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Language:
English
Series:
Part 1 of Pineapples and Bullets
Stats:
Published:
2020-05-07
Completed:
2021-02-13
Words:
967,210
Chapters:
35/35
Comments:
105
Kudos:
41
Bookmarks:
13
Hits:
5,405

I Think I Love You

Summary:

Brock Rumlow runs into a cute emo kid in a clothing store and discovers the missing piece of his soul that will forever change his life. Frank Iero's music career in the band My Chemical Romance is just starting to get off the ground when a handsome stranger turns everything he knows about relationships upside down.

You do not need to be familiar with either fandom to be able to read this story, promise. Neither character knows of the other fandom elements and we create our own universe in the perfect blend of romance, humor, dark themes, and plenty of smut. Please give us a try!

Notes:

This is the first fully collaborative work between Winterscribe and Dustybaby (please check out our other collaborative work in the Supernatural Fandom, Burn The Ashes, where the writing was all Dustybaby and plot/muse was Winterscribe) and so you will find that the paragraphs alternate POV every other paragraph. All mistakes are our own and we are searching for a new Beta reader.

All tags and characters will be updated as the story progresses. The smut starts in Chapter 2.

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Chapter Text

Brock hates buying work pants. No store ever seems to have the size and color combo he wants. Sure, he could go to the tailor again and get them custom made, but it is starting to get rather embarrassing needing new pants on a near-semi regular basis. But as ex-military now working security, Brock Rumlow tends to get them ripped far too often. At least this store is an upscale one. He refuses to step foot in something as cheap as a Walmart or a Target. Locating a pair of light blue jeans that appear to be in his size, he selects them off the rack and checks them over. They aren’t what he came for, but these, at least, look very ass-fitting. Not noticing a second body moving through the nearly empty store, he turns quickly to head to the changing room.

Moving around the racks of blue jeans in varying shades of blue, Frank Iero finds himself almost hiding but pretending that he is in search of the right pair of jeans. He knows that the store clerks already think he's going to steal. He looks like a gutter punk with dirty hair, tattoos, and well worn jeans. He could always buy a new pair of jeans, but—at the prices they are charging—that's not happening. Before he gets the chance to move to the next rack of over-priced cotton, something crashes into him, sending him back and to the ground, and taking two pairs of jeans with him. His eyes track up the body of a man. He's got a nice face, but he’s a brick house who could easily pummel Frank to death.

“Oh, shit. I am so sorry,” Brock apologizes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just lower to the ground than most.”

Brock reaches a hand down to help the young man, who appears to be not much older than twenty-one, to his feet. “Can I help?”

“Thanks man.” Frank replies, taking his hand, “I am just looking mostly. Sorry for being a tripping hazard.” He looks around the store for the clerk that had been following him. “I'm just here with someone else, so I'm killing time while they shop.”

Frank looks down at his already tattered jeans and discovers a new rip has joined the party, then he looks up at the well put together man in front of him and smiles weakly.

Hazelnut eyes take in the slim form of the young man and widen at the shredded jeans and tattered tee shirt. He sticks out in the store like a sore thumb and is sure to attract unwanted attention from the store clerk and the security. Brock looks around. Sure enough, they are being watched. Figures. Stores like these always have mall cop level douchebags for what amounts to actual security and they always feel the need to over-exert their manliness. He levels the guy with a hard stare before turning back to the very nice, albeit homeless, kid right in front of him. “I’m so sorry about your pants. These racks can be very unforgiving sometimes and I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’d like to make it up to you. Please. Let me replace them with a new pair. Your choice.”

Frank stares for a moment, unsure if this man is being nice or creepy. Does he really look that unfortunate? Taking a moment to compose himself, he smiles. He flattens his shirt a little and picks the jeans he brought down with him. “You really don’t have to buy me pants. These are my old faithfuls.”

“Nonsense. It would be my pleasure.” Brock smiles wide.

“No, it’s really fine. Don’t waste your money on me,” Frank replies with hesitation. “I’m not homeless. I look it but I’m really not.”

“But these are ripped.”

“Yeah with what I do for a living, my clothing gets ripped pretty easily. It’s why I won’t spend sixty dollars on a pair of jeans.” Frank grins, scanning his face, “Wait, why would you buy a stranger a pair of jeans from here? Take them to Target.”

Nose wrinkling in disgust, Brock shakes his head before smiling. “I would never shop there. And if you are ripping your jeans that easily, then clearly you need better quality clothing. Another reason why I should buy you the pair I ruined. My name’s Brock Rumlow, by the way. That way we aren’t strangers.” He holds out his hand to shake.

“Frank Iero. Nice to meet you,” he replies, shaking his hand, “I could use the thirty extra dollars from buying jeans at Target for gas or food. I gotta be practical.” Frank realizes that doesn't help the whole him not being homeless thing much. He explains, “I'm in a band! Not homeless.”

“Band? Local or someone famous?” He finds the kid interesting and rather adorable. Young though. He’s hoping he’s at least eighteen. The kid hits far too many of his buttons.

“I would be surprised if you had even heard of us. It’s probably not your kind of music, but I'm in a band called My Chemical Romance.” Frank takes a moment to see if anything clicks in the other man's face but knows it doesn't matter. “Localish I suppose, from Jersey.”

“My Chemical Romance? Sounds like a terrible cologne name. Or a drug,” Brock says, arching a brow and smirking. “Jersey, eh? Not too far from where I live. And by not too far, I mean it’s a state over. So, lemme get this straight. You wear ripped clothes… on purpose?” He is incredulous. Why would anyone want to look like a hobo? Or like some emo kid? Oh, wait. “Are you some sort of emo death metal punk kid?”

