pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader
summary: childhood best friends-to-lovers-to-exes are stuck going to a wedding in their hometown together to avoid telling their families, more specifically, their mothers, that they broke up.
warnings: swearing, i love italics and the em dash, not really angst but maybe, reader is thirsty for bobs muscles, misunderstandings, spot the icarly reference
author's note: ok had a lot of fun with this, way more dialogue this time. and multiple mentions of bob's muscles (thinking jordan weaver body + calvin evans hair and bob floyd everything)
word count: 2.2k
It’s been two weeks since you and Bob decided the best way to survive this wedding was to pretend the breakup never happened. Your mom wasn’t kidding when she said the save-the-dates were last-minute. If you had to guess, the rushed ceremony was probably to prevent the groom from backing out.
You haven’t spoken to Bob since the initial phone call. The only texts exchanged were:
Bob: "Flight’s Wednesday at 10am. Pick you up at 6."
You: "k. pack ur green tie."
And your address. That's it. So no, you’re not exactly prepared to spend 3 and a half days pretending to be a couple who’s totally been together this whole time. Definitely not a decade long relationship in shambles.
Now it’s 5:43 a.m. on Wednesday, and you’re brainstorming fake-couple small talk while frantically packing a carry-on, because Bob is exactly the ‘suburban-dad’ type who must arrive at the airport at least seven years early. And definitely not because you spent last night watching Peacemaker instead of finishing your packing. Naturally, Bob’s already knocking. You groan. You're mid-squat on your suitcase, trying to zip it shut with the weight of your soul. “Uh, it’s gonna be a minute! Just come in!” Why would you say that? Your apartment is a disaster: unpacked boxes still in the living room, a clothing tornado on your bed. It screams post-breakup chaos, not thriving independent adult.
The door shuts. You catch Bob’s silhouette in the bedroom doorway just as you abandon your concentration face for a dopey-eyed stare. Moving on from the only man you’ve ever loved was relatively easy when you had forgotten how hot he was.
His hair’s longer – only noticeable to you – but what is noticeable to anyone with eyes is that Bob Floyd now has muscles. Not just “toned Bob” muscles. Gym-rat-hangs-out-with-Hangman muscles. Your stomach drops. Where else has he been going with Jake fucking Seresin? You don’t get long to spiral over this observation – Bob clears his throat, pulling you back. Thankfully, he looks just as awestruck over you.
“You really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.” You scoff. First words in months and he’s lecturing you?
“Any murderer would have to hike up four flights of stairs to kill me.”
“Yeah, unless it’s your neighbor.”
“Miss Jenkins is 78. I’d like to see her try.”
“You know what I meant.”
He looks slightly frustrated that you’re not taking this seriously, but his expression shifts. “Wait – why does your 78-year-old neighbor live on the fourth floor with no elevator?”
“She’s very able-bodied, plus she says the stairs keep her young.” He thinks on that. “So technically, she could murder you if she wanted to.”
“I said she’s able-bodied, not a geriatric assassin.” He grins. You do too.
Then reality kicks in – you’re still awkwardly perched on your suitcase. He seems to notice at the same time you do. “Do you… want help with that?”
Your cheeks are quick to heat up. “I’ve very much got this handled, can’t you tell?” He rolls his eyes, kneels, presses down with one hand, zips with the other. Of course, he makes it look easy. And of course, he’s suddenly way too close. He still wears that same cologne he bought at 16 with his first ‘big boy’ paycheck because it was your favorite. You also catch the smell of your old laundry detergent that was never his favorite but he used it because you did. The one you took when you left. Did he… buy more? And holy shit, that shirt is tight. You bought that shirt. It did not used to fit like that.
Snapping you out of your thoughts just before you start to drool like a cartoon dog, Bob zips the suitcase, stands, and immediately steps back like your personal space is lava. Suddenly, you’re self-conscious in a way you’ve never been. He’s clearly got reservations against you that have never crossed your mind as an obstacle for this façade. “We should go. Traffic.”
“Traffic? At 6 a.m.? Bob, this is Orange County, not LAX.” He fumbles. He just wants out. You try not to let that sting. You hop off your suitcase and start gathering your things.
The first half of the drive is mostly silent – minus your quiet "thanks" as he loads your luggage and opens your door. He’s still the polite guy his mom raised, even if he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. So, it’s a surprise when he finally speaks. “So… how’ve you been?”
You glance over. He’s antsy, his left leg bouncing and fingers tapping against the wheel. Obviously, you understand that being stuck side-by-side with your ex for a weekend is not the ideal situation, of course, you do because you’re also living it. But apparently, Bob can barely even stand to speak to you without almost drilling his foot through the car floor.
“Fine,” you manage, now opting to stare out the window. He sneaks a look. Furrowed brows. “Fine. Okay…” He inhales. “You working?”
“Last I checked, apartments aren’t free.”
“Right. Obviously. Forget it.”
You give an indignant sigh. After deciding that you’d rather not spend the entire drive in an awkwardly charged silence, you were left to humor him. “I’m an assistant to a magazine editor. You know that lady who went viral for screaming at a kid in a supermarket over a jar of pickles?”
