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pinkrelish · 2 years ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶

NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 11: In the Beginning...

——Then——

In the beginning…

It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.

No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.

“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”

Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.

Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”

Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.

After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.

The phone rang.

He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.

“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.

“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.

He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”

Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

————

In the beginning…

It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.

It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.

Following the Munson name.

————

In the beginning…

It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.

The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—

That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.

Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.

Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”

“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.

There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.

Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”

“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”

“You know why.”

The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.

“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.

Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.

Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..

“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.

“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”

The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.

That was the final straw.

She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”

Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.

“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”

Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.

The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.

Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..

Embarrassment, failure, freak..

Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.

Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..

“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.

Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”

Eddie froze.

Her.

Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.

Her.

He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.

The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”

“C’mon, Ed—”

“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”

“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”

Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”

There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.

He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..

Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.

Already, he failed.

Already, he was worthless.

Already, he was alone.

Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.

——Now——

Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.

His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.

“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.

The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.

“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.

Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”

Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.

Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.

You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.

He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”

Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”

“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.

Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.

“I wanna go,” you assured gently.

However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.

He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.

The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.

Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.

His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”

And you were pushed.

Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.

The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.

Soft music played from the radio station.

Riders on the Storm.

Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.

Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.

But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”

The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.

You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.

Now was not the time to bother him.

In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.

For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.

He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.

The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.

Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.

Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.

He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.

Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.

Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.

Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.

Lightning revealed his weary frown.

At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.

Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.

Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.

“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.

It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.

The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.

Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.

Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.

This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.

Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.

At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.

Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.

The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.

She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.

The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?

You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.

Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.

Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.

Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.

Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.

“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”

When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.

Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.

His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”

Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.

“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.

As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.

Never good enough for anyone to stay.

Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.

“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.

In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.

“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.

“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”

—Oh.

“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.

He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.

The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.

His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.

“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.

Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”

Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.

“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”

With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.

Across the Universe.

Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.

His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.

Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.

Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.

“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.

Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”

An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”

And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.

Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.

Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.

You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.

Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”

“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”

The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.

Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.

You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”

Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.

He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.

Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.

And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”

Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.

But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.

“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.” The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”

Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”

You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”

“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”

Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”

Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.

Eddie took an anticipatory breath.

The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.

“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”

A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.

Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”

His shame was only beginning to unravel.

“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”

“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.

Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.

“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all.

Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.

Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.

“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.

In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.

She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”

Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.

“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”

He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.

“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.

Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.

“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”

“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.

Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”

Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.

Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”

Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.

“That hurt,” Adrie complained.

“Ow,” you agreed.

“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.

At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”

Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”

Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.

Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.

“Are you feeling better?”

Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.

Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”

They blinked at you. You blinked back.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.

“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.

The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.

“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.

Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”

He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.

The night was really fucking long.

Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.

A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”

Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.

“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.

Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.

“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”

The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.

Working man arms defined your waist.

Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.

He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.

“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”

His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”

“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”

“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”

“Or, what about when—”

Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.

You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.

“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.

Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”

Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”

“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”

“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.

Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”

“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”

Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.

Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.

Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.

——Then——

In the beginning…

Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.

Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.

“Can I live with you?”

Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.

The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.

Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.

Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.

His uncle never took his room back.

Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.

He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.

Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”

The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.

“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”

Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.

Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.

But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.

Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”

As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.

“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.

Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.

Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.

Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.

He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.

——Now——

Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.

“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.

“I was,” he confirmed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”

Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”

Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.

Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.

—Mom.

No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.

“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.

He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.

And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.

It was unfathomably dark in his living room.

Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)

"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.

In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—

But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.

"Daddy?" she checked.

The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.

He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"

"I wish Miss Mouse was here."

Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.

"I wish she was my mom."

"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson smut #the yes policy

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make-me-imagine · 3 years ago

Text

Worth The Risk

Scenario Prompts: 'B asking A to attend a wedding with them, to get out of going with someone their parents tried to set them up with' + 'The pressure of someone's head leaning on your shoulder.' Requested By: Anonymous (I wrote it as gender neutral, as I usually do, instead of a fem!reader).

Plot: You manage to convince Shang-Chi to help you trick your parents into believing you're in a relationship, so they will stop trying to set you up with strangers. It seems simple at first, but as things begin to get a bit out of hand, and feelings change, you and Shang-Chi have to decide, is it worth the risk?

Pairing: Shang-Chi x GN!Reader

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2.6k

Your chest tightened as you read over the message from your mother again. It was long, and full of various details, and random questions. But the part that stuck out the most was that one sentence in particular.

"I've got this great guy for you to meet! You can spend the wedding together, wont that be great?"

You sighed as you set your phone down as Shang-Chi sat across from you, setting your drink down.

"Uh-Oh. That was a big sigh, something happen?" He asked curiously, worry lining his voice.

You looked at him and shrugged your head. "My cousins wedding is in a few days, and apparently my mother has decided to set me up on date, during the wedding."

Shang-Chi cringed a bit. "Is it someone you know?"

"Doesn't sound like it." You said simply. "Ya' know, I haven't talked to them in ages, and then this is what she immediately throws at me? She didn't even ask if I was single, she just assumed."

"Correctly." He added on, but seeing your face light up with bemusement, he raised his hand defensively and let out a soft laugh. "Sorry, sorry!" When you smiled softly, he continued. "Why don't you tell them you are seeing someone, a little white lie to get out of being set up."

You groaned, "I've tried that in the past, but it didn't change anything. My mother wont believe me, or stop trying to set me up even if I say I am in a relationship. She probably wont until I physically have someone with me to prove I'm in a relationship." As you spoke, a suddenly idea clicked in your mind.

As you looked back up at Shang-Chi, he seemed to read your mind as he set down his drink and pointed at you. "No! No way!"

"Oh come on! It's one wedding pretending to be my boyfriend, and you'll be saving me from an awkward blind date. Please." You whined as you stretched your hand across the table.

Shang-Chi felt an unusual pang in his chest as you asked. His mind repeating 'my boyfriend' a few times before he pushed it away. He shook his head. "I've seen this movie."

"What, you mean every third rom-com that comes out?"

"Yes, exactly. And, it'll end one of three ways. One, one of us will end up falling in love with the other and it'll get painful. Two, you end up meeting the guy your mother tried to set you up with and you'll realize they are perfect for you. Or three, your parents find us out and it gets awkward, and painful."

As Shang-Chi spoke, you felt your chest clench painfully. 'One of us will end up falling in love with the other and it'll get painful.' You almost laughed. 'Too late.'

Pushing away your thoughts you smiled widely. "Or, number four, we successfully trick my parents, the wedding goes smoothly, we go on out merry way, and in a week or so I'll tell my parents that we broke up, but only if and when they ask."

Shang-Chi looked at you contemplatively, and you pouted at him. "Pleeeassee? You'll be doing me a huge favor, and I'll owe you."

Shang-Chi's shoulders slumped as he dropped his head in defeat. "Fine." He whined out. "But-" He began, as he pointed at you, "Just don't fall in love with me." He joked.

You forced an amused smile and an eye roll as you felt that now familiar painful ache in your chest. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Would it be worth the risk of hurting yourself even more?

- - - - -

Shang-Chi looked at you from from the corner of his eye. Your leg was bouncing rapidly as your hands gripped your knees. He let out a soft laugh, and spoke with a reassuring tone. "Relax, it'll be fine."

You looked over at him, and you were sure your anxiety was clear on your face. "She's gonna see right through me."

"No, she wont." He began, "Half the time we are hanging out, random people think we are a couple, and we don't even purposefully act like one. I think with us actually pretending, we can pull it off easily."

You nodded your head, "Yeah, you're right."

Your thoughts were temporarily distracted as you remembered the various times people confused you as a couple. And every time, your face would heat up, and your chest would tighten, your mind would be filled with 'If only's' and 'I wish's'. While Shang-Chi would simply laugh it off as if it was a funny joke that would ever happen.

"We're here." The taxi driver said, breaking you from your thoughts.

Looking out of the window, you saw the entrance to the wedding venue. Small groups of people were heading inside, as the doorway was framed in white and pink flowers.

You let out a deep breath as you climbed out of the taxi. You ran your hands down your clothes, smoothing them out. Shang-Chi came to your side and smiled at you, another reassuring gesture. Holding out his elbow, you looped your arm through his as you both headed inside.

You didn't get far before you heard your name called out. Looking over, you spot your parents approaching, bright smiles on their faces. For a moment, the anxiety disappeared as you genuinely smiled at them, happy to see them in person after a long time apart.

After your greetings, you turned to Shang-Chi and began to introduce them. "Mom, dad, this is Shang-Chi."

Your parents took turns greeting him, before your mother laughed out. "I honestly wasn't sure if you were real, I thought Y/n might be playing a joke on us."

You and Shang-Chi both laughed awkwardly. "I assure you, I am very real. Well, I hope so at least."

Your mother giggled as your father began to lead to two of you into the next room. Your mother stepped beside you and whispered in your ear. "Cute. I like him."

You smiled at her, feeling relief wash over you. Now you just had to fool them for the next six hours or so.

When you had first messaged her back, informing her you were in a relationship, so no set-up date would be necessary, you were immediately bombarded with questions. Which you answered as vaguely as you could, though truth was sprinkled throughout.

How long have you known each other? A few years.

How long have you been dating? About two months.

Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to make sure it was serious first.

How did you meet? We met through a mutual friend.

You and Shang-Chi had gone through various scenarios. Ways to answer questions that might come up. You were able to form stories mostly from truth, with a few more relationship-oriented details thrown in.

As the wedding began, your mother was busy with your cousin, so you managed to avoid an interrogation. Up until the reception, when you spotted from across the room, Shang-Chi, alone, with both of your parents. You left your cousin and her new spouse and began walking towards your parents and Shang-Chi.

As you approached, you saw them laughing. Your anxiety dissipated a bit, figuring it must be going well. Shang-Chi, seeing you approach, quickly dismissed himself. You heard something about dancing as he slipped away.

Approaching you, he slid his hand into yours, causing your heart to skip a beat, and your face to heat up. You began to walk towards the dance floor slowly. "Trust me, you do not want to join in on that."

"Oh God, what were they asking?"

"About my family."

You winced and squeezed his hand a bit. "I'm sorry. What did you tell them?"

"Uh, that my parents are both dead, and my sister works at my dad's previous company."

"They didn't push any further did they?"

"They started too, but then I managed to changed the subject. Then you came over. So I told them I wanted to dance with you."

"You know I'm not a great dancer."

"I know, and neither am I, we can embarrass ourselves together." He smiled at you, and you laughed softly as you both fell into stance, just as a slow song began to play.

You glanced to the side, and saw your parents watching you. They were smiling, and you felt a mix of relief and guilt rocket through you.

"There's something else." He said after a moment.

You looked into his eyes with a raised brow. "What?"

"I may or may not have agreed to go on your triennial family vacation."

"Our what?" Suddenly, remembering that you and your family would all go on a vacation together every three years, and that the usual time was coming up, your eyes widened a bit. "Oh, right. Wait, you did?"

He nodded, squinting his eyes a bit as he let out a hiss. "Yeah, I kind of agreed before I actually thought about it. But to be honest, I have always wanted to go to Hawaii."

"Is that where we're going? They never tell me anything." You complained with and eye roll. Looking back at him, you sighed. "Are you sure you wanna do this again? It's possible they might find us out. Is it worth the risk?"

"It's alright." He quickly interrupted. "I think it's worth the risk. You never know. Things might change."

Shang-Chi was surprised by his intense desire to keep playing partners. He hadn't realized it until this moment, but he forgot, for a few moments here and there that it was a lie.

All those times when people thought you had been dating, the two of you would laugh it off. But there would always be a lingering feeling left behind. That maybe once day, it would be true.

When he joked with you not to fall in love with him, he felt his chest clench in a way that caught him off guard. As if he caught himself in the middle of a mistake he didn't realize he was making until it was too late.

During the wedding, when he saw your beaming smile as your cousin walked down the isle. He couldn't stop looking at you. He knew you were attractive, knew you were special. But in that moment, it was as if he was truly seeing you for the first time in a new way.

When your parents were talking about you, asking him questions, as if trying to catch him in a lie, he found it easy to tell the truth.

What attracted you to Y/n? I honestly couldn't narrow it down. It was everything. Like Y/n was a part of me I didn't know I was missing.

Do you see your relationship lasting? Of course. I can't imagine my life without Y/n right beside me.

And when they asked if he would go on the family vacation. He didn't hesitate, it didn't come out as a mistake. He honestly wanted to keep pretending to be with you. He enjoyed it. He wanted it to be real.

But none of this fully clicked in those moment. It wasn't until he was holding you close to him as you danced. Your eyes met his and it hit him all at once. The realization that he had always had these feeling, pushed down and away, ever since he first met you.

Maybe he hid these feelings to save himself from getting hurt. Maybe because he had never felt them like this. Maybe because he was afraid of hurting you.

"What things?" You asked with a look of curiosity.

He thought he saw a hint of expectation in your gaze, but you quickly hid it away, your face quickly becoming unreadable.

"Uh. Us...we could change." It was almost a question, as if he was afraid to scare you.

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your hand beginning to sweat. You were sure he could feel them in his own grip. Were you misreading what he was saying? Or did he mean what you hoped he did. What you wanted him to feel for so long.

The two of you were still dancing, but slower and more subdued that those around you.

You took a shaky breath before speaking. "What happened to 'just don't fall in love with me'?"

A soft smile played on his lips. "That was one sided." He argued.

"And a bit late."

Shang-Chi's face fell for a moment as your words hit him. "What?"

You shrugged your head a little bit. "By a few years actually."

You felt him hesitate in his steps as he halted for a moment. But as he remembered where you were, he continued in the dance, moving a bit more than he had before.

He let out a soft sigh. "I felt it too, but-"

"But what?"

"I don't know. I pushed it away, maybe because I was afraid."

"Of me?" You asked softly.

"No. Of me. Of, messing it up. I managed to push it away for a while, but...since we starting this fake relationship, I just...can't help but want it to be real."

"You do?" Your voice was bit higher now, as your heart was beating so rapidly in your chest you thought your whole body might be shaking.

He nodded his head lightly. "Yeah. I really do." You felt a smile spread across your face, that as soon as it was seen by Shang-Chi, his began to mirror yours. "This is one hell of a first date though."

"Yeah, it would make a great story."

Shang-Chi glanced over at your parents, and you followed his gaze. "But maybe not so soon right?"

