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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months ago

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Come Back Together

Benny Cross x reader

Summary in bullet points:

Now that Benny is back in your life, he is trying to be a better husband

Benny is insecure about his relationship and a barfight ensues

Reader is pregnant (three months)

Benny does a bit of pining and is emotionally vulnerable

Fluffiness

Part 2 of Come Back Knockin’

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, angst and fluff, relationship struggles, physical altercations (fist fight), mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy, mention of alcohol, cursing, kissing, happy stuff, typos. I think that’s it. This took me forever to write for some reason and I was weirdly stressed about it. tf is wrong with me, right? Anyway…

Words: alright no one freak out…it’s 4300. Idk why it’s a lot longer than the first part but I always do that. If you’re willing to venture onward, I appreciate it :)

Benny Cross Masterlist

Part 3: Together and More

He stares at you incessantly. Which isn’t out of the ordinary—he used to stare at you all the time—but there’s something else to it now. He stares as if he thinks you’ll disappear the second he takes his eyes off of you. Like you'll slip through his fingers. Ironic, really, since disappearing in the blink of an eye is more his thing.

“Can I make you something?” he asks, staring at you from his chair while you pull a carton of eggs from the fridge. “You should be sitting instead of me.”

“You don’t know how to cook, Benny,” you state matter-of-factly, turning your back to him as you switch on the stove and set a pan on the lit burner.

Cooking has always been your responsibility. It was one of the things you brought to this relationship. And you liked being the one to keep Benny fed, never chiming in when the other Vandals’ wives and girlfriends mentioned how exhausting it was to satisfy their man’s grumbling stomach. You liked that Benny appreciated you for it.

Now you wonder if subconsciously you believed that as long as you fed him, he’d stay by your side, regardless of his wild nature. Kind of like a puppy. But Benny Cross is no puppy.

“I should probably learn,” he says. “You know, for the kid.”

You hum, cracking an egg on the edge of the pan. “Maybe you should stick to learning how not to ditch your family,” you retort, and immediately your features twist in a wince.

You can’t believe you let those words out of your mouth. You’d been doing so well at holding in the little jabs and remarks, no matter how hard they’ve pushed at your sealed lips. Not to say a few of them haven’t slipped through in the last month, they have, but each time they did, you received instant punishment in the form of Benny’s heart crumbling right before your eyes.

He’s never tried to make you feel guilty about your slip-ups, but he can’t seem to hide his expressions around you anymore. Ever since Benny returned, he’s been different. Your husband who was once so stoic has untethered his emotions from the piece inside of him that, for years, refused to let them show. His affection is more outward now, but unfortunately, so is his pain. So you made a rule to stop doing that to him; stop catching him off guard with words of hurt during a time of pending forgiveness. What he did was damaging, yes, but it’s unfair to pick at him when he’s been doing everything he can to show you he has value to this family; things he never would have done before.

He wakes earlier than you to clean the most-used areas of the house—a poorly done job; you still find dust in spaces dust should have easily been wiped up, but he tries. He found work at a mechanic’s shop not too far from the house, and surprisingly, he has yet to complain about it—a decent job was always something he physically and mentally shunned. He got rid of everything in the spare room and has begun painting the walls from the deep brown left over from the prior owners to a soft, light green that matches the baby blanket he brought you. It’s cute, and significantly better than you would have done without him. You would’ve been too stressed to put together a nice nursery.

Benny awkwardly clears his throat, breaking up your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. The lingering discomfort from your snide tone is palpable, heavy, just short of physically formed, and you can’t escape it.

“I didn’t mean that,” you tell him as you flip the egg.

The sizzle in the pan is louder as uncooked egg hits the heat, but you can still hear his deep breath, easily picturing the weak smile on his face when he softly says, “It’s ok. I deserve it.”

You’re about to protest, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to a meeting tonight,” Benny says. “You wanna come with me?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh…” he says, dejected. “It's been a while since you've been to one. I know you stopped goin’ when I was…away, so I thought…”

You set the spatula down and turn to face him, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t going to go without you. And considering everything, everyone just would have pitied me. I'm sure they still do.”

His blue eyes fall to the tiled floor. You know he hates that such a thought would enter your mind, but it’s not as if you’re capable of stopping it. He put you in a pitiful situation, and were the circumstances placed upon another woman, you would have felt those same feelings for her.

“No one pities you, baby. I promise,” he says. “They miss you.” His head lifts so he can meet your stare. “But if you don’t want to go then I'll stay here with you. We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen. “No!” you yelp. Benny’s head jerks back at the sudden outburst and you swallow to buy yourself time to sort your thoughts into words, but the best you come up with is: “You’re right, actually. We should go.”

“But you just–” His brow raises in skepticism. “Are you sure?”