Frank blinks a few times to compute everything in that sentence before saying, “Well, I’m not a kid. I feel like after you hit twenty one, you lose that title. Emo, death metal and punk are all different kinds of music.” Frank is grinning by the end of the sentence. “I mean, when all your jeans look in some fashion like this, you kind of get used to it.”

“Oh, then I definitely need to buy you new jeans if only to help you out of this grunge phase thing. And I got over twenty years on you, kid.” He matches the kid’s grin with one of his own. He looks around and adjusts his white button-down shirt. “Let’s go try these on, okay? Before your friend returns or before you get kicked out of the store.”

“If I didn't know any better, I would think you were just trying to get me out of my jeans,” Frank replies, tilting his head to the side, hoping this doesn't get him punched in the face, “Why would I get kicked out? Because that dude has been following me since I walked in the store.” Frank points directly to the security guard across the aisle who is trying to be inconspicuous.

Brock glances at the security guard briefly before dismissing him. “Because you look like a homeless kid who is planning on robbing the place. And if I wanted you out of your jeans, it wouldn’t be hard considering they are ripped from the knee down. Just need a good tug and they’d be off.” He bites his bottom lip. Yeah, he is flirting a little. He does want to help, though. He can at least keep Frank from being targeted as a suspect on Cops. He turns to the guard and shouts, “He’s with me, so go find some other punk kid to creep on. This one is mine.”

“I'm yours to creep on, huh?” Frank, fighting and losing against the reddening of his cheeks, insists, “I'm really not homeless… if I try jeans on, will you please just not shout at the rent a cop again?” Frank catches the good tug comment and realizes that the other man might be flirting with him. He is pretty damn cute, but why in the hell would he flirt with him, after all he looks ‘homeless’? “I’m pretty sure I have to shop in the kids section anyway.”

“Yeah, you are pretty short. Skinny, too. Are you sure the pants in your hand will fit? I think you need to go down a size, kid.” Brock can’t help it. The kid is just too easy to make terrible passes at. He’s not normally this insulting, but it just slipped out of him. Thankfully, Frank doesn’t seem to notice or care. Perhaps he realized he only meant it in a joking sort of way. He really hopes that is the case here.

“I’m petite. Or whatever the manly version of that is,” Frank replies before looking Brock up and down once. “Besides, I think I know what size I can take… with me.” If Brock can make passes, Frank can be as obvious as a big red sign. Brock hasn’t walked away, called security, or hit him, so he’s gonna push this.

Voice low, Brock teases, “Oh, do you now? You seem unsure. Perhaps when we get you out of that trash you call jeans, I can help you be sure you know what size you can take.” His hands itch to pick up this skinny kid and carry him back to his place for some one-on-one measuring. Goddamn sexy twinks. And this one has sass. Yeah, he’s very much interested.

“Trash?”

“Oh baby, those belong in the dumpster, and you know it.” He didn’t mean to use the term of endearment, but it just felt natural. Oh, well.

“And just how do you think you know exactly what size I can take?” Frank smirks at the baby comment. “I feel like I might be more of the expert.”

“Frank? What the actual fuck are you doing?” A small dark haired woman with sharp features and dark eyes comes around the corner and stops to look at Brock and roll her eyes. She says, “I swear to god you wander off worse than a moron at a petting zoo. Can we help you?”

“Can you be nice? This is Brock.” Frank feels himself shrink under her presence.

“Yeah, don't really care. Can we go, I have a nail appointment,” she replies without looking at Brock, instead looking past him as if dismissing him.

Brock arches an eyebrow at Frank’s rather rude friend. But hey, to each their own. It’s not like people actually have to follow social rules, it is just nice of them to do so. Rudeness is not a big deal to Brock normally, but the way that Frank practically folded in on himself like origami bothers him.

She storms past the two men and towards the exit without saying another word.

Frank doesn't want to look at Brock; he knows how it looks to him. “I'm really sorry about that. She’s a bit...abrupt.”

Taking in a deep breath, he nods. “Some friend you got there. Sorry we couldn’t chat more. Give me the jeans?” He’s already taking the pair out of Frank’s hand and ripping the tag off. “Keep these. Because I take care of people I like. And you’re a good kid. Don’t do drugs, okay?” He hands the jeans back to Frank. “I’ll pay for these.”

“Brock, you don't have to buy these… Not a kid. Don't do drugs?” Frank scoffs at him, but also lightens as soon as she is gone, “I would have liked to talk more…”

Frowning and taking a deep breath, he decides he should offer Brock his number. Tell her to find her own ride.

"Yeah, me too. It was nice meeting you, Frank," says Brock, regret filling his voice.

“It was great to meet you too. Maybe don't buy homeless kids sixty dollar jeans. I’d offer to leave you a ticket for our show but I don't think that our emo death metal punk music is your kind of scene.” Frank gives him a sad smile, adding, “Hopefully, we meet again.” Frank walks away reluctantly, his shoulders getting heavy. The car ride is going to be degrading.

Sighing and attempting to not watch the way the young man's hips move when he walked, Brock no longer cares about the clothing he is holding or his reason for coming here in the first place. He doesn't care if the pants are sixty dollars or one million dollars. He can afford them regardless. He just wants to do something nice to make up for the fact that he interrupted Frank's day and practically body slammed the skinny kid into the ground in the first place. Brock smiles to himself as he makes his way up to the register. At least Frank will have something to remember him by. The kid really needs to pick better friends. He hopes the band members are much better. Should he have taken him up on his show offer? It's definitely not his music choice, but he would be willing to sit there with military grade headphones on and watch the sexy twink dance around on a stage. He would do it for Frank.

After paying and assuring the staff that no, he wasn't being held hostage by the homeless kid, and yes, he's paying for the "stolen" jeans that he himself ripped the tag off of, Brock climbs into his black Lamborghini and drives home. It's been a long day already.