You laughed a little. "Yeah, we might wanna hang on to it for a bit."

He looked back at you with a grin, and without helping, his eyes flicked to your lips. There were a few times in the past, where his eyes caught your lips. They lingered just long enough for him to wonder what it would be like to kiss you. But now, he did not push those thoughts away.

You saw the way his eyes hovered over your lips, and you felt your face heat up. His eyes met yours again as he pulled you closer to him. Your chests were touching, and your faces only an inch apart.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice a soft whisper.

Your nodded your head, so small a motion, it would have gone unnoticed by anyone watching you. But Shang-Chi saw it, and leaned closer. Letting his lips brush against yours momentarily, before pressing them together in a kiss.

Your movement stalled for a moment, your bodies still, as you kissed. The kiss lasted only a few second, but felt like an eternity of delight for the two of you.

When you pulled away, he pulled you flush against him as you began to dance again. You smiled brightly at one another, as your foreheads touched gently.

A moment passed as another song started, even slower than the last. You smiled a bit at him as you moved to set your head on his shoulder.

Shang-Chi smiled as you rested your head on his shoulder, the warmth of your presence making butterflies continuously rampage in his stomach. He set his own head softly against your own as the two of you continued to dance.

"I told you they weren't faking it." Your dad's voice said bluntly, as he and your mother watched the two of you from across the room.

Your mother let out a sigh, but smiled. "Good. I'm glad. They're perfect for each other."

xx End xx

I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, as tumblrs algorithm is trash, and the tags barely work. So reblog are very helpful! And they mean a lot!

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfireMarvel Taglist: @trashywritestrash, @marvelouslyme96, @supersourlemon13, @simsiddy, @peter-parkers-cullen-nerd

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

Note

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.”

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment.

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way.

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.”

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie.

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone.

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed.

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island. It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words.

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn��t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest.

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face.

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly.

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it.

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

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thomasshelbydrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

The School Teacher (3/21)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Warnings: period typical sexism, series typical violence, period typical views of PTSD, canon suicide attempt, eventual smut

Summary: Adeline Taylor has a discussion with the youngest male of the Shelby family and gets introduced to Chief Inspector Campbell. Things go as well as you’d expect.

Word Count: 3033

A/N: Again thanks to everyone who has been interacting with this story. I am starting a tag list, so if you want on it, let me know. 😊

Three days had passed since her night in the Garrison with the Shelby men. Tommy’s scent still lingered in the collar of her coat, and she didn’t have enough money saved to purchase a new one. The bite of snow was in the air, but none had yet to fall to earth. She and a handful of the other teachers sat in the lounge, watching the children through the window as they ran around the schoolyard.

“I can’t believe my husband went and bet all our money on a bloody horse,” one of the other teachers said, pulling Adeline from her thoughts.

“It’s his money, isn’t it?” another asked. “Figures he can do as he pleases with it, then expects you to make supper with a miracle.”

“There aren’t any race tracks around here though,” Adeline said.

“Honestly, Adeline, you really don’t know much of anything ‘round these parts, do you?”

Adeline rolled her eyes. She missed the silence of when this particular group of women ignored her.

“He takes it to Watery Lane, doesn’t he. They run the races ‘round here. He keeps claiming he knows this horse is gonna win. Something about some bloody powder trick.”

Adeline nodded. So they fixed races. She suspected they ran stolen booze and cigarettes through the Garrison, given how they never paid for any, and how freely Arthur had announced any of her drinks were on the house. Maybe she was wrong there, but Harry deferred to them a lot, so she’d begun to wonder if it wasn’t the Shelbys who owned the pub and just left Harry around to run it for them.

The children came back into the building, pink cheeked from being outside in the cold. Still, it was good for their constitution and better for her sanity to have them run off some of their excess energy. A couple of the boys came in with blood on their lips. Her own pressed together in a thin line. Finn Shelby sauntered in the room, a grin reminiscent of Tommy on his face. His eyes landed on the other boys, and they ducked their heads before hurrying to their desks. As his gaze continued around the room, they locked on her own unamused glare. She watched as he tried to maintain his superior air, but he had years to go before he would be able to intimidate Adeline. His eyes dropped to his toes as he made his way to his own seat.

She continued the lesson from before recess, watching the young faces as they worked through the arithmetic problems she presented. Finn Shelby took particular interest in the numbers, no doubt motivated to do well and impress his older brothers with his skill. When the final bell rang, the children all hurried to gather their belongings.

“Finn Shelby, you’ll be staying behind today,” Adeline called over the noise.

He shot her a dirty look but remained in his seat. Once the room cleared, she pulled a chair and sat down across from Finn.

“Right then,” she placed her elbows on the table. “What’s all this about then?”

“What’s wot about?”

“You’re not stupid, Finn. Answer the question.”

“They’re bloody idiots. Don’t know when to stop runnin’ their mouths,” Finn defended. He sounded so confident, so assured that he was right to give them a beating.

“What exactly did they run their mouths about that earned them a beating like that?”

Finn glanced down before snapping his eyes back up. Adeline bit back a smile at his bravado, the way he emulated his brother’s behaviors, even if he didn’t fully understand them yet.

“Things ‘bout me brothers, ‘bout our gypsy blood, even ‘bout our ‘orses,” Finn said.

Adeline nodded her head. “I see. Of course, people speaking unkindly about your family would make you angry. I wonder though, what your brothers would think about you defending them like that?”

Finn jumped up from his chair, hands braced on the desk, face red. “What the fuck you mean by that? You sayin’ I can’t defend my own bloody family?”

“You’ll mind both your tone and your language with me Finn Shelby or I’ll tan you so hard you won’t sit properly for days,” Adeline scolded.

A contrite look quickly replaced the anger as though Finn just now realized how he’d spoken. He sat back down, head bowed.

“‘m sorry, Miss Taylor.”

“I know you’re upset, but that’s never an excuse to be rude to those you’re not angry with, especially your elders.”

“Yes, miss.”

Adeline smiled. “Good. Now, I was going to ask you this. Do you think your brothers are incapable of defending themselves against a group of school children?”

“Course not. My brothers are the strongest men ‘round the whole of Small Heath.”

She could see the pride burning in his eyes.

“Then you might not want them to catch wind of you fighting their battles for them, would you? Can’t have them believing you think they can’t defend their own honor.”

Finn paled dramatically and Adeline again had to hide a smile. No doubt Tommy would encourage such behavior, but she needed to maintain order in her classroom, and if Finn kept picking fights with all the boys who had a problem with the Peaky Blinders, she’d have nothing but chaos on her hands.

“’Course not. Tommy’d have me head.”

“Then I think it’s best if you just ignore them. Let their words pass you by. Most people speak nothing but foolishness anyway, and it’s best to ignore fools.”

Finn’s brow furrowed as he thought through her words. Adeline waited for him to come to his own conclusions.

“And if they hit me first?”

“In this scenario of yours, have you used your own words to provoke them?”

Finn frowned. “No. ‘m just ignorin’ them like you said.”

“No one expects you not to defend yourself, but if you provoke them into it, that’s not defending yourself. It’s making yourself a fool, and no Shelby I know wants to be seen as a fool.”

“No, Miss Taylor. I don’t want to be no fool.”

“’Course you don’t,” Adeline stood from the desk. “I have your word you’ll stop this foolishness?”

Finn paused, thinking it through, no doubt searching for a loophole or a downside to her request.

“You have my word.”

Adeline spit in her palm and held it out to the boy. “You’ll shake on it, then.”

Finn’s eyes grew large, mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ of surprise. He spit into his own palm and shook her hand firmly.

“Go on now, get home before your Aunt Polly gets worried about you.”

Fondness swelled in her breast as she watched him gather his things and hurry from the room. He paused and waved at her before exiting the door, a wide grin on his face as he did so. In turn, she walked through the classroom, tidying up after the day’s activities. At her desk, she quickly organized the papers and books before putting on her coat.

Walking from the schoolhouse, Adeline checked her pockets for her gloves. She chuckled under her breath, of course, they were at home. She’d sat them right on the little table by her door so she would finally remember to take them with her. Head never focused on the task at hand, always looking ahead, her mother’s voice sounded in her ear. Adeline couldn’t deny it.

“Miss Taylor.”

Her eyes snapped up. Before her stood a man in a police uniform, sergeant’s stripes on his arms. Adeline’s hand curled into a fist at her side as she saw a small task force of coppers standing in a semi-circle behind him. Fucking Birmingham.

“Can I help you with something, Sergeant?”

Addressing him by his rank threw him for a moment, but he quickly recovered his wits.

“I’m to escort you to the station house. Chief Inspector Campbell wants a word with you.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a prior engagement. I have time tomorrow to meet with the Chief Inspector,” Adeline replied.

The sergeant stepped closer to her, eyes hard. “Look, I’m not one for roughin’ up women, but I’ve got me orders. I’m to take you in to see him now. You can come with us nice and easy, or…”

Adeline took a step closer, watching the sergeant’s eyes go wide as he took a stumbling step back to ensure there was some distance between them. When would the men in this town understand she wasn’t intimidated by their gruff voices and foul breath?

“I don’t appreciate your tone, nor the threat of violence. I can’t imagine what business the Chief Inspector would have with a school teacher, but whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait a day.”

“Are you refusing to cooperate?” the sergeant asked.

With a roll of her eyes, Adeline shook her head. Next time she decided to disappear, she’d go somewhere with no population. Make friends with bunnies or something.

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” Adeline snapped. “Honestly, with coppers such as yourselves, what need does Birmingham have of criminals?”

The sergeant grabbed her arm roughly, fingers digging into her skin.

“Ah, so, you’ve trouble with hitting a woman, but leaving bruises, that’s just fine by you?” Adeline asked as she was hauled forward.

“Mouthy woman like you? Think you’d be accustomed to a bit of rough treatment,” one of the coppers jeered.

“And what would you know about a woman?” Adeline asked.

She smirked as the young man lunged forward only to be stopped by the sergeant’s arm held out against his chest.

“Don’t let her get under your skin. She’s to be taken to see the Chief Inspector, and that’s all,” the sergeant called to the gathered men.

He glared down at Adeline, “And you, keep your tongue behind your teeth if you know what’s good for you.”

Seething, Adeline did as she was told. They outnumbered her, and there were no weapons within sight. She decided against digging in her heels since she took the sergeant for the type of man who’d simply toss her over his shoulder and parade her around town like a trussed up Christmas turkey. She remained silent as they led her into the station house, through a long corridor and into an office. The large wooden desk dominated the room. Scattered across it were folders filled with papers yellowing at the edges.

“Chief Inspector Campbell will be in to see you momentarily, Miss Taylor,” the sergeant informed her, voice laced with forced politeness.

She ignored him, but once the door snicked shut, she moved around the table to get a closer look at the documents. On the top, a closed folder with a red X covering the front caught her eye. “BSA Munitions Robbery: Prime Suspects” was typed in blue across a piece of tape stuck to the cover. Opening it up, she found it empty and cursed under her breath. Below the folder was a small stack of dossiers. Tommy’s name appeared on one with a photo from his time in the war. She scanned it quickly, noting his King’s Medal for Gallantry. She snorted as she imagined exactly how he felt about the medal. Another war photo caught her eye; it was Arthur, but before she could examine it further she heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Quickly putting the papers back where they’d been she moved around to where the sergeant had left her.

“I’ve put her in your office, Inspector Campbell.”

The door opened and an older gentleman with gray hair and a charcoal gray vest and matching suit coat entered, followed by the sergeant. He eyed her thoughtfully, his mustache twitching with his lips as his expression settled into something neutral. Adeline wished she’d spent her time searching his desk for a letter opener instead of nosing around his paperwork. He reminded her of the dogs the neighbors used to keep tied up on their property. The thin rope around their necks the only thing holding them back from biting whoever passed by. Each time she’d hurry past, praying the rope would hold just a bit longer. Chief Inspector Campbell had the same look in his eye, and Adeline wondered if he had a rope holding him back.

“That’ll be all, Moss.”

She caught the dirty look Sergeant Moss shot at Inspector Campbell as he was summarily dismissed from the room.

“Miss Taylor.”

It wasn’t a question, so she merely tilted her head a bit in acknowledgement that he’d spoken. His accent identified him as Irish. Being a Chief Inspector, she’d wager his primary duties related to IRA affairs. What she couldn't tell just yet was what brought someone with his background to Birmingham.

“I’m hoping you might be able to help me with something.”

Again, it wasn’t a question, so she felt no need to respond. He walked around his desk and sat behind it.

“I’ve been asking myself why a school teacher would get herself mixed up with the likes of the Peaky Blinders. From all accounts, you keep to yourself and do well with the children.”

Uninvited, she sat down opposite him and crossed her legs.

“Sergeant Moss indicated you had quite a bit to say when they came to escort you to the station house.”

She couldn’t hold back the snort at his choice of words.

“I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“Funny thing to need assurance like that from an officer of the law, but given how your men, what did you call it? Escort visitors, well, I’m sure I’ll need more than one assurance from you before our conversation has concluded.”

“You resisted.”

“I asked to reschedule.”

“I’m a busy man, Miss Taylor. My time is valuable.”

“I don’t care.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t care how important a man you are or how valuable your precious time is. Sending your brute squad to accost me at the schoolhouse was unacceptable. Having me hauled in to see you like some common criminal. You, sir, are a disgrace to your position.”

Before she fully processed what happened, Inspector Campbell had rounded the desk. Fire spread across her cheek as her head whipped to the side, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as the pain bloomed bright. Delicately, she brought a hand up to her face on reflex. Slowly she moved her jaw. Not broken. So, he had no rope around his neck to hold him back. Dangerous disposition, but the man couldn’t even hit properly.

“Careful,” Adeline whispered, small smile on her face. “I might think you like me.”

Inspector Campbell stood above her, chest heaving. “I find myself surprised, Miss Taylor, that Arthur Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, would allow his woman to run her mouth as freely as you do.”

She blinked slowly. Why did the men in Birmingham assume she was Arthur’s woman? Didn’t anyone have any other, more interesting gossip to partake in? No, this was about something else. The folder on the desk, something about missing munitions? Were the Peaky Blinders involved? Surely not. Tommy couldn’t be stupid enough to make himself a target for the likes of men such as Chief Inspector Campbell? No, she didn’t care what mess Tommy had gotten himself into. None of this was her business. All she needed now was an exit strategy.