“You work for Picklegate lady?”
“Yep. Pickles are now and forever banned from the office. A temp got fired because his lunch came with a spear.”
“No.”
“She slapped him with it. I had to rinse vinegar out of his eye in the break room sink.”
Bob laughs – hard. “You quit, right? And left a jar of pickles on her desk?”
“Oh, sure. And got brained with a jar of baby gherkins? No thanks.” You bite back a grin when he snorts. That snort used to be your favorite. “Believe it or not, I actually like it. She’s a nightmare, but I think she likes me? A box of dinosaur-shaped erasers showed up on my desk. No note. I know it was her.”
You keep going – about the erasers, the office politics, whatever comes to mind. You always did this: latch onto a topic and spiral. And Bob never stopped you. If anything, he used to ask for more. If you’d looked over, you would’ve seen his smile – the one you always loved. The one that said he could listen to you forever, even if it was about corporate pickle trauma. But the warmth fades as fast as it came. He tries to remember the last time you talked to him like this. When did you stop? When did he stop asking?
You sense the shift before he says a word. The energy shifts from light to heavy in an instant. And just like that, you shut down. Embarrassed. You rambled and forgot he was just being polite. Silence returns like an old friend.
From the airport parking, through security, and to Gate 3, neither of you says much. And because Bob just had to leave four hours early, you’ve got two more hours of awkward silence to look forward to.
Your phone is at 12%, and of course you didn’t pack an extra charger in your carry-on, because you were too busy panic-rolling clothes and talking yourself out of a breakdown. So now you’re conserving battery like you’re in a bunker. Pretending to scroll. Pretending not to spiral. Bob, naturally, remembered his charger. He’s sitting one chair over, flipping through a National Geographic like this is just another normal Wednesday. Like you’re not about to fake three days of emotional intimacy for a crowd of small-town gossips and your two very overbearing mothers who all still think you’re going to name your first child after his grandfather.
You try hard not to stare, but you’re realizing how much you missed those stupid navy-issued glasses. They sit low on his nose, like they’re trying to escape from being too close to someone that pretty. You hated those glasses when he first got them. Said they made him look like a middle school science teacher. You were wrong.
It’s been thirty-two minutes since either of you spoke. You know because you keep checking the time every four. You briefly consider asking him something. Anything. Weather. Travel time. Maybe if he remembered to pack the green tie like you texted him. But every topic feels radioactive. So instead, you sip lukewarm airport water and pretend you don’t notice his breathing, or the way his hand flexes when he turns the page. You’ve finally had enough so you blurt out the first stupid thought to come to mind. “So… you think we’ll be seated together?”
He blinks. “I booked the flights, so… yeah. I put us together.”
“Right. Makes sense.” You nod slowly, while imagining throwing yourself through one of these large glass panels. He clears his throat and shifts a little in his seat. “You remember the last time we flew home together?”
You do. Painfully well. Thanksgiving. He held your hand the whole flight because you always claimed not to be scared of turbulence but visibly tensed every time the plane so much as shivered. You’d landed to freezing wind and a backseat full of blankets his mom had packed for the drive from the airport. It had been kind, and quiet, and the kind of easy you didn’t realize you were about to lose.
“Yeah,” you say. “I think that was the year my mom made that disgusting casserole.”
“With the cornflakes on top,” he confirms. You shudder. “She tried to pass it off as potatoes. It was not potatoes.”
“She thought you’d be impressed.”
“I was horrified.”
“You made a face like you’d just watched a baby deer get hit by a truck.”
“It had a crust, Bob. A sugary crust.”
He’s smiling now – really smiling – and for a second, it’s like nothing broke between you. Like he’s not afraid to breathe in your direction anymore. For a second, you forget you’re sitting at an airport gate pretending not to be exes. You could be on any trip, heading home for any reason. Still his. Still yours. Then he shifts again, and the moment cracks.
Except you cannot deal with the silence again. “You bring snacks?”
He blinks again, then rustles through his backpack. You expect a sad little bag of trail mix, maybe a protein bar. He pulls out a gallon-sized Ziploc bag packed with granola bars, snack mix, and what looks like homemade cookies.
“Seriously?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Airport snacks are a scam.” You peer at the bag. “Are those oatmeal chocolate chip?” He holds one up. “You want one?”
“No, I’m judging. You brought homemade cookies to a fake couple weekend. That’s – what is that?”
“Prepared.”
“That’s psychotic.”
“You’re welcome.”
You take the cookie anyway. There’s another lull in conversation, but this one feels less like suffocation and more like… rest. Like a beat you can both breathe in. You let the cookie distract you. He peels the wrapper off a granola bar with the kind of care that suggests he’s avoiding looking at you.
You tuck your legs underneath you and sigh. “Can’t wait to get home and see everyone who still thinks I peaked in high school.” Bob smirks. “You did have a lot of pep rally spirit.” You whip your head around to glare at him. “You take that back.”
“Never.”
“You realize I was emotionally manipulated into cheerleading, right? That wasn’t spirit. That was social survival.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, leaning back smugly. “I was there when you cried in the Taco Bell parking lot because Nancy ‘borrowed’ your stunt shoes and returned them full of glitter.”
