing those?” Bruce piped in.
“Just let me get my books back Isaac.” You ignored the other two and looked at the guy in question. Seeing the shit eating grin on his face made you give up with asking nicely. You tried to tug the books out from under his shoe but to no avail.
“C’mon, where are your manners?” When Fred’s comment failed to get a rise out of you, you could see him give Isaac a nod. He lifted his shoe off your books, pushing it into your shoulder to send you to the ground. The laughter in the halls ricocheted off the walls and reverberated in your ears as your eyes welled, despite your best attempts to blink the tears away.
“Oh, is that a hickey Ritzo?” Bruce jeered. You panicked and yanked the neckline of your sweater up to it’s usual place.
“Nah she probably gave it to herself at home with the vacuum. Who would’ve given her a hickey?” The three boys, having had their fun and still roaring with laughter at your expense, walk past you. Your eyes follow them until they land on Billy, who had a smile on his face while his friends laughed along with your tormentors.
Fran silently helped you up and placed your books into your locker for you as you kept your eyes to the ground. She then escorted you to the bathroom where you could shut yourself in a cubicle and cry in the only safe space the two of you knew about. Once your eyes were dried you did your best to clean off the muddy half shoe print that sat upon your right shoulder while Fran’s verbal assault on the boys filled the bathroom for anyone to hear.
“Did you see Billy?” You finally asked with your shoulder partially cleaned and your eyes considerably less puffy than they had been. Fran simply nodded in acknowledgement, not wanting to add insult to injury by going on another rant about it, and you silently thanked her with a smile.
You made your way to your respective cars, and you were about to get into yours when a sideways glance to the bleachers had you pausing in your tracks. Surely he’d have left by now, but the off chance that he was still waiting had your feet moving before your brain could catch up.
Once you made it through the smoke and stench, there in your secluded corner stood Billy, idly kicking at a stone. He heard your feet stop and shifted his attention to your face. He looked as though he was about to advance on you, but seeing the redness around your eyes had him hesitating.
“Saw that in the hallway,” he commented as if it had been about a new poster for the school dance, “they’re not great guys.” As if that should have been the end of the discussion he walked towards you and hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on either sides of your waist, pulling you in and leaning down for a kiss. You place both your hands against his chest and lean your head back, refusing to meet his gesture.
“Did you hear what they said?”
“Sure did,” he said, a laugh escaping his mouth as he peeked past your neckline to look at his handy work, “didn’t realise I’d marked you quite that bad.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked as you once again had push against his chest to stop his attempts for a kiss, your hands remaining there.
“Why didn’t I say anything?” He mused as if the answer were so outlandish you’d need a textbook to figure it out. “Because we’re a secret. What did you expect me to do, jump in to your rescue?”
“Well no,” you pull away from him completely now, “but I would expect you not to laugh with your friends about me.”
“Oh c’mon,” he drawls, saying your name in an irritated and clipped tone, “it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” You stare him down, his eyes boring straight back down into yours. You were daring him to answer, to say what he really thinks and have it out in the open. He broke your gaze, failing at the challenge, huffing and shaking his head as he paced.
“I don’t need this shit.” He uttered under his breath, although he’d said it loud enough for you to hear.
“You don’t need this shit? Good, neither do I. This,” you say motioning between the two of you, “is over.”
“Oh you’re calling us off?” Billy yelled incredulously at your back as you marched away. You stopped dead in your tracks to yell your reply before heading to your car.
“I was fine with being your dirty little secret Billy, but I won’t be your laughing stock as well.”
That night at the drive in with Fran had been really nice. You’d barely been paying attention to the movie as you had cried a little bit about the end of your situationship before you’d both verbally tore shreds from the infamous Hawkins High hottie. You’d laughed at Fran’s impression of him until there were tears in your eyes anew and you were shot with dirty looks from the neighbouring cars.
You went to bed feeling lighter than you had earlier, vowing to keep your word about being done with Billy Hargrove.