If your options are club meeting surrounded by a large group of people or movie-watching with you and Benny alone, then yes, you are absolutely sure. The movie channels have rallied against you lately. Out of the five times you and Benny have watched a film since he came back, all five have been romances. All of them!

You don’t know if he scours the TV Guide without you noticing or if the television channels have simply rallied against you, but sitting beside your husband who you are trying not to give in to is made all the more difficult when watching Audrey Hepburn fall in love with George Peppard or Cary Grant or Greggory Peck for God's sake. You see them and it makes you forget things. You forget that you’re as upset as you are, and with Benny so close, your heart starts to pound and you can’t focus on anything else. You want to crawl right into his arms, let him hold you and kiss you and take you on the couch after what has felt like an eternity apart. But you can’t do that. It’s too soon. So no movies.

“Positive,” you nod.

An easy smile slides onto his face. “Well that’s great, baby. It'll be fun.”

“Yea. Sure.”

“Alright,” he says, standing. “I gotta get to the shop.”

He pauses as he passes by you, and you hold his gaze as he squashes the instinct to press his lips to your forehead.

You weren’t married to Benny for long before he panicked and left—only a handful of months—but it was long enough for the two of you to develop your own set of rituals. And by the consistency and ease with which Benny performed those rituals, anyone would have assumed they’d been in place for decades.

A kiss on the forehead after breakfast was one ritual. As was the bedtime cuddling with your leg slotted between his. And the way he’d stare at you in the mirror, his arms crossed and body leaning against the doorframe as he watched you brush your teeth with a grin on his face.

But the one you miss the most is the hug from behind that you'd receive once he’d decided to come home for the night. He’d circle his arms around your waist and place a kiss on your neck, and then he’d chuckle because he was so determined to sneak up on you and give you a little scare but was never successful. You could feel him before he touched you, you could smell his cologne, but you didn’t want to ruin his fun, so you let him have hope that one day he would finally surprise you.

Benny blows out a long breath through his nose. “I’ll see you tonight,” he mutters with a brief hint of a smile.

As the front door closes behind him, a carbon smell grabs your attention and you look over your shoulder at your breakfast. It’s charred, inedible, and you don’t even care, you just knock the pan off to the side to keep the house from burning down.

—

“Well, thank the lord,” Betty’s voice travels across the bar as she and Kathy approach you and Benny. “We weren’t sure we’d ever see you again, honey.”

Kathy draws you into a tight hug that rips you from Benny’s side. “Things have not been the same with you gone,” she says as she leans back, rubbing her hands up and down your arms. She smiles so sweetly and you breathe a sigh of relief. These women were your friends and you feel guilty for abandoning them just because Benny abandoned you. “Come sit.”

“Benny Cross, we are stealin’ your wife,” Betty declares, “And you don't get to whine about it.” There’s a dash of vitriol in her tone that nibbles at your gut and you hope it’s simply an effect of the alcohol she must’ve had prior to your arrival.

“Oh,” Benny says. You glance at him, at the disappointed look on his face—subtle, but there. He wanted you by his side tonight, but he’s not going to force you to deny their offer. “Ok.”

Kathy and Betty each take one of your hands and lead you to a small rounded table. It’s the centerpiece of the room, and as one of three surrounding it, so are you, unfortunately. As Betty sticks a cigarette in her mouth and Kathy takes a sip of her beer, your eyes scan the low-lit space.

Stares from the men lining the walls burn your cheeks. You recognize only half of them—the Vets, as they’re known—and they give you their smiles and nods in a ‘welcome back’ gesture, Johnny, in particular, sporting a rare grin.

The others—the Newcomers; out-of-towners who came specifically to join the club—look at you with something else in their eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? They seem to know exactly who you are and enjoy a little too much putting a face to the name. You, however, don’t know a single one of them. They’d arrived shortly before Benny left, and while some faces, those with distinct features, you can recall from nuggets of your memory, you’ve never spoken to them. You never got their names.

“Why this table?” you ask your friends.

“Best view of the pool table, obviously,” Betty chuckles after snapping Johnny’s lighter shut. She nudges her head in that direction. “Nothin’ wrong with lookin’, I say.”

Flanking the table are Cal, Wahoo, and Benny; Wahoo watching and chattering from the sidelines as Cal and Benny alternate between shots.

Benny edges from one side of the table to the other, sizing up his options. Then, cue in hand, cigarette dangling from his lips, he bends at the waist and lines up the shot.

He’s so stupidly beautiful. The lamp hanging above the table illuminates him, defining his muscles by highlighting the hills and casting the valleys into shadow. A haze of smoke coats your view, but his pure essence and magnetism break through it like rays of sun through parted clouds.

Benny’s eyes flick up to yours and he winks as he shoots, driving two balls directly into their nets.

Your mouth goes dry. You swallow sandpaper, leaving your throat all raw and scratchy.