Realization and dread slap you across the face, “Nancy’s getting married.”
“I know.”
You look over. His face doesn’t portray much, but you can tell. He’s bracing himself for the same storm you are. Because while Nancy-from-high-school has somehow snagged a doctor for a fiancé, a white gazebo, and a wedding hashtag, you’ve got an ex-boyfriend and a hastily packed carry-on full of secrets.
“Do you think anyone’s gonna believe this?” you ask eventually. He doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. “That we’re still together?” he says. You nod. He leans back in the chair and folds his arms. “Let’s hope Nancy will. God, forbid she finds out you’re single at her wedding. She might start foaming at the mouth.” You groan and flip him off just as the intercom crackles to life, the sharp squawk of a boarding announcement pulling you back to the present. “Final boarding call for Flight 268 to Belgrade, Montana – Groups 4 and 5, you are now welcome to board.” Bob stands first – of course he does – and grabs both your carry-ons like it’s second nature. You hesitate. Just long enough to realize this is actually happening. “You ready?” he asks. You meet his eyes.
“As I’ll ever be.”
And together, you walk toward the gate – back to the town you both grew up in, back to the girl you couldn’t stand in high school, and back into the performance of a relationship that you’re not entirely convinced ever stopped being real.
The flight is just over two hours. You’re already exhausted.
pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader
summary: childhood best friends-to-lovers-to-exes are stuck going to a wedding in their hometown together to avoid telling their families, more specifically, their mothers, that they broke up.
warnings: swearing, i love italics and the em dash, maybe a few allusions to vom for my emetophobes, eventual fluff, angst, smut etc., very little knowledge of the navy, ages not accurate to tg:m, more like mid 20s
author's note: i haven't written in years, so bear with me. this first chapter is a whole lot of backstory and very little dialogue. inspired heavily by every fake dating for a wedding trope but with a lil twist. also, not entirely sure where the story is going, as in not sure if i'm capable of writing smut, but it is in the plans.
word count: 2.5k
You and Bob Floyd were the definition of “high school sweethearts”. Kids forced to be best friends since birth because their mothers were inseparable – turned teenagers forced to take each other to every school dance so that said mothers had the “perfect pictures for the wedding slideshow”.
You kissed for the first time at your sophomore year Homecoming dance. Well, not quite at the dance. The two of you had spent about 5 minutes inside the actual venue, filled with cheap tinsel decorations and half-inflated balloons covering the floor because helium wasn’t in the budget. Just long enough for every teacher and escort to see you two huddled with your friends by the photo booth – that’s the worst thing about small towns like the one where you two grew up: your history teacher is the first boy your mom kissed, the custodian played basketball with Bob’s dad in college, and so on. After you had gotten at least two decent strips from the photo booth and a few very posed, very awkward photos in front of the velvet curtain that you guessed was at least 100 years old, the group had decided that enough “life-altering memories” had been made. The county fair was a whopping 5-minute walk from the dance, and as lively as it could be for an old parking lot packed full of rust, neon, and the ever-so-charming results of kids eating 3 bags of cotton candy before getting on the tilt-a-whirl.
“What’s our first stop – cheesecake on a stick or that game with the water guns?” Bob grins down at you with those braces that are ever-so-slightly too big for his mouth – the ones with black bands this time, after you told him the green kind of looked like spinach. You immediately returned the smile before rolling your eyes at him, “I think your mom would murder me if she found out I stood there and watched while you spent your entire allowance on a rigged carnival game.”
“I won’t spend my whole allowance because it’s not rigged, and I will win. First try.”
“I call bullshit.”
“Not bullshit. Do you want the bear or the dinosaur?”
You giggled up at him before debating your options. “Obviously the dinosaur.” As soon as you had gotten the words out, Bob was jogging up to the stand with a thumbs-up thrown behind his back to you.
And you should have known better than to doubt him – because one thing about Bob Floyd is that he has freakishly steady hands and impeccable aim. So now you're carrying around a 3-foot-tall, blue T. rex plushie, and Bob is carrying around a smug grin. The rest of your friends had rejoined you after spending all their allowances on the ring toss, trying to win a goldfish. After an hour of barreling through the kiddie rides with the shortest lines and eating every type of food on a stick that should not be on a stick, the last stop of the night was the Ferris wheel. Of course, you were sat next to Bob, with your new dinosaur, Alan, occupying the third seat. And as if the Ferris wheel itself wasn’t cheesy enough for your first kiss story, the ride got stuck just as your booth had reached the very top – obviously. You know the drill after that.
The two of you were able to hide your little blossoming relationship from your parents for 3 weeks, which was a miracle in and of itself, before Bob’s mom caught him grinning ear-to-ear while reading a note you had written him in class – signed with a kiss-shaped stain from your watermelon lip gloss. So, of course, the next few days were full of interrogations, wedding plans, and more than a few tears of joy from Bob’s mom. After the initial shock that lasted through your first few months of dating, they managed to settle down quite a bit. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t planning your entire future behind the scenes at brunches and girls' nights.