“Arthur Shelby has no say over the words I use, and he never will, nor any other person for that matter. I spoke the truth on my mind, and you found it disagreeable. Instead of striking me, you might consider some self-reflection. Can’t be good for a man in your position to gain a reputation for rash decision making. I doubt the brass in Scotland Yard would be impressed by such behavior.”

“Why are you in Birmingham, Miss Taylor? It’s a dangerous city for a young woman.”

“The only part of Birmingham that’s been dangerous so far is the police station.”

Adeline held his gaze. His jaw clenched.

“But, I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. I asked myself why a Chief Inspector from, Belfast?” Adeline paused, watched his face confirm her suspicions. “Yes, Belfast. What brings a man such as yourself to a place like Birmingham? Let us be clear with each other, Inspector. You don’t have any interest in who I may or may not be fucking. I could have a different Shelby in my bed each night and it would make no difference at all to you.”

She watched his jaw tighten, saw his eyes flicker as he attempted to work out exactly how she connected the dots.

“You’ve not answered my question.”

Adeline smiled. “And you’ve not answered mine. What is it you sent all those men after me for? What’s the question burning in your gut?”

“Question? No, Miss Taylor. Consider this me,” he paused, tilting his head. “Introducing myself to you.”

Adeline stood from the chair and smoothed down her skirts. “Since you’ve no questions for me, and the introduction was one I’ll not soon forget, I’ll be taking my leave.”

“I’ll have Sergeant Moss see you safely home,” Inspector Campbell offered.

“You’ll excuse me for refusing your hospitality. Given the way he escorted me here, I know my chances of arriving home safely are better if I do it on my own. Besides, he and every copper here already knows where I live. It’s public record since I’m the school teacher. No need for subterfuge, Inspector Campbell.”

“I’m sure I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again, Miss Taylor.”

Adeline smiled bitingly at him as she left the room. Only when the door clicked closed behind her did she feel air once more filling her lungs. With deliberate steps, she made her way down the corridor.

“What kind of man is he? Making out like we’re all bad coppers, like none of us can do our bloody jobs.”

She paused.

“Campbell will deal with the Peaky Blinders, then leave and we won’t have to deal with his like anymore.”

“I can’t stomach him. Bloody peacock of a man who didn’t even fight in the war telling us about honor?”

Adeline held a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet!” Sergeant Moss’ voice boomed. “Keep your fuckin’ mouths closed, or I’ll close ‘em for you.”

After waiting for a few minutes, Adeline continued down the corridor and out the front door of the station house.

Part 4

Master List

Tag List: @mootiemoose @ohshititsfenharel

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc

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folklorelise · 4 years ago

Text

Nightmares after the accident.

Levi having nightmares after you nearly died. Read part 1 here!

Since you woke up from the accident, you and Levi did not sleep well. For you, it was because that near death experience made you constantly stressed. Most part of the night would be spent pretending to sleep long enough to trick your brain into thinking you are asleep and then finally fell asleep for a few hours.

For Levi, it was because he kept having the same dream – or more like nightmare – every night. He would wake up and just hold you closely to him. Levi never used to sleep much, but since he met you, he started to sleep from four to six hours per night. Now, it was back to two to three hours per night.

None of you would tell the other – you would both pretend to sleep peacefully when in reality you were both miserable.

BREAK LINE

When Levi opened his eyes, he was once again back into that thick forest. He was in his uniform, but his gear was absent. The sky was grey, but there was no rain. He walked around for a bit, but there was nothing yet. After a few minutes of walking in no particular direction, he found a silhouette on the ground. When he finally was close enough, he found you, swimming in your own blood, lifeless.

“Y/N?” Levi trembled. “No…”

Levi quickly started to do chess compression on you, but you already stopped breathing.

“I need help!” Levi tried to scream, but there was no one around.

Then suddenly Armin appeared in front of him, crying over your body.

“Why couldn’t you save mom?” Armin sobbed. “You said you would do anything to protect her, and yet she died! How could you!”

All of a sudden, your head turned around to face Levi’s and tears started to fall down.

“I– I thought– you protect– me…”

Levi wanted to get closer to you, unfortunately Armin took out his sword and pointed it at Levi.

“You don’t deserve her. You shouldn’t get close to her anymore.”

“You– should– go.”

“No.” Levi refused.

BREAK LINE

That was when Levi would usually wake up. Sometimes it was sooner which he was grateful for, and when he could not wake up and he had to walk away from you, he would just hold you afterwards. It has been like this for more than a week now. Levi and you, rarely sleeping, but not telling each other. Neither of you wanted to burthen the other.

You were good at pretending to sleep, or maybe it was because Levi was too tired to notice anything. You on the other hand would notice how Levi would sleep less every night. At first, you did not say anything, but when Levi to become clingier you decided to talk with him – not that you minded it, you loved Levi staying with you, but Levi is never the clingy one.

One night, as you were both pretending to sleep, you finally decided to talk with Levi.

“I know you’re not sleeping.” you whispered.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Levi asked.

“I was thirsty.” you lied. “What about you?”

“I was about to fall asleep right now.” Levi pretended to yawn.

“Stop lying. I know you haven’t been sleeping well these days.”

“How would you know?” Levi asked still holding you.

“Because…” you sighed, “I haven’t been sleeping too.”

“What’s wrong?” Levi asked worried.

“What’s wrong with you?” you insisted.

“Y/N…”

“Levi.”

You were now both sitting on the bed.

“Fine. If I tell you, you have to tell me too.” you tried to compromise.

“Fine.”

A long silence was followed by what Levi said. Neither of you wanted to talk about it, but you had to.

“I’m scared.” you finally pointed out. “I don’t feel… I don’t know.” you paused, “I keep thinking about how I felt back then. I really thought I would never be able to see you again. And then you started to cry, and I just wanted to hug you because I hate seeing you cry.” you sobbed slightly. “I really thought that it would be the last time I’d ever see you and I hated that because I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’d hate to leave you too.” Levi whispered.

“I can’t sleep because when there’s no light, I keep imagining a titan coming through our window… ready to throw me out again.” you took a deep breath. “It was so dark and quiet… just like at night.” you admitted.

“How can I help?”

“I don’t know. When I’m with you… When you’re here I feel better. But I can’t sleep. I’ll eventually get through it. I think… I think talking about it, is definitely a step if I want to get better. What about you?”

“I keep having the same nightmare over and over again. I don’t want to sleep because I can’t see you die on me over and over again.” Levi said calmly. “I’m alone in the forest, and then I find you already gone. I was too late; I couldn’t save you. Armin suddenly appears and he… he would never say these things in reality, but someone has to in my dreams…”

“What does he say?” you asked carefully.

“That… I don’t deserve you.”

“Levi.” you said, but Levi would just avoid your gaze. “Look at me please.” and when he finally did you said “You, Levi Ackerman, deserve the best. You deserve so much because–.” Your eyes filled up with tears again, “because you went through so much, and you just don’t deserve all that crap. You deserve the best, and I hope I’m good enough–.”

“I never could’ve asked for better.” Levi cut you off.

“Me neither.” you put your head on his shoulder.” What else have been bothering you?”

“I’m scared that one day, my nightmare comes true. I don’t want to wake up one day without you. Which brings me to another question.”

“Yes?”

“Are you still planning to go on expeditions?”

“Yes.” you responded without hesitation.

“Bu–.”

“I’m scared, I can’t sleep, but I don’t regret doing what I did. Armin was in danger. If I had to do it again, I would. Probably not jumping in front of him, now I know I should think before and… I should’ve been able to kill that titan, but it had been so long… I don’t know.”

“Then next time you tell me to split up because it’s more efficient, I’d have to refuse.”

“That’s fine with me.”

That night neither of you could still fell asleep peacefully, but you both fell more at ease after talking about your problems.

#attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #squad leader mom au #levi ackerman angst #communication is key (i think #never being in a relationship lol)

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hyungieyoongi · 4 years ago

Text

See You

Pairing: Professor!Hobi x Professor!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers + fluff + angst + Hobi and Reader have some personality conflicts at work but should really just make out or something and stop acting like they dislike each other + this entire fic is inspired by Hobi’s look in that gum commercial I mean he screamed professor with that turtleneck and plaid blazer (thank you @moon-write for encouraging this vision)

Word Count: 3.2K+

---

“No, no, please tell me you’re joking,” you groaned, eyes scanning over the classroom assignment list posted on the faculty board in the hallway over again, hoping you were seeing things wrong. A third look at the paper confirmed that your fears had in fact come true – you and Hoseok were teaching next door to each other the entire fall semester.

Hoseok was the History of Dance Professor in your department. He was hired at the beginning of last year, three years into your career as one of the youngest faculty members in the Music & Arts program at your university. While he was bubbly and energetic, you were the more typical academic – down-to-earth, a little bit serious. He was beloved by his students for his positive personality and passion for teaching; you were well-regarded as being a natural talent who wanted to hone your students’ abilities.

It wasn’t that your students didn’t like your course. No, it was well-reviewed and relatively popular considering it was an elective. But once Hoseok arrived, you felt like you were competing with the star of the program. Every student, even the ones who didn’t like dance, were lining up for his course, pushing your class and others into smaller classrooms with dwindling numbers. He, of course, got the large lecture hall this year.

He was the pain in your side, constantly flashing his bright smile to get his way in the department, dazzling your colleagues. Students would often be buzzing in the hallways about how they didn’t have to take an exam in Professor Jung’s class like they did in Professor Y/L/N’s. They got to go to a local show instead and analyze the dance performance. Hoseok was creative and intelligent – that much you could agree with – but you rolled your eyes every time you saw another one of his students attempt to flirt with him.

Hoseok and you figured out you got on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. He would always play music too loud in his office while you were grading papers – he timed how long it took you to show up at his door to tell him to turn it down every afternoon. You would make it a point to have your students play samples of their pieces they’d written on the piano while he was in the middle of a lecture, leaving your classroom doors open so the notes of the instrument would float down the hallway to the lecture hall. You’d have a satisfied grin on your face when you heard the telltale noise of the lecture hall doors slamming shut.

The entire department knew about this little game the two of you would play with each other, not to mention the sarcastic comments from you and teasing jokes from him that were on repeat any time you were in the same room. The bickering was bound to get worse with the two of you in such close quarters all semester.

“Y/N!” you heard a loud voice call down the hallway. You hadn’t heard that voice in two and a half months thanks to your summer vacation. You gritted your teeth, turning with a tight-lipped smile toward your least-favorite coworker.

“Hoseok,” you greeted with a nod. As usual, your semi-chilly behavior toward him didn’t faze him.

“Y/N, come on, I thought I told you to call me Hobi!” he said cheerfully, his eyes squinting from his smile. He was wearing a cream turtleneck tucked into his khakis, plaid blazer over his shoulders. He had dyed his hair from the black you were accustomed to, his strands now a platinum blonde. You realized, begrudgingly, that he looked more attractive than he did last year.

“Well would you look at that, we’re neighbors,” Hoseok said after scanning the list on the board.

“Try to keep the gaggle of screaming fans away from the hallway when I’m teaching, would you?” you said sarcastically. Hoseok’s hand flew to his heart, acting like you had personally attacked him.

“Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse my students of being so frivolous,” he said dramatically. “Just because we have more fun in my class, doesn’t make it any less serious than yours.”

“Oh, please, save the theatrics for the students who signed up thinking your class would be an easy ‘A’. I know for a fact that you gave out four D’s last semester.” Hoseok’s eyes twinkled at your challenging tone.

“And how many did you give out, Professor Y/L/N?” Hoseok asked in a sweet voice.

“None, thank you very much. Since my students actually learn something in my class, I don’t have to give out such low grades,” you quipped. Hoseok chuckled, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair.

“Maybe I should sit in on one of your classes this year. Learn a thing or two,” Hoseok said, stepping toward you. You flushed momentarily at his low tone, immediately stepping back. He smirked at your reaction.

“It’s invite only to audit my class, Jung,” you said before turning on your heel to walk toward your office down the hall, “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not!” you yelled over your shoulder.

You heard Hoseok laugh, and you cursed yourself for giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his teasing had gotten to you.

You had promised yourself at the end of the summer not to play into it this year – you were going to be professional, courteous. But the first time you see Hoseok, bam, it goes right out the window.

You would just have to avoid Hoseok as much as possible.

You sighed once you closed your office door behind you. It was going to be a long semester.

---

Two months into the semester, the leaves had turned to burnt oranges and red, signaling the return of fall. Hoseok was sitting in one of the auditorium seats, his legs crossed over each other, looking down at his fingers with a soft smile playing at his lips. The delicate notes of the piano were playing from your classroom, the noise piercing the thin walls separating your classroom from his.

His class had been dismissed half an hour ago, and, based on the lack of students having straggling conversations in the hallway, yours had, too. He often waited after he was done teaching to see if you would play when you thought no one was listening. The notes you played sometimes indicated your mood; the music was soft and flowing, other times dark and intense.

Today it was, melancholic? He couldn’t quite place it, but it made him think about the change in seasons. He wondered if that was on your mind. The song was fluid, making him want to choreograph a piece to it, the dancer’s body matching the tempo of the music. He shut his eyes, picturing the movements behind his closed lids.

He’d never admit that he indulged in this as often as he did – he knew you wouldn’t be playing if you found out he was your only audience member. You had been avoiding him this semester. He had tried all of his old tricks – the loud music during office hours, teasing comments during staff meetings. But you wouldn’t blink.

He opened his eyes, the song transitioning into something light and happy. It made him think of sunshine.

---

You stopped playing, your hands lifting off the keys like they burned you. You had been playing mindlessly, your fingers starting to pluck away at the keys in the melody that you had thought of when you would think of Hoseok.

The more you avoided Hoseok, the more you seemed to miss his overly positive personality. You would see him at staff meetings, always giving you a big smile. One day you came in late after a meeting with a student ran long, and you came into the room to see that he had saved you a seat next to him, the last one left empty in the room.

He was still playing his music too loud, but you had stopped bugging him about it, and you noticed that it was gradually getting quieter.

You closed the cover over the keys, willing the thoughts about Hoseok to go away, packing up your papers and laptop. He was just your annoyingly happy colleague; there was no reason he should be taking up this much space in your mind.

