Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

Welcome Wagon- Adam Sheppard

Moving was a traumatic experience that no child should ever have to face. My parents hadn't gotten the memo since they moved me halfway across the country. California was overwhelming already, and we had just unpacked. The beach freaked me out the most. I could deal with hurricanes, but tsunamis and earthquakes were my limit. My mother had the 'excellent' idea of baking cookies and passing them out to our neighbors as a welcome gift. Last time I checked, welcome wagons worked the other way around- and every neighbor I'd visited so far said the same thing. This was stupid.

One house had cute green parrots in the tree in their front yard. I sped past the tree. I refused to get my eyes pecked out by birds today. Knocking on the door, I got no response, but a car sat in the garage, and I refused to be ignored. Banging on the door, a middle-aged brunette opened it. The man reeked of alcohol, so I was sure he'd love something to hold on his stomach to allow him to drink. He squinted as the sun beamed at him. I assumed he hadn't seen sunlight in a while because he tried to move around to avoid the sun's rays. This was a weird neighborhood.

"What are you? A girl scout," he questioned.

I had a plastic container and not a single box in hand. Alcohol kills for real.

"No... Hello, sir. My name is Y/n L/n. My parents and I just moved in down the road, and I came to introduce myself. Unless you're a pedophile," I greeted.

The man and I stood there staring at each other, waiting for a response from one another. I was ready to kick balls and run if I had to.

"Are you a pedophile," I interrogated.

"I'm not," he responded.

"You took too long to answer that, but whatever. My mom's going to check the sex offender registry. Would you like a cookie? My mom's a baker," I addressed.

"Arent we supposed to bring you welcome gifts," he questioned.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure my mom just wanted me out of the house," I admitted.

The man chuckled a little.

"What's funny," I questioned.

"You. I like you," he chuckled.

"I thought you said you weren't a pedophile," I said.

The man chuckled a little more. Pedophilia is no joke.

"I'm excited that I've gotten to meet you, Y/n. I have a son around your age, and I think you two would get along well. Maybe you could get him out of the house," he insisted.

"Okay. Well, you two can only get two cookies per person," I advised.

"That's fine by me," he laughed.

The man stepped back a little and shouted for the boy. After a few seconds, a cute, long-haired boy walked up and looked at me. A smirk appeared as he studied me and then turned to look at his father.

"What's up, Dad," he asked.

"Adam, I want you to meet Y/n. She just moved in down the road. How about you introduce yourself," his father introduced.

Adam nodded and smiled at me. Huge dimples formed in his cheeks as he did.

"Hi, Y/n. Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Adam. It's a pleasure to meet you," Adam greeted.

"Nice to meet you, Adam. Would you like a cookie? They're homemade," I asked.

"Sure, thanks," Adam said.

"No problem. I like your hair. It's cool," I complimented.

"Thanks. You might be the first. Y/n, that's a cute name. It fits you," he countered.

I was flattered and couldn't stop smiling at his compliment.

"Thank you. You're not too bad yourself," I countered.

"You two seem to have hit it off. How about you get to know Y/n outside? It was nice to meet you, Y/n," his father declared.

Adam's father reached over and grabbed more than two cookies before pushing his son out of the doorway.

"Hey, that was more than two cookies," I exclaimed.