Your relationship had lasted through all of high school, even through that evil phase you had in junior year, which he now tells people that the devil must have possessed you – if he can even do that sort of thing. You stayed with Bob all through flight school. Every time he was reassigned, you followed. At some point, your life began to revolve completely around Bob and hiswork. Which was fine, at the beginning. Bob had always known what he’d wanted; therefore, you had always known what he’d wanted. Because there was always a chance of Bob being stationed somewhere else, you had to work from home. So, any time he had an extra-long day at work, had to come in on an off day, or God forbid, got deployed, you were completely alone. The two of you made this routine work for a long time, but slowly and very subtly, something had started to change. He would come home exhausted and stressed, and you would be home, lonely and stressed. And then suddenly, it felt like every second spent together was an argument. Long gone were date nights or weekend getaways, and though you both still loved each other, your life together had turned into a routine without any of the spark you had once had. You were the one to end it. And Bob didn’t argue. That was probably the worst part for you, and maybe even the push you needed to really leave, when he didn’t fight.
And now you’re sitting in an apartment with minimal furniture and still far too many unpacked boxes, considering you have been here for months. Because obviously, the best corrective action to take when you are feeling utterly and completely alone is to break up with your boyfriend, who happened to have been your best friend for your entire life. Not to mention the only man you've ever been with, or better yet, the only man you've ever even kissed. Yes, you’re happy with your new job, which is a very low-level executive assistant job for the editor of a huge magazine publication, and generally speaking, is a job that you should hate for every reason, but it just feels like such a rite of passage that you can’t help but love it. It’s just kind of jarring to have such a major change in your life and not be able to share it with Bob. You thought it would get easier, but every night you just want to call him and tell him to come over and bring pizza so you can tell him every detail about your day and every day before that that he’s missed. He’s not even that far – you had decided against moving all the way back home and had only moved a little over half an hour away from him. This was for two reasons: one, as much as you needed to learn to be on your own, you really couldn’t fathom being in an entirely different state than your Bob – and two, there was no way in hell you were ready to move home and confront your mother with the sins you committed against her by breaking up with Robert Floyd. Obviously, Bob was just as afraid to tell his mom, given that it had been months since you moved out and you have yet to receive any violent phone calls from your mother or his. Maybe you guys can somehow fake this relationship for the rest of your lives without them finding out. That’s probably the easiest solution for everyone.
Speaking of the devil, your phone rings from the kitchen counter with your mom's very annoying custom ringtone. She always has perfect timing, because of course, you’re nearly elbow deep in soapy dishwater when she decides to call. Quickly drying off, you grab your phone and jump to sit on the counter as you answer. “Hey, Mom – “
“Did you see it yet?” You scoff lightly at her interruption; with a small smile she can’t see. “I’m afraid I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“The save the date! Did you see it?”
“Whose save the date?”
“Nancy Davis! She’s engaged to that doctor; can you believe it?” This earns a real scoff from you. Nancy Davis thought that she had everything that you didn’t, and that she was better than you in every way. The only thing you had that she didn’t was B–
“That’s odd, honey, you really should’ve gotten it in the mail by now. Nancy said the out-of-state letters should’ve all been delivered by yesterday.” Shit. You’re sure it has come by now; except it’s at Bob’s house. Yours and Bob’s house. “Oh, you know what? Bobby must have accidentally left it in his truck when he checked it yesterday,” you fight against the way your throat aches when you say Bobby, “so I haven’t even had the chance to look through it. I’m sure it’s in there and he just forgot to mention it!”
“Well, I’ll assume the two of you are going then – I know that it’s awfully last-minute, so don’t worry about finding a place to stay, I’ve already started clearing out all the junk I have stored in your old room.” Your heart sinks at that. There’s no way you can go to this wedding without Bob, especially not to Nancy Davis’s wedding without Bob. “I don’t know, Mom. I doubt Bobby will be able to get time off for it.”
“I can tell when you’re lying to me…” Suddenly, your heart is pounding, and you feel that familiar heat creep up your neck. How could she possibly know–
“I know you hate Nancy, but just this once, I need you to suck it up! And don’t bring Bobby into this. I bet he is thrilled to have an excuse to take some time off and come home! So, you just call me when you book your flight – Love you!” And she hangs up abruptly. So now you’re stuck going to this wedding alone and having to explain to everyone that their favorite high school sweethearts are broken up. Not just that, but you don’t even have the save the date. You don’t know the date, the location, the dress code –
Just as you start to really spiral, your phone – still in your hand – rings again. Except it’s not your mother’s ringtone, it’s the Jurassic Park theme, which you had set for Bob in high school. As if there wasn’t enough panic flowing through you as is, this is the worst possible thing that could happen, maybe ever. You come to your senses and realize you’ve just been watching the phone ring for at least 10 seconds. So, you hesitantly decide to answer, and are met with that soft drawl that you know all too well. “Um. Hey.”
You blink, still taken aback and not quite sure how to act. “Hey… Bob.”