---

“Are you honestly suggesting that the music composition class shouldn’t be considered a prerequisite for all music program students going forward?” you questioned angrily. You and Hoseok were at a standoff in the department meeting, his normally pleasant features tense, arms crossed in front of him.

“If that means that it prevents funding from getting diverted from the dance program to the instrumental students, then, yes, that is what I’m suggesting,” Hoseok countered.

“That’s ridiculous! Music composition is a fundamental building block for all students – including dance, Jung!” your voice had risen, and the department head looked between you both, deciding that the meeting had gotten too out of hand to continue.

“Professor Y/L/N, Professor Jung – why don’t the two of you take a walk around the building, get some fresh air. The rest of you, dismissed. We’ll resume this conversation, civilly, next week,” the department head declared.

You were fuming, angrily shoving your notebook and pen in your bag before storming out of the building. You felt someone else’s presence, and you turned, groaning when you saw the last person you wanted to see standing behind you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“Give it a rest, Jung, I’m not in the mood,” you said grumpily.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the bookstore to grab a coffee and put this behind us,” Hoseok scoffed, smile wiped away. “But, I guess not.”

“Not everyone wants to just roll over and play nice when you flash them a smile, Hoseok.”

“Well, not everyone wants to act like they have a superiority complex, either.”

Your lips pursed, hands beginning to fidget with how angry and upset his comment made you. The two of you had been annoying last year, sure, but you had never been mean to each other. Until today.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said quietly, heated tone still evident despite the low volume.

“The feeling is mutual,” Hoseok said harshly. “It’s not like you’ve even tried to get to know me. You immediately disliked me from day one. You never even gave me a chance!”

“That’s rich coming from you. All that shit with the music and the comments – it’s like you wanted me to dislike you,” you replied.

“I wanted you to talk to me, Y/N,” Hoseok said, exasperated. “Forget it, I can see now that it was useless to try.”

“I was trying to play nice this semester,” you said, glaring at Hoseok. “You came in like a damn bulldozer last year, disrupting everything in the department. And everyone just did what you wanted because you’re ‘mister nice guy’, and you make people laugh and people just think you’re perfect. Well, I don’t buy it.”

You took a deep breath, leveling your gaze at him.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” your voice was stone-cold. Hoseok’s eyes flashed, lips in a thin line before he responded bitterly.

“Perfect.”

---

Things had been quiet between you and Hoseok since your fight outside of the building a few weeks ago. You politely nodded at each other in the hallway when you passed by, avoiding eye contact. You would grimace when you heard his laugh during lectures next door to yours, wanting to block the sound out.

You couldn’t get what he said to you out of your thoughts – you really didn’t know Hoseok very well. All you knew is what he presented to the rest of the world. He was bubbly and positive and optimistic; he probably thought you were just some brooding, academic stiff.

Hoseok noticed the songs you were playing lately were rather intense. Sometimes he would hear you smash against the keys like you were angry with the piano for not producing the sounds you wanted to hear.

He knew the feeling. He was spending more time in the dance studio lately, dancing aggressively to loud hip hop music, trying to drown out the frustration he was feeling at not being able to make you crack and talk to him.

That’s where he found himself tonight, trying to get rid of his stress. You were stubborn, but you were also beautiful, intelligent, passionate, tenacious. He turned his music up louder, drowning out the thoughts of you.

---

You had re-read the same sentence four times, red pen poised in your hand ready to edit the student’s paper. The loud beats were still audible from the practice rooms. It was late, and the building had been closed to students for the past two hours.

You decided to go down there. You weren’t going to get them in trouble for staying past close, but with finals coming up, you were sure the students needed a gentle reminder that sleeping was just as important as practicing.

You walked down the dark hallway, going down the steps to the practice rooms on the floor beneath the faculty offices, finding the one with the light on, music blaring through the glass panes separating the space from the hall.

You glanced into the room, seeing Hoseok dancing. You had never seen him in his element before, and it was captivating. He was wearing a black pair of sweats, an oversized yellow t-shirt adorning his slender frame. The music seemed to be moving through his body. He was grounded in the floor, an intense expression on his face as he hit heavy movements on the beat, fluidly moving through other parts depending on the music. You felt like this was personal, like you weren’t allowed to be watching, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Hoseok looked into the mirror, his eyes looking toward the shadow in the hallway. His eyes met yours, his gaze burning into yours through the glass. You gulped.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of water and pausing the music. You figured that was your cue, opening the door to the studio and stepping inside.

“Was it too loud?” Hoseok asked, voice light despite the obvious tension in the room.

“No, it’s okay uh – I was grading papers, and I thought a student was still down here,” you explained softly. “I thought I’d tell them to go home, get some rest.”

Hoseok had a curious expression on his face. If he was surprised to hear why you were down here, he didn’t mention it. You felt the need to fill the silence, so you spouted the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re really talented, Hobi,” you said quickly. His eyebrows shot up at the sound of the nickname you never called him. “Hoseok – sorry, I meant Hoseok.”

“Watch out, people might think we’re friends,” Hoseok joked, but it came out strained.

“Hoseok – Hobi. I’m sorry about what I said a few weeks ago. I was heated, and I apologize,” you said, looking down at a scuff in the hardwood floors.

“I’m sorry, too. What I said was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean to upset you. Last year, this semester. Anything I’ve done that has made you mad or annoyed. I’m sorry,” Hobi said sincerely. “I-um, well…”

You looked up, waiting for him to continue.

“I just wanted your attention.”

“What?”

“I wanted your attention. I wanted you to want to talk to me. I wanted you to get to know me. Not the version of me that I show my students. I wanted you to see me. Really see me.”

You gulped, Hobi’s vulnerability making you nervous. He took a step toward you, and you willed yourself to stay in place.

“I know you do the same thing; you hide. Hide behind this persona you’ve created. I think it goes away when you play piano.”

“How do you–what do you mean?” you asked incredulously.

“I hear you play. After class. I never told you because I selfishly wanted to keep listening. Your music it – it tells a story. About your day, your feelings. If you didn’t tell me yourself, at least your music did.”

Your cheeks burned knowing that he was audience to all of the time spent in your classroom, working out your feelings on the piano like it was your therapy.

“Everything goes away when I play,” you stopped, thinking about how distracted you had been lately trying to compose. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s how I feel when I dance,” Hobi admitted with a gentle smile. You nodded, realizing that the two of you had this in common, at least.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you said, backing away from Hobi toward the door.

“Wait –,” Hobi said, slightly flustered. “Dance with me.”

Your eyes widened. Hobi laughed, and you hated to admit that you had missed the sound.

“Come on, just trust me, Y/L/N.” You waited while he picked out a song, holding out his hand. You placed your fingers in his, and he pulled you close to him, leading you around the studio floor to the song. He made you feel light on your feet despite your lack of dance experience, his hand tightly gripping yours, his other floating over your waist. Your skin tingled from the contact.

He spun you around twice, your hands landing on his chest as you tried to regain your balance. You looked up at him, genuinely enjoying yourself. His bright smile you used to roll your eyes at lit up his features, causing your smile to match his.

“Can you see me now, Y/N?” Hobi asked, referencing his earlier confession. “Because I see you when you play. When you tell a student crying in your office that everything is going to be okay. And I see you now when you’re dancing with me like this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember when you said I didn’t know anything about you?” You nodded, recognizing his reference to your fight outside of the department building. “I don’t think that’s true. But I know there’s so much more to know. And I want to know everything.”

Hobi’s hand came up to your cheek, softly placing it on the side of your face.

“I want to know you, too, Hobi,” you whispered.

He leaned forward, his breath fanning over your lips, “Want to start now?”

You gripped his t-shirt in your hand, pulling him the last few inches to your lips instead of answering. You felt him smile against your lips, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as you caught your breath.

“Does this mean I can start playing my music loudly during office hours again?” Hobi teased, his fingers playing with the hem of your sweater, brushing against your skin.

You made a face at him, causing him to laugh. He kissed you on the forehead, then on the lips again to make you smile before answering.

“Not a chance.”

---

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writer-panda · 4 years ago

Text

Ruin and Rebirth - Chapter 1

Ruin and Rebirth

Chapter 2

Inspired by @jumpingjoy82 on Tumblr. Thank you for the amazing prologue.

I don’t own the characters, only the plot. Miraculous and Justice League belong to their respective creators

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"It's okay Marinette. Everything is going to be fine. You’re too young to understand, but it was for the greater good."

To young.

TO YOUNG!

It was all the Justice League's fault. If they kept their incompetent asses out of Paris, none of this would have happened.

Apparently, they just spontaneously decided to go through the Watchtower’s recycling bin, and what they found astonished them. Years upon years worth of pleas for help from Paris.

They decide to finally investigate, and it just so happens that it was during an Akuma Attack, and they threw everything the Parisian heroes were telling them out of the window, wanting to do things their own way.

Superman was one of the ones there.

And they learned just how far the Miracle Cure could go.

He decided to use his super strength and threw a car at the akumatized victim, who moved out of the way at the last minute, so the car sailed right through the Tom & Sabine Bakery, promptly, catching on fire, giving no time for the people inside to get out. No one got out alive.

Ladybug froze for a moment, before fighting with more determination than before, knowing that the Miracle Cure would bring them back.

She was wrong, which brings us back to this point.

"I don't give a damn about you so-called 'greater good' and now you’re telling me, that I'm too young to understand, but am I too young to experience it? Too young to actually see everything and everyone I love torn from me because of these heroes?! Why the hell are they here now? Where were they when this first started? What changed? And now, because of them, my entire family is dead!"

After that everything was hazy, but she knew, she hated superheroes.

They never knew when to stop, and just like Chat Noir, they expected to be praised for whatever happens, no matter if there were casualties or not.

The world would be better off without them.

----------------

The sun has long since set over Paris. The fires were still burning in some parts of town. For the first time since Ladybug first appeared, the citizens of Paris felt true fear. It was ironic. They didn’t fear the akuma. They feared the heroes that came to their rescue. For the first time in four years, the casualties were piling up. And the akuma was responsible for none.

True, many of them initially asked for it. With each fight, Ladybug and Chat Noir were taking longer. It’s been obvious for some time that they were slowly being worn out. Some media started to criticize the duo, question their skills, age, their right to act in Paris. They weren’t part of the UN Justice League Charter. Their only real authority came from the trust of the citizens themselves. And that trust was lost. The civilian pleas to the Justice League increased in number and frequency. Under public pressure, the mayor had no choice but to issue an official plea for help.

But then, then… the heroes came.

In retrospection, almost everyone would agree that it was a mistake. Justice League was not used to fighting magical threats. They weren’t practiced in dealing with possessed villains. They didn’t understand. And they treated Ladybug and Chat Noir worse than sidekicks.

That flying chicken even dared to wrap Chat Noir in a metal bar so he wouldn’t get in the way.

Ladybug… tried her best. She allowed herself to trust the new heroes. She stopped saving every civilian from the rubble. She focused on the akuma. If heroes didn’t bother with the lives, it must’ve meant they trusted her cure, right?

WRONG

They were like a tank, riding through the city with a singular goal in mind.

It didn’t help that they deemed the akuma a “world-level threat”. Yeah, right. Stormy Weather was powerful, but the damage could’ve been repaired.

Or so she thought.

The volcanos, the tsunami, the tornadoes, the earthquakes? Those were fixed. The rubble caused by them was put back in place and those who suffered under them were better than new.

But not the damage caused by the heroes.

Not the bakery.

There was no magic in what happened. There was nothing to reverse. Those were human actions. For the first time perhaps, the people could see how much of the damage caused by the fight was the fault of heroes. How many deaths they caused. That is if they admitted, before themselves at least, that it was their fault.

And yet, the so-called ‘heroes’ dared to lecture her about responsibility. About the sacrifice of few for the lives of many. About the innocence of young.

She ran away. She managed to dodge them and vanish. Meld with the crowd when there were no cameras in sight and she was sure they couldn’t track her.

Now, Ladybug stood alone on the top of the Eiffel tower, with her yo-yo communicator in her hand. She sent the message fifteen minutes ago. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but at this point, she no longer cared. There was nothing more for her.

“He thought this was a trap.” A voice spoke from behind her. Ladybug twisted immediately, taking a guarded stance. She was still avoiding the Justice League after all. Before her stood… someone. She suspected it was an Akuma. The woman had pale skin and wore a black dress, black gloves, and a black veil over her face.

“It isn’t. I’m alone. The city suffered enough as it is today. I suffered enough.” Ladybug’s voice cracked slightly.

“I see…” The akuma pursed her lips. For a moment, a purple butterfly appeared over her face before the woman nodded. “Fine. Give me your miraculous and I will take you to him.”

“That isn’t going to work and you know it. You would just leave me stuck here. I’m willing to offer a token of goodwill though.” With that, Ladybug pulled a necklace and dangled it before the akuma.

“Is that…?”

“The miraculous of the fox? Yes. No tricks. I want to negotiate. In-person.” She made sure to emphasize the last part.

The outline of the butterfly appeared in front of the Akuma’s face for a moment before she silently nodded. “I can lead you to him, but not before you reveal your face.”

“Fine.” Ladybug didn’t hesitate. She was past that point long ago. There was no hesitation, no doubt… no regret. Not for her actions anyway. No more.

In the flash of light, instead of Ladybug, Marinette stood before the akuma.

“You’re…” the woman’s voice was stuck in her throat.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Tikki, floating nearby gasped in fear. The Kwami didn’t get a chance to explain before Marinette resumed her transformation.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

The two leaped from the tower and started to zoom over the city. At first, they remained silent. Neither wanted to speak. It was tense anyway. It was, of course, Marinette who broke the silence first.

“Your… your look. Have you lost someone today?”

The woman didn’t answer immediately. She appeared to be mulling over the question at first. Or wondering if she should answer.

“A… colleague; coworker. He was… a friend of mine you could say. We’ve been working side-by-side for at least a decade.”

“I see…” Marinette pursed her lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry.” She spoke up after a moment. “I imagine you blame me now?”

“No.” The akuma snapped. “You’re just a child. I put the blame where it belongs. With heroes. And with people who chose to invite them.”

“Not hawkmoth?” Escaped ladybug’s mouth before she realized it.