“So, how’ve you been, honey?” Betty asks, and you turn your head. “How've you been feelin’? How’s that nausea?”

��Yea,” Kathy adds, leaning in close as if seeking out a secret, “and how’s it been goin’ with him? Any trouble?”

“Um, I'm fine,” you say, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Nausea’s manageable.

As far as Benny goes, there's no trouble,” you tell them, “It’s just–” You pause.

What can you say? That you haven’t fully forgiven him even though he’s working so hard to be a good husband? That some of the things he’s doing around the house are swoon-worthy compared to what most men you know would do but you’re too stubborn to express the depth of your appreciation? Any woman would look at you like you’re insane.

When you think about it like that, maybe you are insane.

“I don't know,” you say with a shrug and a shake of your head. “It's hard to explain.”

“Well, according to Johnny, Benny’s worried each day in the house will be his last,” Betty says, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side. “That boy’s so afraid he’s gonna mess up and let you down again that I'm surprised he hasn't lost his marbles. I read in Life that bein’ that anxious wreaks havoc on the body and mind.”

Betty’s always reading something in Life, and a good portion of the time you are hesitant to take her seriously. Not necessarily because you don’t trust what the magazine reports, but that Betty tends to exaggerate for kicks.

You have a feeling she’s not exaggerating this time.

Your face falls.

“Don’t you feel bad about it for one second,” Kathy scolds, placing her hand on top of yours. “You’re well within your rights to make him earn his place.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to be scared that I'm going to–”

You’re cut off by a male voice slipping through a brief lull in the cacophony of noise.

“If she don’t want Benny no more, she can bring her sweet ass right on over to me,” a Newcomer says in a slurring mess. “I’d sure take better care of her than he did.”

Every soul in the room falls deadly silent—the only remaining sound being the melody of Elvis's Baby Let's Play House from the jukebox—and the world around you freezes.

Cigarettes are held over ashtrays, their ashes yet to be knocked off. Beer bottles are raised to lips without the satisfaction of a sip. The bartender’s rag has only wiped up half of a drunken man’s spill. No one is breathing and everyone’s eyes are glued to either the Newcomer or your husband. Yours are on Newcomer, watching his features shift and tick as he soaks in the weight of what he just said, and what it’s about to cost him.

Kathy sighs. “Oh, god.”

The whole bar hears her—impossible not to; you could hear a mouse skitter across the floor—and her words seem to carry with them the wave of a green flag, because a moment later, Benny rushes the guy and tackles him to the ground.

Chaos erupts. All at once, shouts, curses, and hateful name-calling explode like the impact of a bomb. Nearly every man in the club is taking sides in the war between Newcomers and Vets. Fists fly into faces. Faces are shoved against walls. Walls are cracked from bodies slamming into them. There’s the distinct sound of bone meeting bone. Blood splatters across your table.

“Jesus, fellas!” Kathy snaps as she and Betty hop up, dragging you out of the danger zone.

In a panic, your head whips in all directions. You can’t find Benny, but you need to find him and you need to find him now.

You’ve seen him throw punches at races and members’ houses but this is too public a space, and if the cops are called, he can’t be caught fighting again. Nor can he risk having fingers pointed his way for instigating. He already has a record, and though you didn’t know him during his few stints behind bars, you know he has exhausted the sheriff's leniency. If you leave now, Johnny will come up with something to excise Benny’s participation should questions arise.

You take a step forward but Kathy’s grip is tight. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” she shouts.

“To get my husband.”

Betty gapes. “Are you crazy? You're pregnant!” But you ignore her, shaking Kathy off and heading into the storm. “Johnny! Johnny, grab her!”

You weave through fight after fight, stopping short when a body lands at your feet, but he’s up and out of your way in an instant, and you continue dodging and ducking until you spot a blond head. From what you can see, there’s hardly a scratch on him. The same cannot be said for the drunk guy beneath him.

Before you can move another inch, an arm circles your waist and jerks you back.

“Hey!” you snap. “Let go!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. You stay out of it,” Johnny says, lifting you off the ground and setting you down in a safer area. He puts his hands on your shoulders and dips his head to your eye level, locking on to your gaze. “I’ll get ‘im, ok? I’ll get ‘im. Stay right here.”

You nod in agreement, your brows knitted and teeth chewing on your bottom lip.

From this location, you have a better view of your husband and the friend who is trying and failing to break up the fight. Johnny yanking on Benny’s dominant arm is not enough to stop the attacks. Neither is the forearm locked around his neck.

When Cal notices Johnny’s struggle, he pushes his opponent into a table and races over to take hold of Benny’s other bicep. Together they pull him off the man whose face no longer resembles a human’s. It’s a bloody mess. His nose is dented in, eyes swollen shut, lips split and mouth hanging open to reveal an empty space where a tooth used to be.