You wished your dreams were as faithful as your mind, as you were betrayed in your sleep with traitorous images of his gorgeous hair and his lips all over your skin.
A/N: Day 2 of Non-Stop August! This fic did not end how I intended but about half way through I had a lightbulb, courtesy of the viral song ‘Glimpse of Us.’ Hope you all enjoy!
Silence envelops the room, except for the ever ticking clock that hung on the wall, a constant reminder of time passing while you sat alone. The pot of pasta serving as the tables current centre piece had long stopped giving off steam yet it still smelled just as good as when you'd placed it there hours ago.
You'd already helped yourself to the lukewarm dish 15 minutes ago but had lost your appetite as soon as you'd sat it on your plate. You idly pushed a single round of penne from one side of your plate to the other before standing with a resigned sigh, collecting your full plate and the completely empty one from the other end of the table. Your untouched food landed with a thud into the rubbish bin, your conversation from the morning ringing in your ears as you set about tidying up what remained of your solitary evening.
“Stephen, can we talk?” You spoke nervously from the bed as you sat and watched him tie his tie in the full length mirror.
“Of course my dear.” His eyes briefly met yours in the mirror, a small smile accompanying his reply. You took a deep breath as you steeled yourself to give the speech you’d been practicing for the last week in your head.
“I need you to be home on time tonight. I’m going to make us a nice dinner, and we’re going to talk while we eat.” He turns around to face you, satisfied with how his tie was sitting.
“And what are we going to talk about?”
“About us, Stephen. We need to talk about us.” He opened his mouth to respond in the same nonchalant way that he loved to, but the look on your face had him using his better judgement and closing it before he could utter a word. He gives you a solemn nod, confirmation that your plans were locked in.
Things hadn’t been the same between the two of you recently, not since seeing her. Sure, the honeymoon phase was well and truly over but it couldn’t be a coincidence that Stephen had gone cold after your run in. Something had changed, and you were hoping, praying, that it wasn’t because of her.
“Stephen,” you call out as he was about to leave for the day after he’d given you a quick peck as a goodbye, “6:30. I won’t be reminding you.”
“6:30. I’ll be there.”
You were scrubbing the pasta pot, the leftovers safely in the fridge and the merlot you’d bought three quarters empty, when the jingling of keys in the door signified Stephen’s arrival. At 9:00pm.
He called your name out cheerfully as the signature sounds of his keys going into the bowl on the entryway table and his bag being plonked down on the ground beside it registered in your ears. You didn’t bother with a response, taking a sip of your wine and going harder with your scrubber at a particularly irritating spot.
“Shit,” he says from the threshold of the kitchen, “the dinner. Babe I am so sorry I forgot-” He reaches out to touch your waist and pull you in for a hug but you jerk away from his touch to grab the tea towel from the oven door.
“Really?” You throw the tea towel into the partially dried bowl to face him, bracing your arms against the sink behind you.
“Don’t even start Stephen. It’s 9 o’clock, where have you even been?” The grumble he gives you in response enrages you, making you snatch the open wine bottle from his hand as he was fetching himself a glass. He looks at you with fire in his eyes as he says your name as if it were a curse. “Where have you been?” You repeat, eyes steady and unrelenting as you look into his.
The two of you are very similar, both of you with an unbreakable will, making arguments a stand down. It is Stephen that gives in first, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger before looking back at you with a much softer expression.
“I was working on my paper and I forgot about dinner. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough Stephen. Not this time.” You leave the kitchen and head into the bedroom, opening drawers and pulling out what few things you had in them and tossing them on the bed. You and Stephen didn’t live together, but you did keep a small selection of your things at his place, as you had been there more often than not as of the last few months.
A humourless chuckle from the door way indicates that he’d followed you but you pay him no mind as you carry on with the task at hand.
“Acting a little rash, aren’t we?” The smug smile on his face feels as though he’d reached into your chest just to close his fist around your heart.