“He… he never wanted this either. He isn’t a villain you believe him to be.” The akuma hesitated for a moment, but Marinette could sense it was her own opinion. She filed it in her brain under interesting.

-----------

When they arrived at Agreste manor, Marinette was surprised.

When they entered the study, she was baffled.

When they went down the secret elevator, she was angry.

When she stood before Hawkmoth, she was furious. And it wasn’t because he was her mortal enemy.

“So that’s why you neglect your only son?!” She screamed at him as soon as he turned to see her. His mouth moved, probably to give some excuse. “I don’t care if you want to rule the world or be a god or whatever. No matter what little sick excuse your brain found to justify your actions. You are not allowed to just ignore Adrien like that! He needs a father. He is a teenager and he needs you!”

“Madmoiselle Dupain-Cheng.” His voice was cold, but in a different way than she ever heard Gabriel Agreste or Hawkmoth speak.

“Gabriel Agreste. And I assume you akumatized your Assistant, Nathalie?” She pointed to the woman next to her.

“Astute observation, Ladybug. You risked a lot coming here to speak with me. I could take your miraculous now, or any other time. You gave me your most precious protection: your secret identity. So… what was that important?”

“I want to know. What is so important to you that you’re willing to go any length to get it?”

“That’s it?” Hawkmoth raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? You’re ready to risk everything over that little piece of knowledge?”

“Yes.” Once more, there was no hesitation. There was no doubt. Her heart had no place for doubts anymore. Her heart was still stuck under three levels worth of rubble.

“And what, pray tell, would you do if I told you?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“That depends.” She could see he was now intrigued, so she started to explain. “On whether I like the goal or not. And on whether you understand fully the implications. If you pass, you will get my miraculous and I will deliver you Chat Noir’s miraculous too. If you fail, you still get my miraculous. But you will never get the ring. I made sure that if something happens tonight, he will retire. He will leave Paris and toss the ring into the ocean in a concrete box. You would be left to torture the city all you wish until the League found you, but the ring’s power would forever remain out of your reach. You would be left with nothing but a criminal record. And your son would sooner than later be left without both parents. Of course, you could abandon your crusade, but then I would’ve won. I’m not a naive girl without a plan. Not anymore.” She spat the last part angrily, but her gaze was not focused on Hawkmoth, but far in the distance.

“I… see. Clever. You’re right. This will probably end tonight.” He looked her over top to bottom. It was the first time he stood so close face to face with Ladybug. His nemesis.

Gabriel wasn’t sure if he was impressed with her, or infuriated. Scratch that, he was sure he was both. She outsmarted him. She was willing to make an ultimate sacrifice for the sake of ending the fight. In that very moment, in her determined expression, he saw a reflection of another headstrong woman he knew. It was as if Emilie’s spirit stood before him.

“So? How will it be?” she asked impatiently.

“Follow me.” He simply motioned for her and started walking.

Soon, the group entered a large chamber, lit by several lights. In the center of a platform in the far end stood a glass coffin. Even from the distance, Marinette easily saw there was a woman inside. She was quick to pass Hawkmoth and get there, even as he was trying to grab her.

When the akuma and Gabriel arrived, they watched as Marinette was carefully pacing around the coffin and muttering under her breath.

“She overused the damaged miraculous.” It wasn’t a question, but Hawkmoth answered anyway.

“Yes. Only the wish can bring her back.”

“You’re one of the biggest idiots in this whole city!” The girl screamed. “She is not dead, you moron. There are literally five different ways listed in the book which, may I remind you, you possess!” She continued to yell at him. “Hell! You could akumatize someone and give him healing power. You know… use the butterfly miraculous like it was meant to be used!” She scolded. “But nooo! You’ve got to be an idiot and immediately go for the most dangerous, imprecise, reckless, chaotic, risky solution there was! I’m sure she would’ve been ashamed.”

Gabriel was at a loss for words. Was it really that easy? It couldn’t have been. He checked several times. He would’ve known. The akuma left Nathalie, who collapsed onto the ground. Some tear stains were now visible on her face. “I… I was just… I did what she told me. Only the wish can bring back the dead.” He stammered.

“She. Is. Not. Dead.” Marinette made sure to punctuate each word. “She is in a coma. She is alive you moron. Tikki! Spots off!” The flash of light signaled the end of her transformation. “Be silent, little one.” She said in a caring voice. She couldn’t bring herself to take her anger on Kwami, but she couldn’t doubt now. “Akumatize me. Give me the power to heal her.”

The corruption left the akuma that was floating in the air, only for Hawkmoth to get his hands around the white butterfly and pour a new dose of power into it. It flew the short distance between them and sunk into Marinette’s purse. She smirked as the corrupted energy passed through her, turning her into an akuma. That is until she could see how she looked.

“I’m not sure how you can call yourself a designer and yet dress me in this!” she complained. Her skin was now deep red, the color of blood, and her clothes turned into a white nurse uniform. Still, she walked to the coffin and easily opened the top. From her purse (now medic’s bag) she pulled a needle and injected the content into Emilie.

When the beautiful woman started to move, letting out an exhausted groan, Marinette sighed in relief.

“Wha… what’s going on… the last thing I… Gabriel!” She bolted upright and immediately moaned in pain. Her hand instinctively flew to her back. “Gabriel Agreste! Did you keep me in this coffin for a whole week!?” She yelled at her husband. “And who’re those two?” She pointed at Marinette, who was smiling next to her, and Nathalie, still exhausted on the floor. “You were supposed to only reveal this to Adrien if anything happened to me. There was no talk about your assistant and… um, who’re you?” The woman turned to the akuma, who sighed and tore a strap of her bag. The butterfly left the item and Marinette reverted back to her normal form.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m… was… used to be Ladybug.”

“But you’re just a kid. And why was Ladybug active… Gabriel!” She roared and her husband took a step back.

Marinette was… surprised. She didn’t expect Emilie to be like that. From what Adrien told her, she was supposed to be the kindest, nicest person in the world. Then again, he might’ve been looking at it through tinted glasses.

“Yup.” The bluenette couldn’t stop herself from commenting. “He decided that the best way to wake you up was to get the miraculi of Ladybug and Black Cat.”

“You nincompoop. That plan was only for when I was dead.” She glared heatedly at her husband and Marinette couldn’t help but be a bit smug. “And you couldn’t get the items from a kid? How many other heroes are there?”

“Only Chat Noir. He’s my age. And I sometimes call in some help from others.” Marinette supplied quickly. She was having entirely too much fun from watching Emilie tear Hawkmoth a new one.

“Two kids! You couldn’t defeat two kids! I leave for just one second and you start getting your rear kicked by kids!”

“He also neglected Adrien for the last two years.” Marinette decided to have as much fun as she could while it lasted.

“Gabriel Agreste. You’re officially grounded until I sort this mess. Now take your secretary and leave. I will sort the mess with you later,” she ordered. Her husband could only nod and leave as quickly as possible.

Marinette was now holding her sides laughing. ”That was amazing. Merci Madame Agreste. I didn’t think I would get to laugh tonight… But this was too good.”

“Oh sunshine, don’t worry. I will get him in line for you. Whoever decided to let kids fight for them was clearly sick or senile.”

“Master Fu was… he made some mistakes. I… maybe if I wasn’t so young…”

“It’s not your fault. Whatever you blame yourself for. You shouldn’t have been responsible for Paris. Or whatever else my husband did. I think some time on the couch will do him great.” The woman got up and walked over to pull Marinette into a hug. She then led the girl back to the (now half-open) coffin and seated them both on the edge. “Why don’t you tell me what ails you? I’m sure I can help.”

For a moment, Marinette looked the woman in the eyes. Then, she started talking. She told her everything.

About a class full of idiots who believed every lie and actively fought against her.

About Lila, who manipulated everyone and did everything to turn her life into a personal version of hell.

About the teachers, who preferred to let her be walked on then do their jobs.

About her partner, the dorky cat who couldn’t take life seriously and at times was immature. She came to like his antics, but he infuriated her as much as he kept her sane.

About the so-called heroes, who came into the city and ruined her life.

About the destroyed bakery. The four bodies inside.

“It was her birthday. Today my nonna had her sixtieth birthday. We were celebrating when the Akuma happened. Except the Justice League came. Funny thing. The cure can return anyone killed by magic. It can’t return those killed by aliens tossing cars around.”

“Do you have any other family?” Emilie asked, worried about the girl. She walked through so much pain in her short life.

“My uncle… but he lives in Shanghai now. Papa was the only child and Maman moved here from Asia… I’m not sure what will happen next.” The girl revealed.

“Next? Next, you will come live with us. No strings attached. I have no need for your earrings or other miraculous and I can keep my husband in check. I owe you that much.”

“I… you don’t owe me anything, Madame.” The girl quickly protested. “You’re not responsible for what happened. I don’t blame your family. Those were the American heroes who killed my parents. They were the ones that destroyed half the city. They are the ones to blame,” Marinette informed the woman in a solemn tone.

“And that’s why I want you to stay with me. With us. I can protect you. Teach you. You can have your vengeance on those who wronged you. I can make you a queen. They will regret the day they wronged you.”

“I… I accept.” Marinette bowed her head.

#miraculous #maribat #justice league #dc #dcu #dc comics #ladybug #evil!Emilie Agreste #hawkmoth #bamf marinette

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

IN YOUR MEMORIES

a/n: alright so this was inspired by an amazing fic called Graveyard by @wkemeup if you haven’t read it... WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR??? honestly, i was amazed by the whole idea of having to “pay a price” for a super power and i’ve been really itching to try myself out in this concept, so that’s what this story is. im really excited to share this with you guys so i hope you’ll like it!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: a hell lot of Bucky’s past pain, a little bit of angst aaand idk im really bad with these warnings

word count: 7.6k

masterlist

“I’ve been trying to figure out an effective way to help him, but it’s been more complicated than I expected. None of my ideas were good enough to even attempt them.” Shuri lets out a frustrated sigh as you stare at the peaceful face of the sleeping man in front of you in the cryo pod. The glass in front of his face is frosty, but you can still make his sharp features out, his chiseled jawline under the stubble, the elegant line of his nose and the thick lashes fanning over his cheeks as his eyes are shut closed.

“His whole mind needs to be rewired, his corrupted memories should be replaced or wiped out so the trigger words wouldn’t work any longer, but I can’t do that on my own.”

Tearing your gaze away from the man you look at her, an apologetic expression adorning her features, because she swore you’d find shelter in Wakanda, a place where you can be just like anyone else and yet, she is now asking you to use your power.

“Do you think he would let me help him?” you ask, glancing back at the man. Bucky, as Shuri called him, doesn’t look as old as he was said to be. A hundred and six years is a lot for a human like him, though he is not as mortal as others on the planet. Shuri told you about the experiments he had to endure through his life and even though you haven’t even touched his mind, you could feel the pain inside you.

“He is desperate to get rid of his dark side, I think he would do anything.”

Reaching up your fingers graze the glass over his face before you plant your whole palm onto it, trying to feel him even under the surface and ice. Eyes shutting close, you take a deep breath as you let your senses open up and find your way to the man.

Because of the cryo pod, you don’t feel him the way you usually do. It’s like he is just an echo in a huge empty room, you can’t make out his whole mind, but he is there. And even with him sleeping under the ice, you still can feel the despair and pain he had to go through as an innocent man. You know he deserves to be saved, he deserves to be freed from his own past and you are his only chance as of right now.

“Wake him up,” you simply tell Shuri before turning around to go back to your room that was assigned to you upon your arrival in the palace.

Bucky doesn’t feel like he has been asleep under the ice for more than just a few hours. It felt like a nap, but in reality he woke up months after the day he closed his eyes.

Shuri welcomed him with the news that the cure has been found and it’s time for him to get rid of the Winter Soldier for once and for all. She didn’t say much about the method, just told him to get ready by the afternoon. He was never one to question the genius young girl so he just obeyed.

After a hot shower he shaved and took the time to get accustomed to the prototype of the vibranium arm Shuri left for him. It’s not the final version, a lot of details need work, but it’s good enough for his everyday life for a while.

The world hasn’t seemed to change since he last saw it. Wakanda is just as flourishing and vibrant as he remembered, a truly spectacular place in his opinion. He wonders how his friends have been, what Steve is doing, if Natasha is alright… Is Tony still fuming after their last encounter? He probably is.

When it’s time, he leaves his room and heads to Shuri’s lab for their meeting. The guards let him in with just a nod, like he is an old friend and he finds Shuri at her computer as always. The girl beams upon seeing him again, complimenting on his freshly shaved look.

“So what did you invent for me, smartpants?” he smiles at her gently. Bucky owes a lot to Shuri and her brother, they took him in when he wasn’t welcomed anywhere else and now she is about to give him his life back. After this, he’ll forever owe her and her family.

“Well, it’s not my invention this time,” she chuckles shaking her head. Bucky is about to question her when the doors open again, both of them turning in the direction just to see you walk in. His eyebrows knit together at the sight of you, not entirely sure what it’s supposed to be. “Mr. Barnes, let me introduce you to Y/N. Y/N, this is Sergeant Barnes.”

You walk closer, Bucky’s icy blue eyes are glued to your form as you stop a few feet away from him, holding out a hand shyly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant James Barnes,” you smile softly as his flesh hand takes yours and shakes it gently.

Bucky is enamored with you instantly. He has never seen someone as delicate, soft and charming as you are, your whole aura just demands his attention and he wants to know everything about you. But he also notices that though you look a lot like any other human on the planet, he is convinced you are not from Earth.

What he doesn’t know is that the moment your hands touch, you can hear his thoughts and you can’t push down your smile at how well he is at inspecting his surroundings.

“Just call me Bucky, please,” he nods before your hands let go of each other and his thoughts quiet down again in your head.

“To answer your suspicion, I’m rorm a planet called Lortena. Life on my planet looks a lot like humans here on Earth, but our lifespan is a little longer and some of us have gifts, as my mother always liked to call them.”

“How did you—“ “How did I know what you thought?” you ask with a small smile, finishing his sentence as he nods in complete awe. “I’m what you might call… a mind reader. But my abilities go a little farther than just reading minds,” you admit and his lips part at the revelation.

Bucky glances over at Shuri, part of him thinking it’s some kind of joke or witchcraft, but the girl smiles back at him with an assuring nod.