Benny’s chest heaves. Murder is in his glare. He jerks against his restraints but struggles to break free with the force of two men weighing him to the ground.

Then Johnny mutters something in Benny’s ear that immediately halts his thrashing. His breathing slows. The fire fades from his irises, returning them to their soft cerulean, and his eyes tear away from the beaten man to dart around the room in search of you.

As Benny spots you, Johnny's lips move, seemingly forming the words ‘Get outta here,’ before he pats Benny on the chest and lets him rise to his feet.

Benny comes to you and without stopping grasps your hand and leads you out of the bar.

—

“You think you fractured anything?” You ask as you slide the key into the lock and turn.

Benny stretches and flexes his fingers. “No,” he answers, trailing into the house behind you and shutting the front door. “Are you upset with me?”

He’s been wanting to ask that question since you left the bar. As he'd placed the helmet on your head and clipped the strap under your chin, you'd observed his lips, how they were parting as if to speak but unable to get anything out. And when he'd helped you off the bike in front of the house, his expression was far away, his jaw shifting, teeth clenching—the look of your husband in intense thought.

At least he finally spit it out. Normally, he would have run his fingers through his hair and sighed, opting not to bother you with the question; a behavior that used to drive you crazy. It took weeks after you met for you to accept that while Benny was willing to share a lot with you—things he didn’t intend to share with anyone; a life, for instance—there were things best not to pester him into revealing.

So you’re a patient partner. If it needs to be said or asked, it’ll be said or asked. And you're glad he decided this was one question that needed to be asked.

You sigh, hanging your jacket on the rack, and Benny follows, selecting the hook closest to yours.

“I mean, you nearly killed him,” you say as you make your way to the back of the living room and open the closet that houses the first aid kit.

On tippy toes, you can barely brush your fingers along the metal tin, and you grumble each time you unintentionally push it a little further back on the shelf.

A muscled arm reaches above your head to grab the kit. Benny places it in your hands before stepping back into the seating area and dropping down onto the footstool, his standard perch when you’re fixing him up.

Blue eyes are glued to your body as you take a seat on the couch.

You pull the lid off of the tin and riffle through it for the small bottle of alcohol—you’ll have to buy more soon, it’s getting low—and a clean rag. With the alcohol-soaked fabric at the ready, you slip your fingers under his warm palm, bring his hand close, and get to work dabbing the wounds and wiping off some of the dried blood. He doesn’t so much as hiss at the shot of pain that makes any other human groan and pinch their eyes tight.

“He was out of line,” he tells you.

“I’m not saying he wasn’t out of line, but I really don't need you getting in trouble and being taken away from me, Benny.” You’re focused on his injury, but out of the corner of your eye, he winces in shame. “Besides, he was just mouthing off.”

“Mouthin’ off about my wife.”

With a huff, you drop your joined hands onto your lap and shoot him a look. “I know, but do you honestly believe what he said could ever happen? Do you think I would leave you for some other man?”

You ask with the full expectation of a whip-quick reply—‘of course not, baby’—but Benny adam’s apple bobs, and his teeth clench as his eyes flit to the undoubtedly less interesting carpet.

“Benny…?”

He runs his uninjured hand down his face and looks up at you. “C'mon, baby, it's not that wild of a thought. Not after what I did to you,” he says, his thumb slowly running over your knuckles. “You are so much better than anything I should be allowed to have. But me? You could throw a rock in any direction and you'd hit a man better than me. One that wouldn’t have panicked and left you pregnant and alone for six weeks.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“It is true.”

“It is not, and even if it was, I don't want another man,” you confess. A beat passes as you exhale heavily to stave off the stinging of oncoming tears. “It hurts that you left, but I am working through it, we are working through it, ok? You’re not going to lose me, Benny Cross. Not unless you leave me.”

“I'm never leavin’ you,” he says.

You place your free hand on his cheek. “Then you’re never losing me.”

Benny swallows hard and scans your face—each and every feature—lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes. As your thumb strokes his cheekbone, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, turns his head, and presses a kiss to your palm.

“Baby, I miss you so much,” he mutters, his brows pinched in anguish. “I miss touchin’ you. I miss holdin’ you. I miss sleepin’ next to you.” He lightly shakes his head. “I know I don’t deserve you, and I sure as hell don’t deserve our baby, but I fuckin’ miss you.”

The unit that is your heart and body and soul feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. This isn’t what the past month of your lives was meant to be about. It was supposed to be about building trust, not dishing out punishment. And yes, you’ve messed up before, said things that weren’t fair, but keeping him at arm's length is more than that. It’s a deeper pain. Stronger. More potent. Not just for him, but for you as well, and now you can’t quite see the point anymore. Staying away from his touch does not help anything if what you want at the end of the day is to be together. And that is what you want.