“Sorry, for – um… I probably shouldn't have called, I just… We – You got a save the date for Nancy Davis. Just thought you might… You know, need the details probably…”
“Oh, right, yeah. My mom just called… And asked about that, so, um. Yeah. That’d be great.” You pause for a brief second to debate if you even want to ask him this. “Are you, uh… Going?”
“I don’t think I could get out of it if I tried,” he huffs out what you think is supposed to be a laugh, “you know how my mom is. Especially when it involves weddings and marriage and – well, yeah, you know.” Yeah, you do know.
“God, I don’t know if I actually have it in me to look her in the eye after she finds out. She might kill me… Or just drop dead at the sight of me.” You admit.
“Probably both. She’s definitely the murder-suicide type, always likes to add that dramatic flair.” A small giggle escapes you, and you can hear Bob release another, much more convincing, huff of laughter.
“At this point, we should just fake it till we make it and show up together anyway. Save everyone else the trauma. God forbid she decides on a mass murder-suicide. Nobody’s making it out of this wedding.”
“With our luck, everybody dies except Nancy, and then she goes on Oprah to share her traumatic experience and gets like, crazy famous off of our death story.” This time, you actually cackle. “Oh my God. You’re so right, and then she writes like a memoir, but the whole book is just about how pissed she was that her perfect wedding with her perfect husband was ruined. Not even that she was traumatized by the mass casualty.”
“Don’t even get me started on her perfect husband. ‘Did you know she’s marrying a DOCTOR?’ He’s a podiatrist, by the way. A fucking foot doctor.” You let out a dramatic gasp that breaks up your fits of giggles. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nope. Foot doctor.”
“I think you have to ask him about that weird, crooked toe you have. Mid-reception, preferably.”
“I was actually thinking of just going fully barefoot. You know, to show support and all that.”
The conversation suddenly starts to feel way too casual. Way too much like you haven’t gone months without speaking to each other. Bob can feel it too; you can hear it in the way his laugh dies down from that light chuckle that always sounds just a little wheezy, into that grovelly hum that he does when he’s being shy – like when he’s talking to someone other than you. At one point, you almost feel like you can hear him thinking, like you can hear him hesitating to say something that he wants to get off his chest so badly. And then he does.
“I mean, it’s not the worst idea in the world…” And you fight back a laugh because he’s doing that thing he does, where he just had a whole conversation in his head, yet speaks to you like you were part of it somehow. “Elaborate, please.” You can tell he’s blushing as soon as he realizes what he did. “Sorry, I just meant… Showing up together – So that we don’t have to tell them…” Before you can ever get a word out, he starts to backtrack. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have even said that. I know it’s a stupid idea and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and – “
“Bobby!” You manage to halt his word vomiting, temporarily, at least. Which gives you a moment to think over what he’s implied. Honestly, it’s a stupidly bad idea. There’s no way either of you is capable of being around each other for that long, while still pretending to be a couple, without some sort of catastrophic emotional damage being dealt. And you know this. You should be logical about this. Except for some reason –
shelley martin was a soc by all means. she had the rich dad who cared more about his secretary than his own wife, the sad drunk mom who would ditch this town and her family the second she got a chance, and the older brother who ran away to new york 2 years ago after promising to bring shelley with him. he didn't. he overdosed last year. his parents refused to pay for his funeral so he's buried somewhere in new york. shelley wishes she would've gone with him. maybe he would be alive, or she'd be dead. they both sound pretty great to her.
after her brother died, her parents did everything they could to make sure she didn't go down the same path. she planned on it either way, but it was nice to get a few nice gifts from her parents. maybe they did really care, or maybe they were just saving her father's reputation. either way, shelley gets what she wants now. as long as she acts like a soc should, she's got no problems.
but soc shouldn't fall in love with greasers. especially not greasers like steve randle.
➵
steve was fixing up some dirty old car when a black '62 pontiac grand prix pulled into the dx, causing him to shift his gaze from the engine he was working on. the pontiac was one of the shiniest cars he'd ever seen, which meant there was no way whoever was driving was from his side of town. a girl with dirty blonde hair stepped out of the driver's side of the car and quickly walked into the gas station with her head down, but not before he saw who she was.
he knew who shelley martin was, she was a soc if there ever was one. as far as he knew, she was spoilt and never played nice. she wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed and her good grades were mostly bought for her. he rolled his eyes and went back to working on the car engine. as long as i'm out here, i won't have to deal with her in there.
just as steve had finished his thought, sodapop walked out of the station and over to steve. "switch me, stevie. it's your turn to work the register," soda grinned devilishly, knowing that steve hated being cooped up behind that counter. steve groaned and used a towel to wipe most of the car grease off of his hands as he walked inside. so much for staying away from martin. he slammed the door behind him as he trudged toward the register, throwing the towel behind him. he'd pick it up later. steve caught a glance of her before she walked behind a shelf. he knew she was pretty, he'd always thought she was gorgeous. all soc girls were pretty- it comes with the label, but it didn't make them any more tolerable. he toyed with the buttons on the machine in front of him as her thought about her.