“Why don’t we sit down and have a chat? I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Shuri suggests patting Bucky’s shoulder before the three of you head into her conference room.

Though you’re not touching Bucky, you can sense his confusion and hunger to learn more about you. He is curious about what else you are capable of and though the news about your abilities are still quite odd to him, you can tell that he isn’t trying to shut you out entirely. He just has some reservations for now.

Bucky knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t stop himself from inspecting you. Knowing that you are not from this planet is already enough for him to get his mind racing, especially because you look just like any other humans on Earth. But the little trick you did on him was enough of a convincing for him to believe that you are from somewhere else.

The three of you sit to the table and Shuri takes the lead to start the conversation.

“While you were asleep, Sergeant, life went on and we had a lot going on,” she smiles, her eyes falling on you. “Y/N is a refugee from her planet, Lortena. There’s a war going on there and she was sent away because she was a primary target. She wasn’t supposed to end up here, but there was a little mishap during her journey and landed in Wakanda.”

“Are you targeted because of your… powers?” Bucky asks, hoping he is not asking anything offensive.

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s because I’m the king’s daughter.”

“Oh!” he breathes out.

Great, so she is not only a breathtakingly beautiful creature with superpowers, but she is royal as well, he thinks to himself.

“And how… where do your… powers come from? Is that a usual thing on your planet?”

“Not quite,” you chuckle softly.

You give a glance at Shuri who nods and brings up a hologram of Loki’s scepter with the mind stone in it. Bucky is already familiar with them, but he is curiously listening to find out what it has to do with you.

“Long before the mind stone was trapped into the scepter, it was in our possession. We used it as out main power source, kept locked away from preying eyes and hands. We all knew it’s capable of more than what we use it for, but we didn’t want to risk it and use it for the wrong purposes.”

The hologram changes and now the mind stone is on display on its own.

“But not everyone agreed with that. A couple hundred years ago there was a war for the stone. Though our people sacrificed everything to protect it, they didn’t succeed entirely. Unfortunately, the attackers didn’t know how great the stone’s power is. In the midst of the chaos, there was an explosion caused by the stone. Almost everyone present was killed, only seven survived and they were blessed with different powers coming from the stone.”

Bucky’s lips part as his eyes flicker over to you from the stone in the middle of the table, while you are staring at the hologram remembering back the stories your parents told you growing up. He feels like he is being shared with an ancient legend, a piece of history that is a privilege to know.

“The powers they were gifted with were held at great heights after the war was over. And while some of them could pass it on to their children, some couldn’t. The seven became four, then just two and there was one left. My grandmother. When my father didn’t show any signs of the stone’s power it was believed the magic was gone forever, but then I was born and…”

“And you had the powers,” Bucky chimes in, completely in awe of your origin story. You nod with a shy smile as the hologram of the stone disappears in the middle of the table.

“Yes.”

“And why is there a war on your planet right now?”

“Because though it’s been a miracle that I inherited my grandmother’s powers, the people want to get the stone back and have more of its powers. Unfortunately, the stone was lost through the years and I was informed that Thanos got a hold of it some time ago,” you explain, turning to Shuri for assurance about the accuracy of your words and she nods. “Who then gave it to Loki and now it’s in the scepter. People were demanding my father to start a war for the stone to get it back to Lortena, but he refused to sacrifice his army to get the stone back from a titan.” Sighing you lean back in your seat as you think about your home, your family that was left behind when your father sent you away because he was afraid the rebels would use you to get to him.

“The stone is not at Thanos’ any longer,” Bucky speaks up and your eyes find him as you snap out of your thoughts.

“I was informed of that as well. It’s um… it’s Vision’s now, right?” They both nod. “Well, the rebels think it’s Thanos’ and you better hope it stays that way. Because if they figure out that the titan doesn’t have it any longer, they won’t hesitate to attack you for the stone.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches at the thought of another war to take part in, but also because you had to go through such terrible events because of other’s greediness.

“I’ve been trying to find a solution to help you since you’ve gone to sleep, but I wasn’t able to come up with any,” Shuri speaks up. “But then Y/N arrived and I think she could be the one to do the job.”

“You think you can do that?” Bucky asks, eyebrows pulled together. “What else can you do, other than reading minds?”

You feel hesitant revealing the depths you’re able to reach with your abilities and you’re afraid he would find it too invading after everything he has been through. You want to help him but he has to let you. Though you’re powerful, if someone resists your attempts, the outcome won’t be the same as if they cooperated.

“If you let me… I can change your memories. I can make them appear differently in your head so what they did to you won’t have an effect on you any longer.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. He has no idea what he was expecting, but not this for sure. Letting another person get into his head, play with his mind like it’s just a toy, it’s something he vowed not to let anyone do it again. But as he stares back at you, he can tell the difference between you and the monsters who ruined his head before. He is at a safe place and everyone here wants what’s good for him.

“It only works if you let me do it,” you add and notice how he presses his lips together into a thin line.

“I would do anything to get rid of him. So… I’m in,” he nods at last and you let out a relieved sigh.

You’ve never tried to corrupt so much of someone’s memories before and you’re not sure how long it will take to complete the task so you requested to start the next day, giving you some time to get ready physically and mentally and of course, for Bucky to get himself ready for his mind to yet again get taken apart by someone else.

Not having much to really do since your arrival other than helping Shuri out occasionally at the lab or giving assistance for T’Challa around the palace, you’ve been able to explore your temporary home in the heart of Wakanda.

There is a hidden terrace near your room, one that’s not well-known even by the people living in the palace and you like the peace and calm whenever you are out there, surrounded by flowers and plants in hand-painted pots, some of them were made by yourself, watching over the breathtaking view of Wakanda in front of you, the sky turning from bright blue to shades of orange, pink, purple and eventually black as the Sun goes down behind the hills.

Tonight, this is where you are seeking peace again, sorting your thoughts out about what you’ll have to face tomorrow. Your power has a lot of benefits but it has its curses as well. You’ve only attempted to do something similar before and you had to learn the hard way what price you have to pay for having control over someone else’s mind, thoughts and memories.

Your brother was tragically killed in an uprising when he was only seventeen and you were ten. It was the result of a series of unfortunate event, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, no one could help him. Your mother broke under the pain of losing her own child and you listened to her cries every and each night for months before you decided that you needed to help her. She didn’t want to let you even try, afraid it might take too much of you to help her, but you insisted and she eventually gave in. You altered her memories and feelings about your brother’s death, only left her with the ones that bring her joy and happiness, but your gesture demanded a price you weren’t ready to pay.

Upon your own grief for your brother, you had to bear your mother’s as well, the pain of two people clutching your heart and mind in return for your mother’s happiness. You never told her how you cried yourself to sleep every night for an entire year, how you could barely control your dark flashbacks and the constant darkness that was pulling you down. No one knew what you had to go through just to see your mother smile again and you made sure it stayed that way. However, you didn’t dare to do it again, not entirely sure if you could handle the pain one more time.

You surprised yourself when you offered your help to Bucky. You don’t even know him, yet you are willing to take his pain and make it yours just so he can live a somewhat normal life. Though his memories and nightmares won’t torture you as long as they would have did with him, you’ll still have to fight his demons and he won’t even know it. Then why are you doing this?

You have no answer to that. Seeing him for the first time you just had a feeling that you have to do it, that he is worthy of it all and that you want to be the person to free him.

The glass door opens behind you as you’re watching the Sun disappear on the horizon and you’re surprised to see Bucky walk out to the terrace, stopping in his tracks once he notices you sitting on one of the wooden chairs.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he mumbles, his gaze snapping down at the floor.

“That’s what I thought too,” you chuckle.

“I’ll leave you—“ he starts, ready to leave, but you stop him.

“You don’t have to. Feel free to join,” you tell him, gesturing towards the other chair. His hesitation is clear at first, but then he closes the door behind him and sits beside you.

Bucky watches the sunset in awe, but he can’t shake his curiosity towards you, having to control himself not to stare at you as he tries to figure you out. You’re not the only one who doesn’t understand why you’re doing this major gesture for him, he’s spent the afternoon trying to find any alternative motives that might explain your willingness to help him. He couldn’t find any and it left him with even more puzzles in his tortured head.

“What is it like on your planet?” he finds himself asking, breaking the long silence between the two of you.

“It’s not too different than here,” you admit truthfully. “Though our technology is a little more advanced,” you add with a soft chuckle. “In a way I’m happy I ended up here, because Wakanda reminds me of my home.”

“You miss it, don’t you? Your home?”

“Who doesn’t?” you ask with a soft smile and Bucky nods. He misses his home too, but in his case, it’s not a place but a time, decades ago, when he was his true self instead of the monster Hydra forced him to become.

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to return once the war is over,” he hums to himself and he expects a warm and positive reaction from you, however all he sees is pain and sadness in your eyes. “What is it?”

You hesitate to share it with him, staring back at him you think about keeping your thoughts to yourself, but how could you expect him to let you get into his head if you don’t share your thoughts with him willingly?

“Bucky, I don’t think I’ll ever return to my planet,” you breathe out as your gaze moves back to the scenery in front of you, the burning disk of the sun already hidden behind the hills.

“What do you mean?”

“The ship I came with can’t be fixed and they don’t know that I ended up here. It would take them too long to find me here and that’s if… If my family will be alive by then. I have no idea what’s happening there right now, if the rebels are winning or my father is able to keep things under control. I see very little likelihood of my return.”

Bucky’s heart aches for you, knowing well the pain you feel, he finds it ironic how the both of you are stuck so far away from your homes, seeking shelter at the same place at the same time.

He thinks it’s fate.

“What’s your favorite memory from your home?” he asks and you turn to him with soft and shining eyes. He is expecting you to tell him about it, but instead you decide to show it.

Grabbing his hand that’s closer to you, you bring it up to your face and make him cup the side of your head, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone as you close your eyes and recall the memory, planting into his head as well, taking him back, like the two of you could travel time and space just that easily.

Bucky can barely believe what he is experiencing but he finds himself inside your memory and it all seems so real, as if it was happening in the moment. He is standing in the middle of a meadow filled with luscious, green grass and some kind of flowers, whites and purples and yellows dancing in the soft breeze. At first he thinks he is alone, he doesn’t see you anywhere around him and then he spots a woman in a long, light pink dress, her hair waving behind her in the gentle summer breeze and then he spots a little girl running behind her.

Bucky walks closer to the woman, but she doesn’t acknowledge his presence, she doesn’t even look his way and when he reaches out to touch her arm, his hand goes right through her figure, as if she was just a ghost.

The little girl finally catches up with the woman, a handful of flowers in her hands and when looks up Bucky realizes that it’s you as a child. Your main features can still be found behind the round cheeks and pouty lips.

“Mom! I picked these for you!” your younger self beams, holding the little bouquet of flowers up to your mother, who takes it with a bright smile.

“So beautiful, my love!” she hums, sniffing the flowers as you giggle at her. “But why don’t we use them for something?”

“For what?” you ask with a curious look and Bucky can’t help the smile on his face. It’s such a pure and joyful memory, he almost wishes it was his.

Your mother sits down in the grass, her skirt fanning over her in a circle as she pulls you down to her lap with your back facing her before she combs her fingers gently through your hair and starts braiding it, sticking the little flowers into the braid as she moves down. You start singing some kind of song, one Bucky doesn’t know, and your mother smiles brightly at your chiming voice. She braids with so much care and precision, at the end it looks perfect and very much princess-like with the flowers littering around.

“There. Now you are a bouquet of flowers yourself, my love” she smiles at you, kissing your cheek before letting you out of her arms, watching you dance around in your dress, singing to yourself without a care in the world.

Bucky wants to stay there, more than anything and see more of your younger version and your mother, but he is abruptly pulled back into reality when you pull his hand back from your face and the connection stops. His eyes snap open and they find yours, so enamored and in awe of what he just experienced, he feels like he was let in on a secret no one else knows in the world.

“Wow. That was… amazing,” he breathes out as his hand drops back to his lap while you just smile back at him shyly. “Is that… Is that what it’s gonna be like when you…?”

“Not quite,” you shake your head. “You won’t feel anything, you’ll just have to think back to all the memories you want to be changed or wiped. I’ll be the one stuck in your memories like you were in mine. And from inside, I’ll be able to change them.”

“Will I know later which ones were altered or they won’t be different at all?”

“There’ll be… a kind of shine to them when you’ll think of them after that. It’s gonna be the only tell that they were touched by me. But I won’t change anything you don’t give your consent to.”

Bucky nods, having answered his biggest concerns about tomorrow. Now he feels like he trusts you completely and you’ll be the first person he can open his mind up to without a worry.

No matter how much you tried to get yourself ready for what you’d see in Bucky’s head, nothing could have prepared to the pain and darkness he had to endure during his oddly long human life. All the torture, the blood, the hurt and fear of death, it all comes down crashing on you even after the first session you have with him.

It breaks your heart that such a sweet soul had to go through Hell innocently and now he has to live with everything he was forced to do against his will. You can only hope that the people who did this to him have gotten their rightful punishment.

The first time the two of you sit down to start his treatment you get stuck in his head for hours, going through memories and altering them to take away anything that is connected to the trigger words. You witness the time he was captured and the first time he was sat into the chair that broke him. You can’t help the tears rolling down your face as you use all your power to change the memory and leave him with just a faded picture of his cell and held captive. Bucky asked you not to wipe them entirely, leave him with reminders of what made you be the way he is today and that’s exactly what you do.

When you finally come back you almost faint from exhaustion, Shuri catches you right in time before you could fall off the chair in front of Bucky’s who is equally dizzy, but he still manages to reach out and grab your hand to help you steady yourself. You feel drained and almost tortured, Bucky’s memories imprinting into your own head and you already know they will haunt you for quite some time. Not as long as your mother’s grief did, you were just a child back then and you couldn’t control your power that well, but even though you’ve learned to use your abilities, it will still take a couple of months for you to get rid of the horrors you saw in Bucky’s head.

Bucky sees how broken you look after just the first session and he doesn’t want to believe you’ll be strong enough to finish what you started.

“It’s fine,” you assure him when he asks you again in the evening if you surely want to continue. “I just have to rest and we can go on,” you tell him, giving his arm a squeeze before returning to your room.