“This isn’t funny Stephen, and it’s not rash. Things have been different with us for weeks now, don’t even try to deny it”, you added once you saw him opening his mouth to interject. It snaps shut, the amused twinkle from his eyes fading when he notices the tears welling in yours. “All I wanted was one dinner. One dinner where we could talk about things-”
“Well lets talk about them now, I’m here now.” He grabs one of your hands in both of his as he sits himself on the edge of the bed while you remain standing. You look at your hand delicately cradled in his before you look back into his eyes.
The man cares about you, you know he does, anyone could see it. But you know that Stephen was hung up on his ex, Christine, and anyone could see that too. The two of you had bumped into her with her new beau a while back, and you could honestly say that was where the trouble had started. Stephen had been distant ever since. Staying later at the office, not keeping you in the loop of his comings and goings, barely holding you in bed the way he had.
And you knew. You knew that the comparisons had started. That when you made him breakfast on a Sunday, it would take him back to the pancakes and bacon he and Christine had shared. When he went to work and sat in his office he’d be picturing her leaning against his desk as they ate and brain stormed what to do on an upcoming surgery. The watch you’d bought him sat barely worn in its case in favour of the engraved piece of his choosing that occupied his wrist always.
The watch you’d known about from the start, but you’d been naïve enough to think that what he and her had didn’t matter, because you and Stephen were different. You were right, of course. You were different. Different in the sense that you were the sequel. The shitty remake that could never live up to the original. The movie adaptation when everybody knows the book is better. The girl he’d be seeking his other love in, because he couldn’t have her.
“You want to talk?” You question, rubbing your eyes with your free hand and composing yourself breath after breath for what you were about to ask. He nods at you hopefully, but whether or not that hope was for fixing what you had or getting this argument over and done with you couldn’t tell. You pull away your hand from his and take a few steps back, knowing he wouldn’t be happy with what you were about to ask.
“If you could have Christine back, would you?” The silence is nerve wracking, and you suddenly long for the waiting at an empty table and a ticking clock. Stephen eventually lets out a scoff, not looking at you as he answers.
“Of course not, I’m with you, and I love you and-”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Well she has a boyfriend now anyway, she’s moved on-”
“That’s not what I asked Stephen.”
“It’s just irrelevant-”
“Stephen, just ANSWER THE QUESTION!”
“YES.” There it was. What you knew but hoped to be false. “Yes, I would.” You nodded over and over as you collected your small suitcase from his walk in and gathered your pile of things, shoving them inside wordlessly as the tears finally fell down your face. He said you name, once, twice, then again and again in a whisper as you prepared yourself to leave.
Just as you were about to leave the room he caught you by the elbow. Still seated on the bed he looked up at you with teary eyes that made you want to hold the brilliant doctor you’d grown to love. You stayed strong, looking down at him through your own tears and waiting.
“Please don’t go.” You crouched down in front of him, your hands resting on top of his knees as his hands cupped your cheeks. “Please don’t go.”
“I have to.” You utter, allowing yourself a pained smile as your hands cover his, fingers curling around the edges. “I love you Stephen, but I can’t stay. Not now.”
You lean up to plant what you promised yourself would be the last kiss you would ever give him. It was wet and raw and it broke your heart when you had to pull away and finally pry his hands off of your face. You stood and grabbed your suitcase as Stephen held his head in his hands.
You ventured into the lounge and pulled open the front apartment door, his voice stopping you just before you left.
“I love you.” Your tears fell again and you had to force yourself not to turn around and look at the broken man you were leaving behind, knowing you’d falter and stay.
“I know,” you threw over your shoulder, uttering your last words before you shut the door behind you, “but not like her.”
A/N: Ya girl promised a part two and here the sucker is. Tell me why Billy is such an asshole but he could win me over in two seconds flat?
Day 7 of Non-Stop August, 1 whole week of posting writing daily 🎉
If anybody has any requests, please send them in as I still have spots to fill!
Two weeks. That was how long it had been.
Two weeks since you’d gone to the bleachers.
Two weeks since you’d spoken with him.
Two. Whole. Weeks.