the loudening sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. he looked up to see her setting down three candy bars, a box of tissues, two packs of cigarettes, and a pregnancy test. her gaze shifted around the store, looking at anything and everything but his face. to be fair, the pregnancy test wasn't for her, but steve didn't know that. "you know, i'm pretty sure if this thing ends up being positive, those cigarettes might not be the best idea," he was joking around of course, but shelley wasn't exactly in the mood for jokes. "watch it, randle, before you start to think you know what the hell you're talking about." he raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, "$18.37's your total, martin," he threw the stuff in a bag and handed it to her, holding out the other hand for the money. she mimicked his eye roll and handed him a twenty, "don't worry about the change, i don't exactly want to spend any more time here than i need to." and with that, she began walking away.
right as she opened the door she looked back at him with a worried expression, one much different than the annoyed look she had a few seconds ago. "not that i think you care or anything, but would you mind not saying anything about, uh.. about that test? just- just pretend i was never here, alright?", her voice was ever so slightly shaking, and for once, she didn't sound condescending or crewd. steve actually felt bad for her, so he promised he wouldn't say anything about it and she smiled at him. a genuine smile that he'd never seen on her, it was cute. he felt something after seeing her smile like that, he felt like he needed to see that smile more. he decided to chase that feeling.
i've had this idea of a reader insert harry potter x heathers au for forever but i don't feel talented enough to write it myself and i'm not sure what to do about it but like, just imagine:
reader - veronica
draco - j.d.
hermione - martha
pansy - heather c.
daphne - heather d.
millicent - heather m.
blaise - kurt
goyle - ram
i have no idea why i'm so obsessed with this but someone should totally write that omg
A/N: i literally have tons of requests right now but they're all harry potter and i'm honestly not in the mood for harry potter ngl (which is never the case). so instead of writing my requests like a decent person, i'm just gonna write some outsiders stuff because all i can think about lately is steve randle 🤷♀️ sooo once again, i'm super sorry but hopefully you guys like this ! (update: i'm not super proud of this so don't hurt me if it's bad😂)
Pairing(s): steve randle x reader
Character(s): steve randle, reader, sodapop curtis, mentions of ponyboy, johnny, dally, and darry
Warnings: angst and fluff if you squint, crying (is that worthy of a warning ??), slight mentions of death (barely), i think like one curse word
Word Count: a heckin lot of bullets, sorry
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UNEDITED
you were watching whatever cartoon was on and having a jolly ol' time when someone started knocking on your door
rAtHeR aGgReSiVeLy might i add
you were about to get real fiesty w the person behind the door bc it's too late for this bullshit
turns out the person was sodapop who was practically carrying a rather beaten up steve
of course you panic and help soda set steve down in the closest chair
soda would've stayed with you and steve if he didn't have a barely conscious dally in the back seat of darry's ford
as soon as soda left you ran over to steve
he had a cut on his neck and stomach, a broken nose, a busted lip and eyebrow, a black eye, and bruises all over his chest
you almost started crying right then and there but held yourself together and focused on cleaning up his face
he could tell you were tearing up and tried to lighten the mood by telling you about how him and dally almost beat up a whole group of socs all on their own
that made it worse
"darlin' please don't cry"
"i'm tired of it, steve, i don't wanna see you like this. it's one thing when you're gettin' in fights in order to protect pony or johnny but when you get all cocky and decide you can take on groups of guys twice your size it's a whole other story"
"well i made it out alive didn't i ?"
"barely ! i'm not stupid steve, i know if soda wouldn't of made it on time you'd be dead. don't act like that cut there on your neck ain't from a blade to your throat cause i know it is"
he was silent after that
and you were practically sobbing
it wasn't a pretty sight but you couldn't help thinking that one day you were gonna get a call from soda saying steve's gone for good
eventually between the tears and yelling you managed to clean most the blood and dirt off his face
for the millionth time, you had to pop steve's nose back in place after a fight
he was used to it by now but you may have accidentally been a little more aggressive than needed
you were upset oh well he can deal with it
after he was clean and bandaged up (for the most part) he was apologizing nonstop
"i'm sorry darlin'"
"i know you are"
"like really really sorry"
"yep, i heard you the first 8 times"
"no baby i mean it i-"
"ok steve honey shut your pie hole before i break your nose again"
you made him take a shower
he insisted on you taking it with him bc he needs more attention and has a weird thing where he loves other people washing his hair
you don't wanna give in but also don't trust him to be alone
eventually you're in the shower too
he won't full out admit it but he loVES being babied by you
you're starting to think that's the reason he even gets in fights
he doesn't wanna go to bed bc he wants to tell you about how great the fight was now that you've calmed down
but you eventually get him to suck it up and go to bed
he insists on cuddling but everytime he hugs you or pulls you close he somehow hits a bruise and dramatic wailing ensues
after he's chilled out, he gets a tad more serious
"i know i've said it a lot but i really am sorry. i'll be more careful, i swear. i love you."
"thanks, stevie. i love you too"
"i mean honestly i aught to, i have no idea what you would do without me. i can't even imagine!"