That night, you wake from a burning nightmare with a scream, gripping onto the sheets with terror running through your veins. In your dream, you were the one strapped to that chair, going through all the pain Bucky had to bear decades ago. It was vivid and torturous and you know it’s going to return.

But you’re determined to finish the work and you do it over and over again, every day for the next couple of weeks. You go through all of Bucky’s darkest memories, altering and changing them until there’s nothing left from the Winter Soldier in him, just some faint and blurry pictures of him being held by his captors. You take all the pain and let it sink its claws into your own head, clouding your mind with darkness.

Bucky can feel the change in himself instantly after the first time you get into his head and a few days later he sleeps through the night for the first time in forever, oblivious to the fact that not far away from his room, you are fighting his demons every night so he can have his peace.

He is always the one to help you back into your room after an exhausting session and he wakes you up with breakfast in the mornings, always making your favorite. You tell him it’s not necessary, but he insists that this is the least he can do for everything you are doing for him, and he doesn’t even know the worst things you endure for his happiness.

He is always the one to request days off from the treatment, not for himself, but for you. He sees how trying it is and though you would never ask for time off, you don’t have to, because Bucky does it for you. Every third or fourth day he tells you he needs some time to heal and get used to his new mindset, but he just wants you to rest and recharge and though you know it too, you appreciate the gesture.

Some days he asks you to join him for walks just to get you out of the palace and you gladly say yes, desperately needing something to bring the light back into your life and it doesn’t take long to realize that Bucky is that light that can ease the heaviness of the pain you are fighting.

You love seeing his smile as the first thing in the morning, you love how he squeezes your hands every time before you dive into his head and how insists to carrying you to your room even when you’re perfectly capable of walking on your own. You love how chivalrous he is always, something Shuri told you was more common in the times he was born and you adore it that it’s a piece of his past self still present after everything he’s been through.

Bucky is the only one who can pull you out of the dark hole you’ve been stuck in and you promised yourself that you’ll never tell him the price you had to pay for his happiness, because he deserves every ounce of it and you wouldn’t want anything to cloud over it, not even your misery.

It takes five entire weeks to go through everything that turned him into the Winter Soldier and then the day to test if it has worked finally comes. Shuri has made sure to have a capsule ready for the test, one that would keep him under control in case you didn’t succeed and he would be triggered by the words he already knows too well.

“Are you sure I won’t hurt anyone?” Bucky asked cautiously as he was strapped into the capsule, a good majority of the Dora Milaje guarding the lab as well in case the test goes wrong, but both you and Shuri are optimistic about it.

“Calm down, Sergeant. We can handle you,” Shuri jokes before finishing up. “Alright, I’m gonna close this now, but you’ll be able to hear us and we’ll hear you as well,” she informs him and he just nods as she closes the capsule, securing him inside.

You sit on the side, but still close enough to see his face in the capsule. His icy blue stare finds yours and you give him a soft, encouraging smile. You do believe he won’t be triggered and not just because of what you did, but because he has a strong will and if there’s still any part of the Winter Soldier in him, he’ll be able to come over it.

“Okay, ready for the words?” Shuri asks him and breathing out he nods, closing his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

“Желание,” comes the first word through a speaker and you hold your breath as you stare at his face through the capsule.

“Ржавый. Семнадцать,” the words carry on and you see him squeeze his eyes a little, fear taking over you that he might break, but it never happens. “Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный…”

The trigger words ends and your lips part when his eyes open, noticing the tears in them as he finally realizes that he didn’t turn. The Winter Soldier is finally gone.

“Congratulations, Sergeant. You’re free,” Shuri announces as she opens the capsule and lets him out, sobs shaking from his chest before he is freed from the straps and able to step out of the capsule.

He is quick to rush over to you and wrap you in his embrace, both of you sobbing and crying and you hold onto him tight, as if he was just a memory that could vanish any moment, but he is there, flesh and metal, the Bucky you know and adore so much.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he keeps repeating as his vibranium fingers tangle into your hair at the back of your head.

It’s been over a week of freedom for Bucky and he hasn’t felt better in his life, well, not in this decade. Without the sessions, he now has quite some free time on his hands that he prefers to spend with you, actually.

The two of you have been joined at the hips since his recovery and not just because Bucky feels like he owes his life to you, but because you both can’t help falling for the other in the light of your newly found friendship that’s starting to slowly turn into more.

Bucky hasn’t been shy about showing his adoration and gratitude towards you, not after you’ve seen the darkest side of him and could still look at him the same way. He feels like he has bared his entire soul to you and you accepted it gladly, so there’s no need to beat around the bushes.

However you’ve been still trying to keep him away from the secret you’re hiding. He can’t find out about the nightmares, the screams and the tears you shed every night when his demons come for you. You can’t let him get close enough to see the price you paid for his own happiness. But even with all the cautions you’ve been keeping, you still can’t stop fate from finding its way.

One night Bucky is staying up late, binge watching a series Shuri has recommended for him. He didn’t intend to stay up so late, but before he could realize how fast the time has passed, it was already past two in the morning.

Shutting the laptop down he decides to get himself some water before finally going to sleep. Padding his way down the dark and quiet hallways in only a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, he unintentionally takes the route that goes past your room. He didn’t plan on dropping by, knowing you’re probably asleep by now, just wanted to feel that sense of closeness even in the middle of the night, but his original plans immediately change when he hears your deafening scream coming from the other side of the door.

His blood freezes in his veins and he is quick to turn into combat mode, ready to fight whatever is threatening your life, but as he pushes his way into your room he doesn’t find any intruder, it’s just you, curled up on your bed and even under the thick layer of covers, he can see how badly you’re shaking, your beautiful face churned into a painful frown as you keep your eyes shut.

He immediately realizes that you’re having a nightmare.

He rushes over to the bed and sits to the edge, the mattress dipping underneath his weight as he carefully places a hand to your trembling shoulder.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!” he softly shakes you, trying to get you back to consciousness, but you keep tossing and whimpering, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin.

“No, no, please! I’m not the Winter Soldier!” you cry out and Bucky freezes, his jaw clenching at your words, an eerie feeling running down his spine.

“Y/N, it’s just a dream, wake up!” he tries again and your eyes finally shoot open.

Though you’ve woken up, you don’t instantly see what’s really happening around you and you are quick to flinch away from Bucky, pushing yourself to the far end of the bed as you stare back at him with fearful, wide eyes.

“It’s just me. It’s alright, it’s me, Bucky,” he softly reminds you holding his hands up so you can see them. Your chest is heaving and your hands are gripping the sheets so tight, your knuckles are turning white.

“Bucky,” you breathe out and he nods.

“Yeah, it’s me. You had a bad dream, I heard you scream.”

Letting out a shaky breath you close your eyes and try to shake the vivid images that haunted you tonight out of your head, with not much success. Tonight you were beaten up in a cold and dark cell, the man kept telling you that you’re just a monster, a soulless nobody as he kept hitting you before he reached for a weapon that sent electricity through your body until it was too numb to move at your will.

You know it was one of his memories, because you’ve seen this scene before in his head and you remembered it clearly. Only that last time you saw it happen to him and now you were the victim.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, loosening your muscles as you gain your contact back with reality.

“What was the nightmare about?” he quietly asks and your gaze snaps up to meet his. You can’t read his icy blue eyes and for a moment you think about touching him so you could hear his thoughts, but you promised yourself you would never use your powers on him.

“Just… some nonsense stuff,” you lie shaking your head.

“Didn’t sound like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you beg to someone, telling them that you’re not the Winter Soldier.”

His face hardens as he inspects you while you try your best to hide anything that would tell him more about what you’ve been keeping from him.

“I don’t… I don’t remember it,” you shrug, scooting closer to him as you fix your pillows.

“Y/N, I don’t need superpowers to know that you’re lying,” he retorts and you almost flinch at his words. “Are you having nightmares because of what you saw… in my head?”

For a split second you think about lying. You think about telling him that it’s just because of what you saw and not tell him the real reason of your nightmares, but guilt has been already eating you away for not telling him and you wouldn’t be able to lie straight into his face. So you shake your head and your eyes meet his icy gaze again.

“I’m having… your nightmares.”

He looks confused, eyebrows knitted together as he is tasting your words, not entirely sure about what you meant by them, so you go into the details you’ve been keeping hidden from him.

“I can’t just take memories away and turn them into nothing, Bucky. Memories can only vanish if they get forgotten with time,” you start explaining, hoping you can paint the picture as realistic as possible. “When I changed your memories, I took parts away and… made them mine. And now I have to be the one to fight and forget them, but it happens faster for me than it would have happened to you,” you quickly add, as if it could make it any better.

“Why didn’t you tell me this is the cost of my recovery?” he snaps, clearly mad at you and he has every right, but you just wanted to save him. “I would have never let you do it if it meant you’d be the one to suffer for me, Y/N!”

“I had the chance to help you, I wanted to give you the freedom you deserve!” Tears are stinging your eyes as you stare at his harsh expression, the soft and joyful Bucky you’ve seen these past weeks is now gone.

“But it’s not worth it if you are being tortured by my memories now!”

“It was worth to me!” you snap back, a tear rolling down you cheek. “I might have been selfish for keeping you the details of what it would take to free you, but now you are the one who is being selfish, because you wouldn’t have let me help you if you knew and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you! I chose to do it and I knew what I was getting myself into and I knew what it’s gonna cost.” More and more tears run down your heated cheeks, soaking your skin before they drop to your shirt or the sheets covering your lower half. Bucky stares back at you in disbelief as you reason about why you did it exactly. “You deserved this second chance and I was your only chance. If I didn’t do it for you, I would have had to live with the guilt forever that I let an innocent man suffer. It’s a small price for the happiness I was able to give you.”

Bucky is in total shock. He has had Steve do selfless shit for him plenty of times, hell, he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for him, but what you did is just above everything that’s been ever done for him and he is having a hard time accepting that anyone would put up with so much pain and suffering for him willingly. He can’t decide if he wants to scream and shout at you for being so stupid or if he wants to fall to his knees and glorify your name till the end of times.

When you realize that he won’t snap at you again, you carefully scoot closer until you can reach out and touch his face, but you don’t even try to read his thoughts. Not this time. You let his thoughts wrapped in the darkness of the unknown. Bucky melts against your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a few moments.

“You shouldn’t have done this, Y/N.”

“But I did,” you breathe out with a bitter chuckle. “And it can’t be undone, so you better accept it.”

He cracks a tiny smile, but it quickly vanishes as a thought pops into his head.

“If you have the memories that made me into the Winter Soldier, how come you don’t get triggered by the words?”

“I might own your memories now, but there’s a natural bond with the original owner that can’t be taken. It’s what makes them so vivid and real for you, but it will never be as real to me. The trigger words have no power over me, because the memories are not mine, I don’t have the bond with them.”

“But you still have the nightmares. My nightmares,” he breathes out, a hint of disappointment ringing through his tone, though you’re not sure if it’s because of what you did or because he couldn’t stop you from it.

“They will go away,” you assure him, but you can tell that his guilt is eating him away. “Bucky, I’ll be fine. A few weeks, at max a month and they will be gone. I promise you.”

“You don’t deserve this,” he mumbles under his breath as his hand reaches for yours, squeezing it gently before he brings it to his lips and kisses your knuckles softly. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

“But you deserve happiness,” you reply with a chaste smile that makes his heart flutter in his chest. “Let me give it to you. You’ve had enough pain, Bucky. I’ll take the rest now.”

Bucky stares back at you for a long second before he decides to do whatever he can to make sure you get through it as easily as possible. Pulling the covers back he slides under them, lying down next to you as he pulls you into his embrace.

“Go back to sleep and if you’ll have another nightmare, I’ll be here to wake you up from it and get your mind off of it. You’re safe with me,” he murmurs, as you lay your head to his hard chest, his flesh arm curling around your frame while his vibranium fingers lace together with yours on his stomach. You don’t try to protest against him, you know he won’t leave and quite frankly, you don’t want him to. Knowing that if you go back to the darkness again he’ll be here to pull you out relaxes you, doesn’t let you worry about what kind of horrific scene you are going to be forced to see when you close your eyes next. You melt against him, inhaling his scent, listening to his steady heartbeat under your head as you let yourself go back to sleep, for the first time, ready to face whatever is waiting for you on the other side.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan one shot

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moominnyu · 4 years ago

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oblivious [kevin moon]

🧸🎀 — pairings: kevin moon (the boyz) x gender neutral reader

🧸🎀 — tw: none.

🧸🎀 — wc: 3751

anyone who knows kevin to a personal level would be sorry for the guy, frustrated in his behalf even.

now, don't get me wrong, he's a handsome young man with a sweet personality, a nice car and good friends. he's a member of one of the hottest, on the rise k-pop boy groups, with a honeyed voice and great dance skills. he could probably bag anyone he wanted with minimal effort on his part, whether they work or not for the same industry as him. but the problem for kevin moon starts around someone who has little to nothing to do with the idol world.

you're kevin's friend, his little childhood friend from back when he was in america, and current best friend even here in korea. kevin's childhood friend who's only an university student, and knows as much about idols as you know about calculus— that is, nothing—, kevin's childhood friend who works part time in café, and still gets allowance from your parents, kevin's childhood friend who lives just three blocks from his dorm, who is so used to be by his side that you practically live at his dorm alongside his members. kevin's childhood friend who is... just his childhood friend and nothing more.

he's been on the unrequited love side of the spectrum for too long that his problem no longer relies on the fact that you guys are friends probably since you were both fetuses inside your mothers' wombs. he already felt this way about you when you lost your first tooth when you were six, even when you smiled at him with an incisor missing. he already felt this way about you when he taught you how to ride a bike at the park when you both were nine, even when you fell on your face and had a big bruise on your left cheek that remained on your skin for two weeks after that. he already felt this way about you when you turned fourteen and you stopped being a tiny shrimp and started looking more like what would later become his ideal type. he already felt this way about you when you guys were seventeen and he was starting his little youtube channel with one of his friends, and you would watch his videos with a genuine excitement that matched his. he already felt this way about you when you moved to korea together, not even knowing what was ahead of you but knowing that you had each other whatever happened.

he's been in love with you for way too long, so long that he already had every single inner monologue, argument, discussion and debate he could possibly have with himself about how absolutely wrong and criminal it is to have a crush, or rather, be in love with your best friend.

he won in absolutely zero of these arguments against himself, as he always came to the conclusion that it was wrong, you two were friends and that's it, that you probably saw him only as a brother, if anything. but he had received his very needed push in the back by his members, now close friends of both of you, that insisted that it was normal: you were attractive, funny, sweet and a perfectly viable choice for him due to your closeness, anyone in his situation would probably be the same, and he would be a fool if he let go of the opportunity. with your looks and personality, you could get a partner anytime you wanted, and time was ticking for kevin, which, in turn, prompted him to act with you in mind, courtesy of sunwoo who mentioned he'd be the one making the moves if kevin didn't do it first.

and, so, it started, the tortuous process of courting.

he didn't outright tell you he liked you, as he wanted to test the waters first, so he started with simple and minimal things, things that would go completely unnoticed by you unless you saw him as something more than a simple friend, unless you saw him in the same light as he saw you.

hugging you a tad bit tighter and longer when he greeted you, getting leaves out of your hair or clothes for you, tentatively holding your hand when he wanted to guide you somewhere, placing his hands on your waist on hips when he walked past you; all little things that made his pale cheeks burn up a crimson color and his stupid, traitor heart beat uncontrollably against his ribcage... all little things that you remained completely apathetic to.