While you’d like to say it had been two weeks since your eyes had strayed to how good his ass looked in those tight jeans of his, or two weeks since he’d been on your mind, you’d take the little victories any day. It meant you were one step closer to being completely over Billy Hargrove. You just have to stick your ground.
That didn’t mean that your eyes weren’t allowed to wander to his fantastic head of hair when he sat a few rows in front of you in science. Or that you weren’t allowed to reminisce over the memories of his tongue gliding down your neck as he pressed his hips into yours.
Suddenly you were very aware that you’d zoned out in class, and you were horrified to realise you’d been staring right at Billy, and he was staring back. You snap your eyes to your text book, cursing your traitorous train of thought and your wandering eyes. You could feel that Billy’s gaze was still stuck to you, but you refused point blank to acknowledge it, keeping your stare strictly on the board and your book.
The bell signifying the end of class and the start of lunch couldn’t sound soon enough. You picked up your things in a hurry and made sure you were among the first to leave, scurrying to your locker and placing your things away before you headed to the outside picnic bench that you and Fran liked to hang out under. It was right by the field, and although you didn’t ever watch the boys throw balls back and forth like Fran enjoyed to, it was in a nice shady spot right under a tree, and you felt sheltered under it’s branches. Fran was already waiting there, and she offered you a smile and a cookie from a Tupperware, which you eagerly accepted as you sat.
“I’m telling you, he keeps looking over here.” You tsk at Fran’s sentence, feeling like it was all she had been saying since you’d sat down.
“Do you want me to break my streak Fran, what’s going on here?” You joke, trying to make out that you were less annoyed by her mingling than you were.
“I’m just saying, I don’t know how you’ve done it, but I think you’ve got Billy hung up on you.” You waited until you thought Fran was distracted before you cautioned a glance over to the large table where Billy sat. He was surrounded by girls, nothing out of the usual there, but as one made a joke and grabbed his bicep as she laughed you could see that Fran was right, he was looking right at you.
“Right, I’m heading to the library, you coming?” Fran stutters at your swift movement, bag already in hand as you’d stood, but agreed anyway. The last thing you wanted to be doing while on lunch on such a nice day was to be cooped up in the library, but if you didn’t remove yourself from underneath Billy’s electric gaze you knew you’d wind up under the bleachers all over again.
You were glad when the end of the day finally rolled around, feeling like a weight had lifted off of your shoulders as you made your way to your locker for the final time that day. You opened it and screwed up your nose when a white note fell out towards you. You scooped it up off the ground and opened it.
Meet me at the bleachers after class. We need to talk – Billy.
You scoffed at the sheer audacity of the man. The whole reason that you’d stopped meeting in the first place is you’d snapped from the secrecy, and now he wanted to meet, and he couldn’t ask you face to face in the corridors. The irony was too much for you, making you screw the note up and throw it in the nearest trash bin.
As you made your way to your car after school you didn’t spare a single look in the direction of the bleachers, and missed Billy watching you climb into the drivers side and drive off, leaving him forlorn and alone.
*******
This science project sucked. You relented that it would probably suck less if you’d been paying more attention to the material than on a curly, golden mullet, but you were hardly perfect. You were about to give up for the night when you found yourself straining your ears for a sound you thought you’d heard.
Listening more intently you heard it again, and this time saw a pebble hit your window. You rushed over and looked out, finding yourself in absolute shock when Billy was standing underneath your room.
“What are you doing here?” You whisper yelled after you’d opened your window, half leaning out to talk to him.
“You didn’t come.” He simply stated, as if he couldn’t fathom a note shoved into the grates of your locker not being enough to get your attention.
“Oh, you noticed?” You bite, the sting from the prior weeks rejection not having faded. He rolled his eyes at you comment before proceeding.
“Let me come up, I need to talk to you.”
“No way Hargrove,” you spit out, surprised at how firm you were manging to be, “nothings changed so there’s nothing more to talk about.”
“You know it’s not my fault those guys pick on you, I had nothing to do with it.” He barked out at you as you began to close the window, halting your movements and making you open it again.