When you touch your lips to his for the first time in almost three months, you whimper. You whimper and you melt and the tears want to come back because it’s so much easier to resist desire when you haven’t entertained it in a while. But now you’ve given in. You’re tasting him like you used to, tasting the remnants of gin and cigarettes and the blueberry pie you made for dessert, and it’s all Benny. Benny, who is so shocked that you’ve kissed him that it takes a handful of seconds before he kisses you back and becomes the Benny you know. And then he’s curling his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap, and his hands are everywhere. Squeezing your thighs, sliding over your ass, tracing up your spine, holding the back of your neck to guide you closer so he can kiss you harder, and yea, you are never depriving yourself of your husband again.

Benny stands, taking you with him, supporting your weight as he keeps kissing you and you keep kissing him. He blindly turns and settles into the comfort of the couch with your legs on either side of his hips.

You lean back, breaking the connection of your lips. “Benny.”

He’s staring at you like you’re hypnotic, mesmerizing. Like he’s drunk on kisses. His fingers trace the curvature of your face. A thumb ghosts over the swollen pillows of your mouth.

“Yea, baby,” he says, voice gravelly, just above a whisper.

“Do you want to be back in our bed?”

Benny stiffens and he blinks away that glazed-over expression. “You mean it?” He asks. You nod.

“Are you gonna be in the bed too?” he says, sifting his fingers through your hair. “We're not just swappin’, are we?”

You smile. “No, we aren't swapping,” you promise him, your forehead falling against his. “I'm making room.”

---

A/N: I kind of want to do a time jump Part 3 with lots of Dad!Benny stuff. Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that. Thanks :)

Taglist (if you wanna join)

#benny cross x reader #benny cross #bikeriders #austin butler #the bikeriders #benny cross fic #austin butler x reader

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a1ecmcdowell · 9 days ago

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all the times mechanic!dean was humbled by bimbo!reader - 18+

★ ˚⋆

dean was convinced, a lot of the time, that not a single coherent thought existed in the white noise of your brain, just accepting that you were one of those girls with a pretty face to her legacy. it wasn't a bad thing. he'd never admit it, but seeing your face light up when he explained something to you was one of his favorite looks on you - the glimmering wide eyes, the o-shaped part of your glossy lips as the pieces clicked into place.

other times, he was floored by the capacity of that pretty little head and the information it held. completely floored. you never said anything with malice either, or chastised him for not thinking in the same way that you did. just stated the things like fact, typing away on your pretty pink iphone with your pretty pink manicured nails, not even looking up to see that you'd taken his breath away.

there were a lot more of these instances than he cared to admit. he was a proud, prideful kind of guy, often convinced that it was his way or the highway.

until you came around.

he'd started a list on his phone, of some of those times, cementing them into a vault of your history. maybe he'd show it to you on your wedding or something cheesy like that, that he knew you would love. or maybe he'd keep it to himself, as to not humble himself further.

when you'd called a car's failing engine a "tummy ache", and that was how he figured out that the cause was the owner putting in the wrong gas.

the first time you talked him into trying on your panties, and he'd tried to deny it heavily, and you'd said, "it's just clothes." and it was so simple but he'd never thought of it like that. like holy shit, yeah, it's just clothes.

when you'd tried to hook up with him at his work, in the backseat of his car no less, and dean desperately tried to keep some semblance of professionalism at his job, and you were like "who's gonna see? no one comes here." and he proceeded to fuck you into the leather with, you guessed it; not a single customer to see the fogged windows and the rattling frame.

you got him to start saying things are cunty and that's not even the humbling part. the fact that he could not fucking stop himself from calling everything cunty when you were around was.

when you'd called the stars "little suns" and now every time he looks at the night sky, he can't help but think if you're looking at the little suns too.

he'd been staying late trying to finish a car and you'd gotten upset and told him "who's gonna need their car this late?" and yeah. who the hell was? he made it home in five minutes and made up for his time away.

he told you that one day he'd take you to meet his family and you called them the witch burners with the straightest face he'd ever seen. yeah. they did do that sometimes. but don't say that to their face.

sometimes his old habits would kick in and he'd start doing everything for you, like he did growing up with sammy, and you remind him every time that you were his baby but not his baby.

he joked that you were baby vers. 2, and you'd said, "you can't call everything you park yourself in baby." he started calling you princess immediately after.

he'd grabbed your hair once when you were bent over during sex and you whirled around so fast he honestly thought you were going to kill him. like there was more fear in his eyes then than there was in some of the hunts he did before he retired.

when you insisted in front of his coworkers that, no, you did not want to drive your car if he was there to tote you around already. like, fuck him, honestly, for not assuming you would want to be chauffeured. he was still living that shit down.