A/N: i'm back! sorta.. it's been foreverrrr since i've posted so i'm super sorry about that, i'm going to try to catch up on requests as quickly as possible but no promises. for example, this was in no way requested but i'm a procrastinator and i'm having percy weasley feels rn sooooo💁also- this isn't really my usual writing style but i wanna try something new so sorry if it sucks (i wrote this at 2 in the morning so it's prob gonna be bad anyways).. that's about all, love you guys and i hope you enjoy❤
Characters: percy weasley
Pairings: percy weasley x reader
Song: why by sabrina carpenter
Warnings: fluff i guess?? i don't know if that's a warning but it's fiiine. i think i threw a few 'damn's and 'hell's in there somewhere if you wanna call that cursing. that's it i believeee
×××××××××××××××××
'you like new york city in the day time, i like new york city in the night time..'
The Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts- 1980
"What on Earth makes you think this is a good idea?"
I giggled slightly at the stressed tone in my boyfriend's voice as he tried to convince me what I was doing was a bad idea. It had been past curfew and I had the sudden urge to explore the castle. And much to my boyfriend's dismay, I had managed to drag him along with me.
Percy Weasley wasn't a very big fan of breaking the rules, as everyone knows, so sneaking into the Astronomy Tower at 1 in the morning wasn't very appealing to him. Though he was terrified of the idea that he might get in trouble for being out late, I'd still managed to convince him to tag along with me.
"Nothing about this is a good idea, Perce, but it's all the more fun that way!"
He shook his head, obviously not understanding any part of my logic. I could tell he was trying to hide a smile, I always can, he's truly terrible at keeping a straight face.
"I completely and utterly disagree but I'm honestly far too tired to argue with you right now."
"That's the spirit!"
We both laughed before I decided to take a seat on the windowsill and look at the beautiful stars that were speckled across the night sky. The stars are a very cliche thing to love, but after dating Percy I've learned to appreciate the cliche things in life. Though this was one of the cliche things he did not quite enjoy as much as I.
"You know, I'm more of a morning person myself... I'm not quite sure how you can be so fascinated by the night."
"Yes, I know, Percy. We've gone over this multiple times. I'm not sure why I love it so much, it's just gorgeous.."
"Well, you know what else is gorgeous-"
"Don't say it, don't you dare. If you say it I'm breaking up with you."
"I was just gonna say me, I'm gorgeous."
"Dear God you've been around me for far too long... I love you."
"I love you too."
×××
'you say you like sleeping with the air off, i don't i leave it on..'
The Burrow- Summer of 1981
"Percy. Listen."
"No, we do not this many blankets."
"Yes Percival, yes we do."
"Stop."
"Go to hell."
To say I had an obsession with blankets is a humongous understatement, I refuse to admit that to Percy, but it's true. I don't see why it's a problem, though. Who doesn't love that many blankets? Percy Weasley. That's who.
"Merlin's beard, you're going to suffocate with that many blankets."
"Wouldn't that be nice."
"Not necessarily."
"Percival Ignatius Weasley that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Shut up and we'll sleep with the blankets."
"HELL YEAH!"
We finally settled down in the small bed with our army of blankets. Which, if I'm being honest, are quite a bit warmer than I expected. Dammit.
"Okay you're right I'm hot and I need you to help me unbury myself before I have a heat stroke."
"Told you so~"
×××
'you like the light coming through the windows, i sleep late so i just keep them all closed'
The Burrow- Summer of 1982
"Morning, sunshine"
"Mm. Percy come back to bed."
"Not gonna happen. Mum says It's time for breakfast."
I groaned and groggily forced my eyes open, once I'd finally adjusted to the light I could see Percy sitting next to me on the bed. I fought the temptation to sit up and fix his hair. Not that he didn't look adorable with his bedhead but it looked so fluffy and I really wanted an excuse to touch it. Before I could roll myself out of bed he quickly stood up and opened the blinds. Now I'm blind.
"Jesus Christ, Percy! What made you think that was a good idea?"
I scrunched my face up harshly and shoved my face into my pillow. He chuckled and plopped himself down next to me on the bed, once more.
"You weren't getting up fast enough."
"I was literally about to get out of bed."
"But you didn't do it fast enough."
"Jerk..."
×××
'you ignore the music on the radio, i don't, i sing along..'
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts- 1983
"Why do you keep humming that song?"
"It's stuck in my head, Perce. I can't help it."
"But don't you hate that song? How do you even know how it goes?"
"I hate it enough to the point where I know everything about it because of all the time I spend trying to find the perfect reason to hate it, make sense?"
"Not at all."
I giggled at his cluelessness and continued to read my book. After a few minutes of me humming the same verse over and over again without even realizing it he finally started up a random conversation about Herbology to prevent me from continuing to hum the same tune over and over again.
"Do you think there's a herb that'll prevent people from getting songs stuck in their heads?"
"Probably not, Perce."
"I'm sure there is, we should look into that."
"Whatever you say, love."
×××
'i don't ask for you to change, and you don't ask for me to change.. tell me how we're not alike, but we work so well and we don't even know why..'
"How the hell did we end up together?"
"I have no clue, if I'm being completely honest."
"Doesn't matter, I love you."
"Love you too, dork."