“Of course not Billy, but you still stood and smiled while they did it. Until you’re ready to start treating me like a human there’s nothing for us to say to each other.”
You slammed the window shut, going to join your family for some TV before bed, not wanting to know whether or not any other pebbles hit your window.
********
You hated Wednesday’s. You started off your day with history, much like Fred, Bruce, and Isaac, meaning that you’d be at your lockers at the same time first thing. After your morning library visit you made your way to your locker with leaded feet, dreading the impeding name calling and leering that you so despised.
You caught sight of them before they saw you, and you hoped that you may be able to slip by unnoticed. Of course though, it would be just your luck that Fred should turn around and find your back to the three. You heard the name Ritzo and sucked in a breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable.
An arm around your waist surprised you, whipping your head to the left to find Billy was the owner.
“Just play along.” He whispered from his spot extremely close to your ear, before he pulled back with a face like he hadn’t said anything.
“Hey, where were you last night, I was waiting up for you.” You stood there, mouth slightly agape as you looked past him to see the attention of the hallway, and your least favourite boys, on you at Billy’s louder than necessary words. A small kick to the shin had your attention back to Billy, as he looked at you with a waiting gaze.
“Oh. I got busy and forgot I guess. Sorry.” You answer awkwardly, trying to focus on remembering which books you were going to be needing before lunch.
Billy reached around and shut your locker for you with a metallic crash, placing an arm either side of your body so you were trapped between the lockers and him. You should be used to the sensation of being pressed between Billy’s body and metal, but your temperature still rose as if this were a completely new sensation.
“We’re still on for tonight though, right?” You were about to answer in the affirmative, but Billy fixed you with a hard look, letting you know that would be the wrong answer.
“I dunno, I have a lot going on.” This all felt weird to you, and you wish you knew what you were doing.
“Well, I’ll be waiting. Eagerly.” He added with a seductive lilt. He went in for a kiss but you moved your head at the last second so that his lips connected with your cheek. You bent down and slipped under one of his arms, giving his bicep a pat once you were free.
You walked in confusion until you heard the start of Billy’s conversation with the terrible three.
“Dude, are you dating Ritzo?”
“Nah man, I wish. She won’t let me.”
The rest of the day the school seemed to be abuzz of the news of Billy Hargrove and the girl that wouldn’t have him. Fran had rushed to you and wanted to hear the whole story, and it was your first day since the showing of Grease that you’d been able to walk down the hallways without hearing that ghastly nickname following you around.
When the final bell rang you skipped your locker visit and high tailed it to the bleachers. You only had to wait a couple of minutes before someone clearing their throat had you spinning around. Billy stood there, his hands firmly buried in his denim pockets and a slightly sheepish look on his face.
“Look before you start-” You didn’t give him the opportunity to finish before you were on him. You leapt at him, making him hastily remove his hands from his pockets to catch you under the thighs as your lips met his.
You kissed him with a fire that told of weeks of longing as he kissed you back, lips moving with one another in sync as he walked himself over to a long forgotten bench and sat down so you were straddling him.
You took the opportunity to kiss along his jaw and down to his neck as his hands found your ass, grabbing each cheek assertively in his hands. You pulled a groan from his mouth as you ground your hips into his, his head falling back allowing you better access to his throat.
When you remove your lips from him you look into his eyes as you both pant, a smile slowly creeps onto his face as he looks at you, placing one long last firm kiss to your mouth before speaking.
“I did good then?” You allow yourself to laugh, your grudge now forgotten from the high you were still on.
“You did great.” He gives one of your ass cheeks an affectionate but firm slap, eliciting a yelp from you before he grabs you by the waist to reposition you so your legs now sat across his lap. One hand stayed on your waist while the other absent mindedly stroked up and down your thigh.
“So does this mean bleacher visits are back?” He asked hopefully, his brow quirking as he spoke.
“Only as long as you’re okay being my little secret.” You teased, causing a small puff of a laugh to escape him.
“As long as we still have this, I’ll be anything you want me to be.”