"no, dean, i'm not blowing you right now, this is a chanel lip gloss." right. because he was supposed to know what that meant. "i am not wiping chanel off with a paper towel, dean." tell chanel to get off her fucking high horse, thanks!

he tried to be romantic once and put his hand on your thigh while driving and you glanced down with a pout and said, "your filthy oil hands :(" with that exact sad face. he didn't know how else to convey the utter devastation in his typed list without the fucking emoticon. you'd have thought he ran over your baby or something.

notes, guys ... i fear they are rent free rn. something ab grumpy/sunshine in any form is going to do it for me every time.

tags ( if some of these dont work im gonna run up and down the street butt naked on god ) @titsout4nicholas @deans-yn @dipperscavern @devoursweetly @jasvtsc @panickedbitch @t3l3vangelism @jensenacklesfan69 @manicjk @mkendlic @hischrrypie @deanswidow @figthoughts

#──★ ˙🍓 dahlia’s jrnl #jensen ackles #dean winchester #dean winchester x bimbo!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester headcanons #headcanons #spn #supernatural

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tortillamastersblog · 5 months ago

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ᗢ Enough | Wanda Maximoff ᗢ

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: mild injury

Summary: It seems as though no one can stop Wanda Maximoff from getting what she wants, and what she wants is America Chavez so she can steal her powers and travel to a universe where you and her children are still alive. . .

It turns out, no one doesn’t include you though.

Continuation of Take My Hand, but the two parts can be read separately which is why I’m not naming it “Part 2”

________________________________________________

“Fuck!” I sit up with a yelp, clutching at my pounding head.

It feels like someone is jumping around on it and when I open my eyes it takes a couple of seconds for everything to come into view.

That “everything” turns out to be Wong, standing right in front of me with wide eyes.

“Ahh!” I scream again and jerk backward to get a bit of distance between us. “What the hell?!”

One minute I’m at peace, floating around in nothingness with no sense of time or self and the next I’m. . . here.

I look around, and freeze when I realize I’m no longer in Wakanda.

I’m in a dark, wood-paneled room with a single window that is covered by a wooden screen. It has intricate designs carved into it and only allows a tiny amount of light to enter.

Red and yellow pieces of fabric are draped over the ceiling beams and the whole room is filled with smoke coming from a golden incense burner that is shaped like an antique oil lamp.

I’m sitting on a simple cot in the middle of the room, and stare at Wong.

“What happened? Where am I? I died?!” I shriek with realization, but before Wong can answer, an explosion rattles the building and bits of dust and rubble rain down on us.

He pulls me to my feet and dusts me off before dragging me out of the small room into a long hallway.

“There’s no time to explain! We need your help,” he says as another explosion shakes the ground beneath us.

Being a bit unsteady on my feet since I literally just returned from the dead, I stumble and trip after him as he leads me through what I’m now realizing is a temple.

Oh my God, this is Kamar-Taj. Why am I here? How am I here?!

“Wong, stop!” I whimper, ripping my arm from his grip and leaning against a wall.

My head is pounding in time with my heartbeat and every now and then black dots dance across my vision.

Wong seems conflicted about not going on, but lets me rest nonetheless.

“How am I here?” I ask softly. “I’m supposed to be DEAD. . . Wanda. . . she d-destroyed the stone.”

Wanda.

I smile sadly at the thought of her sparkling green eyes and the way her lips would twitch whenever I told a corny joke.

“You were dead,” Wong explains. “And you were sent here for burial. But as time went on we realized your body wasn’t decomposing. It wasn’t even turning cold.”

I tilt my head in question and shudder when the ground beneath us shakes yet again.

Wong looks around frantically, obviously dying to get going, but he continues to explain nonetheless.

“The mind stone is what brought you back to life all those years ago when Hydra experimented on you which is why it killed you when Wanda destroyed it. But then Thanos turned back time and used the stones. You were trapped between life and death for six years and it took me until now to realize that all you needed to come back was just a little bit of a jump start.”

I wince. “Jump start?”

“I shocked you with a spell,” Wong dead-pans and I stare at him with disbelief.

“But it won’t keep you alive for long,” he continues. “You need the stone to actually live. This is only temporary, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Great. So I’m running on limited time.

“B-But, why?!” I ask, clutching at my head.

Wong averts his eyes and shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “It’s Wanda, Y/N.”

I straighten up and ignore the resulting sting of pain that runs down my spine.

“What about her? Is she okay?” I say with wide eyes, but Wong doesn’t answer.

He just stares at the portal ring on his hand and as the seconds go by, I realize what is happening.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” I whisper when the ground shakes again.

Wong just nods and I sigh, gesturing for him to show the way.

This is exactly what I was afraid of. . . She couldn’t take any more and broke.

And now she’s attacking Kamar-Taj for some reason.

We continue down the hallway and Wong throws open the huge oak door once we reach the end of it.