A/N: i dunno how i feel about this one. like i said, this is a new writing style for me so i'm not exactly used to it. tell me what you guys think and if you like it i may do something like this with another character! love you❤
‘oooo!! then can i request a draco imagine 👀reader is a muggleborn ravenclaw and since her nature is more on the shy side, she usually gets picked on, even though she stands for herself, the bullies are usually bigger than her (have u seen goyle??? omg) so any resistence is useless, and when draco knows about this he defends her?? because he likes her or something Sjsjj idk if this is too long or something :') thank you!‘
A/N: This request was initially sent as an ask from an anonymous user that I had accidentally posted before it was finished so despite that whole situation, I hope you enjoy this imagine! Sorry for the minor inconvenience. If you have any feedback (good or bad) feel free to message me! I made the reader a little more independent than the request but I hope it fits well enough!
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw/Muggleborn!Reader
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson
Warnings: Possibly a curse word or two
Word Count: 956
It wasn’t unusual for you to be sitting by the lake on a Saturday rather than running around the castle with your friends. It’s not like you didn’t have any, of course. You had quite a bit of friends, actually. You just preferred not having to deal with their rowdiness, you would rather sit in silence and do something productive. For example, you were currently reading a new muggle book your parents had just sent you. That was until it had been grabbed out of your hand.
You didn’t have to look up to know who it was taken by. For your entire time at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy’s little Slytherin posy had been messing with you every chance they got. Luckily for you, you never actually had any encounters with the Malfoy man himself. You had always wondered why that was, but had just assumed that he would rather spend his time picking on Harry Potter than waste it with you. You had quickly snapped out of your thoughts as you heard the boy hovering over you slam your book shut.
“I reckon books are just a damned waste of time, don’tcha think, Crabbe?” Goyle questioned, intently studying the cover with a nearly pained looking expression on his face. Crabbe began to answer before Goyle cut him off. “They’re almost as useless as Y/L/N, here,” he stated before chuckling at his own witty remark and tossing the book to the side, “so mudblood, you gonna do something or do you plan on just sitting there looking like an idiot?’ He crouched down next to you and raised an eyebrow. You fought the urge to punch him in his big square face. You refused to get into any trouble, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to gather up enough courage to do so anyways. You had simply huffed and muttered a quiet, “Bug off, Goyle.” He scoffed at your displeasing response and grabbed you by your shirt collar, dragging you upwards as he stood. “That’s really all you’re gonna say?” He smirked, “Real original. I’m so scared.” He replied sarcastically as he roughly let go of your shirt.
“Malfoy’s father’s right. You mudbloods are truly just little prats who can’t even speak for themselves,” this time Pansy was the one to speak, “I’m sure your muggle parents are just as damned annoying and worthless as you.” You could feel your ears beginning to burn red with anger. Anyone speaking illy of your parents is where you drew the line. “Don’t be so daft Parkinson, you know you’re the only one here with fool parents. The fact that they decided having you was a good idea is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard! No wonder that Malfoy jerk doesn’t even like you, you’re too annoying for even that buffoon to think about dating you. Now that I think about it, you and idiot Crabbe over there would be a great couple!” You quickly spat at her, you were surprised at how blunt you were towards her but decided not to show it.
She was obviously furious at your outburst and began to shout back at you some choice words before she was cut off by a certain blonde Slytherin. “Oi Pansy, would you shut up for once! She’s right, ya know. You’re quite the prat. Now I’d prefer if you’d stay the hell away from her. She’s obviously about to beat your arse and I reckon she’d win in a duel against you in a heartbeat.” He snarled and pushed past her straight towards you. “You three, leave, now.” He demanded towards the other Slytherins before they all quickly walked away, not wanting to be on his bad side. “Sorry about them,” he turned back to you and slightly smiled before quickly switching back to his signature smirk, “are you alright?” He queried. You furrowed your eyebrows, surely he’s not actually showing an interest in your well being. You just simply nodded and began to walk away from him, but you didn’t get very far before he grabbed your arm. You quickly turned back around and raised one eyebrow looking from his hand on your arm back to his face.
As soon as you looked at him he had completely lost all chill and began stuttering profusely before suddenly shutting up and letting go of your arm. He pulled his other arm from behind his back and in it was your book. You had completely forgotten about it until now and you were very confused as to why he was giving it to you. “Uhm, thanks, Malf- er, Draco..” You muttered quietly as you took your book out of his hand. He nodded and just before you turned away once more he spoke, “I’ve been telling them to leave you alone, ya know,” he sputtered quickly as you slowly looked up at him, “it was a pretty dick move of them to treat you like that. I’m sorry.” You smiled at him, and he hesitantly smiled back.
You didn’t mean to do it, but the sudden rush of happiness and courage that his confession brought you sort of forced you to. You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as possible. He froze before wrapping his arms around your torso. “It’s quite alright, thank you.” You responded softly. Just as you spoke you began to hear the other students crowding inside, meaning it was time for dinner. You let go of him, and as he did the same, you swiftly pressed a kiss to his cheek before skipping off towards the castle.
Let’s just say that Draco spent most of his time in the Great Hall staring at a certain Ravenclaw.
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