“don't be afraid to up your game, hyung,” haknyeon had offered some advice, and as if it served as comfort to kevin, he had friendly palmed his back to show empathy for him, who sat with his head down, face hidden in his hands, “i think y/n is great! they definitely haven't noticed yet, and that's why they haven't said anything!”

it was another one of those nights where he was overcome with feelings, when the tug on his chest became too heavy and when the feeling of urgency became desperation. none of what he did was working out the way he wanted it to, and everytime he was left with more questions that answers: did you really blush when you brushed hands while reaching for the salt, or was it his mind playing tricks on him? were you really staring at him with such dreamy eyes when he was sketching or were you just spaced out? he could never tell.

“well, that's obvious,” sunwoo retorted, plump lips on a straight line. he scratched his head and nudged kevin on the ribs, “you're the one who knows them best, you should that y/n had never had a partner before, it's likely they're just oblivious to your advances,”

an imaginary lightbulb flicked on on top of kevin's head at that moment when he realized sunwoo was right.

in all the years he's known you, you've never showed any kind of romantic interest in any person. it wasn't that you were short of suitors or admirers, quite the contrary, actually, you've had that sweet tendency to smile at everyone that happened to make eye contact with you since little, offer your help whenever needed and an ability to make friends with anyone in a matter of seconds. kevin was sure, during all his high school years, that the reason why he was liked was because of the halo effect, produced by the fact that he was always by your side.

but, you, even with many suitors and secret admirers, never once brought up the topic of dating and crushes in front of kevin. he thought it was better that way, honestly, he's a bit more mature now but back when he was still a teenager, he was sure he wouldn't be able to take it if he heard you talking about another guy, all starry eyed and blushing. but that didn't mean he didn't feel curious about it.

one time, against his own mental advices to just mind his business in case he ended up with a broken heart, kevin asked you about a guy in your class who he overheard your classmates teasing you about.

“oh, yeah, you mean james, right?” you sat on the floor of his bedroom, copying the answers from his textbook onto yours. you had bit your pencil and narrowed your eyes, thoughtfully, “i tutor him on sundays. nice guy.”

“i know who he is,” kevin answered, matter of factly, as he reclined back on his desk chair. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as some form of idle distraction from the unsteadiness of his heart, “i'm asking you why were your friends making kissy faces at you when he was talking to you.”

he had sounded more stern than he intended, but, then again, that moment was the very first time he ever saw you blush and fix your hair in front of a dude, the first time he saw you act shy around someone.

“he invited me to prom last week,” you answered, continuing to write down on your notebook with your cute, pink gel pen, “and my friends think he likes me because of that.”

“how are you so sure that he doesn't like you?,” it's obvious he does, kevin thought, otherwise he wouldn't look like such a fool, stuttering and scratching his nape like an idiot everytime you two interacted. not that he's one to talk, though.

“because he's just being nice to me,” you frowned, “he always is. he walks me home when you can't, invites me to get coffee after tutoring, he saves me a spot next to him when i'm late for class,” you didn't lift your head from your notes or ever stopped writing, that's how trivial james's acts of ‘kindness’ were for you, “he even gifted me chocolates last valentine's.”

that's crush behavior, kevin wanted to say, but he didn't. he didn't want to implant the idea in your mind, making you overly conscious about it and forcing you to end up confused about your own feelings. if you liked him back or not, he decided, was for you to find out on your own, unprovoked.

“do you like him?,” but there he was, having to open his big mouth out of morbid, masochistic curiosity.

you lifted your head, finally looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, “no?”

“then why were you blushing when he was talking to you?”

“because julia was making a big deal out of it,” you said, frowning with certain annoyance and embarrassment, “and because noah kept telling him we look so cute together.”

“no, you don't.” kevin chimed in, perhaps too fast for his liking.

“that's what i'm saying! we're just friends!” you sounded a bit exasperated, probably tired from all the teasing, “just like you and me.”

thanks to sunwoo, remembering that useful, albeit painful, conversation served kevin to switch his approach around you. thinking about it, back then, it should have been his first clue about your lack of awareness. he discarded as simple, intentional obliviousness— he thought that james was so obvious about his crush, you might as well were just trying to ignore it and not acknowledge it to avoid having to awkwardly reject him; but this obliviousness of yours lasted even much, much after that, when you guys moved to korea together and the people you met there were equally interested in you but ended up receiving the same treatment of complete lack of interest. even eric had, at some point of your early friendship, when he had a pitiful crush on you that lasted a couple of months.

with a new, more direct approach in mind, kevin moon hadn't given up yet.

he began to make his hints a bit more obvious so that the wouldn't fly over your pretty, little head like the ones before did, and he was pleasantly surprised to find out that it worked with great efficiency.

complimenting you every chance he could, both looks and personality wise, often mentioning how you're the only person to make him this happy, how his day gets better when he sees you.

and alongside the not so subtle flirting, your reactions began to grow in intensity as well. instead of the usual, coy nudge you'd give him when he complimented your appearance, you'd purse your lips and look down when he'd say that he thinks you're absolutely stunning. you'd bite a smile, cheeks heating up, when he'd, purposely on accident, casually sit close to you while watching movies, both of your sides pressed against each other. when he'd press an unassuming kiss to your temple after dropping you back at your place, you'd lean into his touch for a bit longer than usual, and you'd look a blushy mess of shaky eyes and pursed lips once he did pull away. even when he wasn't trying, even when his focus was on something else entirely, the amount of times he'd catch you staring at him and then move your eyes away as soon as he noticed were too many for them to be a simple coincidence.

all of these interactions made him hopeful, made him think that he did the right thing by slowly approaching you in a way that you felt comfortable with. by the time he decided to finally confess to you, he was so sure you were, at least, confused about it, that you were seeing him in a new light now and that you weren't sure how to act around it, and that was enough for kevin, he just needed to go past that friendship relationship and then he'd work the rest, with you.

and with this realization came yet multiple other inner debates about how to go around the confession. should he prepare for it? invite you to a picnic at the beach and confess to you when you both are enjoying the sunset? or should he just be spontaneous? you've never liked anything too flashy, after all, and you valued honesty over anything else.

he chose to just do it one day, chose a time when you two are alone and tell you normally like he would do with any other thing. after all, you two were best friends who could tell absolutely anything to each other with no shame, and his feelings for you didn't change this.

but, whenever he thought about finally doing it, whenever he practiced his exact words in his mind over and over again until he was confident enough he wouldn't stutter, the moment would get interrupted by outside forces. like younghoon deciding to watch a movie in the living room where you guys were at, just in time when kevin had said he had something to tell you, like sunwoo coming uninvited into his room when you two were finally alone, saying that he was bored and asking if you wanted to play mario kart together. or that one time when kevin had managed to build momentum in his favor, mentioning how much he appreciates you and how lucky he is to have you by his side unconditionally, and just as he was about to utter the three important words, your mom had the inopportune need to call you, at three a.m. in the morning, because she had a nightmare about you being swallowed by the kraken.

being stuck in this predicament didn't dishearten kevin, though. he's wanted to tell you how he feels since forever, he wasn't gonna give up over a few unfortunate interruptions.

the perfect time to do it comes spontaneously, unprepared, just like most of those peaks of inspiration he feels out of the blue somedays.

tonight, you're staying the night at his. you had went grocery shopping earlier in the afternoon, and kevin bought the ingredients to bake you some brownies after your insistence and pleads, clinging to his arm and pointing at the deliciously looking pictures of them in the premade mixture boxes, so now you're sitting on the counter of his kitchen while looks for the ingredients in the frige, reading the recipe out loud for him from your phone while swinging your legs up and down.

“a double boiler?”, kevin leaves the fridge door open when he walks up to you and leans in so that he can get a look at your screen, “what the heck's that?”

“it says here that it's a fancy term for a... small saucepan filled with an inch of two of water set over low heat,” you read out loud, then lifting your head with a confused grimace, “huh?”

“i don't know,” kevin kicks the door closed after retrieving the butter, shrugging and trying to pretend he didn't notice how you stared at his lips just a second ago, “i'm just gonna make that one old recipe, the one we know and adore.”

“yeah, i don't know why you felt the need to change it,” you set your phone down and hop down the counter to give him more space, “you know i just eat whatever you make.”

“you like your brownies a bit more fudgy, don't you?” he takes a bowl out of the cabinet, and places it right beside where you're standing. he offers you a smile, a bit shy but genuine, “and i like to spoil you.”

at that moment, sunwoo walks into the kitchen. he makes a small gesture of acknowledgement to you and walks past kevin to get to the fridge. you follow him with your eyes.

“hyung, i'm heading out,” sunwoo grabs a water bottle and closes the fridge again. he stands by kevin and points at the bowl where he's wisking the eggs, taking a short sip of his water, “can you save me some brownies?”

“i'm not making these for you, you know,” kevin sighs.

“just one, then,” sunwoo insists, eyebrows up and pout on his lips, “you know i love brownies.”

“i'll save you some,” you smile at the younger guy lightly, “where are you heading?”

sunwoo shrugs and scratches his nape, “had the sudden urge to go to the movies.”

“alone?” you inquire, trying to supress a laugh.

“don't judge a man for his hobbies, y/n,” sunwoo flicks your forehead with little force, and kevin hates that ugly feeling in his gut when you giggle and poke your tongue at him, “gotta go now, i've already purchased my ticket.”

and with sunwoo leaving, everyone else out on individual schedules and chanhee dead asleep on his room, you both are, technically, left alone in the dorm for once and for all.

kevin pretends to be too preoccupied with spreading the thick batter in the baking pan to notice that the perfect opportunity to do it is just unfolding in front of him. he knows that the reason why he keeps getting interrupted is because he likes to take his sweet time with it, dragging it out as much as he can so he can prepare his heart for it. he decides he's not gonna do that tonight.

just as he opens his mouth, your phone dings on the counter. kevin busies himself with putting the baking pan in the oven while you reach for your phone with the spatula he used in your mouth.

“who are you texting?” he asks once he notices your wide smile and soft giggles.

“yurina, one of my uni classmates,” you lick your lips after you're done licking the batter off, tossing the spatula into the sink, “she's happy because she asked her crush to be her girlfriend,”

“and did she say yes?”

“well, she wouldn't be happy otherwise, don't you think?”

there's an one-sided awkward silence when kevin rests against the counter while staring at you intently texting back and forth with this girl from uni.

a moment of doubt crosses his mind. should he really do it? something tells him he shouldn't, that he should just keep quiet, but he's been walking through this desert for so long ago that stopping now feels wrong when he can practically see water in front of him.

love gives him a push in the back.

“what about you?” he asks, and he internally cringes at the way his voice cracks a little at the end. he clears his throat, “i mean, are you interested in anyone?”

your thumbs stop typing suddenly, and you remain frozen for a moment, staring at your screen. you're blushing a little when you slowly lift your eyes towards him, and he mirrors such expression when his hopeful heart does a little flip.

“why—why are you asking all of a sudden?”, your voice sounds tiny and you look a bit doubtful of him.

“well, you never tell me about stuff like this,” he scratches his eyelid as he looks down at his shoes. the awkwardness is almost painful, and he's sure he isn't the only one feeling it right now, “is it someone you can't tell me?,” he makes a small pause in which he lifts his eyes from the ground and looks at you, “a close friend, maybe?”

silence fills the kitchen. the hen shaped cooking timer clicks as it counts down the minutes for the brownies to be ready, hour phone pings with new upcoming messages, the tv in chanhee's room makes deaf noise in the backround, yet, none of you talk.

when you refuse to meet his eyes that come looking for you, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down, kevin realizes he's going to be the one who breaks it, unfortunately.

“did i hit the jackpot?,” perhaps he sounds hopeful, or perhaps the silence was too loud that his voice now seems to over-volume it.

you finally look up from the floor, “why am i the only one being interrogated?,” you sound a little more like yourself when you block your phone and cross your arms on your chest, lips pouty and the tip of your ears a little bit red, “you also never tell me anything about stuff like that!”

“i'll tell you if you want,” he murmurs, trying to analize your reaction, “if you tell me first.”

in the heart fluttering moment, odds are in his favor, he knows. it's on the way you look at him through your eyelashes, shy and maybe even a bit flustered, the sugar rush on his veins at the sight of your blush, ever telling of your feelings. because he knows you so well he knows that his hunch is right, it's because of your connection that he can feel that it's no longer one-sided, that, as much as he feels for you, you feel for him.

“why don't you,” you make a small pause to press the back of your hands to your hot cheeks, “why don't you say it first, then?”

“how about we say it at the same time?,” even in his certainty there's still cautiousness, as if he needs confirmation even if he can read your heart, “at the count of three.”

“okay,” you smile at him with warmth, gentle, still laced with a shyness that makes your eyes a bit glossy, and it's the prettiest thing kevin has ever seen, “one.”

“two.” he says, his heart on a frenzy, mind a bit hazy with quiet excitement for what's about to come.

“three!” you both say, and there's a small pause before any of you continue:

“you!”

“sunwoo!”

#the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #kevin moon x reader #the boyz #tbz #kpop x reader #idol x reader #fluff

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