The sight that greets me makes my blood freeze and I hold onto the doorframe, trying to process everything that’s happening.

Hundreds of sorcerers are in the courtyard, holding up shields of glowing orange magic and countering every strike of red energy that rains down on them from the sky.

A couple of sorcerers are already on the ground amidst the smoking rubble and for my own peace of mind I’m telling myself they’re just unconscious and not dead.

My Wanda wouldn’t kill anyone. Not on purpose.

“Fall back!” I hear a familiar voice and when I look to my right I see Stephen Strange.

He looks worn and battered from the fight, but when his eyes meet mine he perks up.

Not with a smile though. No, he’s scowling like there’s no tomorrow, but luckily it’s not directed at me.

“Wong! I can’t believe this— I told you—“

“I’m the sorcerer supreme, Strange!”

“What happened to letting the dead rest?!” Strange counters as red streaks of magic continue to rain down around us.

Wong just scoffs and makes a shield just in time to stop one of the red streaks from hitting us.

“I didn’t have a choice!” he counters loudly and all of a sudden everything around us goes quiet.

The assault from above stops and the smoke begins to clear.

“I knew you were a hypocrite, Stephen, but I never thought you’d stoop this low and resort to cruel trickery.”

Wanda’s voice makes my heart skip a beat and when I look up there she is, floating above the temple.

I feel myself smiling, but that smile quickly vanishes when I take in her appearance.

She is still my Wanda, yes, but she looks very different than the last time I saw her. Her eyes are sunken in and they don’t sparkle the way I remember. Her cheekbones are also more prominent, which seems to be the result of losing quite a bit of weight.

And then there’s the whole Halloween-ish outfit she’s wearing. I mean, is that a crown on her head?

Don’t get me wrong, she looks great, but so unlike the fiancée I left behind.

She gracefully lands in front of us and easily deflects the attack of one of the injured students close by.

“Wanda. . .?” Stephen prompts, but Wanda ignores him and narrows her eyes at me.

“Who are you?! Some kind of shapeshifter?” she asks, her voice low and threatening. Her eyes glow red and and she tilts her head slightly.

“I— No, Wanda. It’s me,” I say with a hesitant smile. I push myself off the doorframe and hold out my hands in front of me in an attempt to soothe her, but before I can even take a single step in her direction, I’m hit in the chest by her magic.

It sends me flying backwards through the oak door and into the hallway. When I hit the ground, the breath gets knocked out of me and I blink rapidly in an attempt to stay conscious.

What the hell?!

“Y/N!” Wong exclaims, but he too gets knocked off his feet when he goes to help me.

Stephen follows shortly after when Wanda flicks her hand and she steps over him with a snarl.

Then her eyes land on me again and she bares her teeth. “No, you’re not! Y/N is dead! So, I’m asking you again. . . Who are you?”

“Darling—“

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” she screams with wild eyes and before I know it, I’m hit by another streak of magic.

This time it does more than just take my breath away and I yelp in pain, clutching at my chest where she hit me.

It feels like I’ve been electrocuted and the current is still running through me, forcing tears into my eyes and down my cheeks.

“Wanda,” I gasp. “Please, stop.“

Another blow hits me, this time in the stomach, and I squirm in pain with a sob. My hands are trembling and I feel myself getting weaker with every second that goes by. Wong’s spell must be wearing off.

“No!” she howls, using her magic to lift me into the air. It wraps around my body and throat like hot wires and I try to claw at it to get it off me. “How dare you pretend to be the love of my life?!“

“Wan. . .” My voice dies in the back of my throat when her magic tightens around my neck.

Her eyes glitter menacingly and for the first time since knowing her I feel actual fear creep into the pit of my stomach.

“You are not my Y/N,” Wanda hisses through gritted teeth.

I swallow harshly and avert my eyes so I don’t have to keep enduring the hate and distaste she is looking at me with.

What happened to her? Why doesn’t she believe me? And why is she hurting me? She’s never hurt me. . .

“Wanda, enough!” Stephen cuts in. He’s struggling to get back on his feet and leans against the wall for support.

“Zip it, Strange,” she counters. “Did you honestly think I’d fall for this little stunt of yours? Did you honestly—“

A whimper that claws its way out of me cuts Wanda off. My head is feeling like it’s being split in half and I know what that means because it’s the same thing I felt when the mind stone was being destroyed.

I’m running out of time.

I close my eyes and instantly, images of Wanda’s smile flash through my mind. I hear echoes of her giggles and happy squeals and my heart flips at all the memories we share.

I remember the feeling of her warm body beneath me and the sting of her nails digging into the skin of my back.

I remember the taste of her tears when we kissed after I proposed and she said yes, and I remember how her eyes lit up every time I entered a room.

Oh, how I love that woman, or should I say loved? Because that woman doesn’t seem to be the same as the one in front of me right now.

This Wanda is ruthless and cold hearted, and it breaks my heart to see what she’s turned into.

I’d honestly rather still be dead than witness this side of her.

“Y/N?”

The ropes of magic around me disappear and I feel myself being carefully lowered onto the ground. Once I make contact with the cold stone, I shudder and wrap my arms around myself.

Everything hurts and I just want to go back to being dead, but then a pair of warm hands on my cheeks makes me open my eyes.

“Y/N?” Wanda whispers, horrified, and her voice cracks when her eyes connect with mine and fill with realization. “Oh my God.”

She strokes her thumb over my cheek and I flinch at the small gesture which makes her eyes fill with tears.

“Moya lyubov. . .” She crumbles on top of me and clutches at my shirt with shaking hands. “It’s really you.”

I freeze beneath her and squeeze my eyes shut again when another blinding pain shoots through my head. This makes Wanda pull back and look at me with wide, worried eyes. “I hurt you, my love. Oh my God. I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen— I can’t believe I—“

I groan and wince again, lifting one hand to push against my throbbing temple.

Wanda’s hands cup my cheeks and I watch a tear roll down her face. “W-What is it? What’s happening? Am I still hurting you?”

She pulls back and stops touching me completely, frantically looking me over for any signs of injury.

Wong takes the opportunity to get to his feet and comes up behind Wanda to place a hand on her shoulder.

She doesn’t react to his touch and continues to run her eyes over me.

“What is it?” she asks, terrified. “What’s going on? What hurts, Y/N?”

I blink helplessly, not able to get any words out as another wave of pain washes over me.

“Wanda,” Wong says softly. “There nothing you can do.”

Her head whips around and she looks between Wong and Stephen. “What?“

Wong sighs with a sympathetic look and squeezes her shoulder. “I— The spell I used to bring Y/N back to life only works temporarily,” he explains.

Wanda gapes at him before turning back to me. Her chin is trembling and she takes my hands off my temples, lacing our fingers together.

It’s only then that I realize her fingertips are completely black and I have half a mind to pull away, but then my eyes meet hers and all my fears from earlier are washed away.

Looking back at me isn’t the new, heartless Wanda. It’s my Wanda and the agony on her face makes my own heart hurt.

“No, not again,” she whimpers. “I can’t watch you die again.”

Around us, all the injured students and masters who’ve been hesitant to approach move closer. To my surprise though, they’re not getting ready to attack. They’re simply watching us with sympathy and sad smiles.

Stephen and Wong share a knowing look and I realize that this was Wong’s plan all along.

“Darling,” I finally managed to gasp out. “It’s okay, just stop this.”

Wanda sobs and squeezes my fingers. “No, it’s not. Please, stay with me. . .”

I smile sadly and twitch when the last of my energy disappears.

“No! Please, please!” she cries, her eyes glowing red with emotion. “I love you.”

I love you, too. . .

The last thing I see before closing my eyes is the black slowly crumbling and chipping off her fingertips and the crown on her head glowing a bright red before disappearing.

A year later. . .

“What are you doing out here, darling? It’s cold,” I whisper against Wanda’s ear, coming up behind her on the balcony and wrapping my arms around her waist.

Wanda chuckles and leans back against me, tilting her head so she can look at me. “Just thinking. . .”

I quirk an eyebrow and run my thumbs over her stomach. “Are you okay?”

She smiles and lifts one of her hands to pull me down by the back of my neck, connecting our lips in a soft kiss. “I’m perfect. I was just thinking about what comes next.”

I still my thumbs and smile when she turns her attention back to the ocean below us. “And what might that be?” I ask.

Wanda intertwines our fingers over her stomach and raises our left hands to kiss the wedding ring on my finger. “I don’t know. A dog, maybe, and-and some kids?”

She says the last part a little hesitantly and I can’t help but smile even more, rubbing my nose up and down her neck, saying, “I’d love that.”

“Yeah?” she asks quietly and I nod, pressing a kiss to her neck right below her ear.

“Totally.”

A comfortable silence settles over us and I straighten up to watch the sunset, slowly swaying us from side to side.

Over a year ago at Kamar-Taj she lost her powers in order to keep me alive. It turns out that I don’t need the mind stone to keep me alive after all, but rather a source of energy and Wanda’s powers are enough to last me a whole lifetime. Literally.

Which is why we’re here now, in our own little beach house on the coast of Rhode Island.

After making sure I would definitely be okay, she told me everything about Westview and how she began studying the Darkhold after.

She also told me about everything she did to get her hands on America and once all was said and done she gave me the choice of leaving or staying with her.

I obviously stayed, not deterred by her actions or the pain she inflicted upon me, and we eloped soon after.

We bought this house together with the money I saved before what happened in Wakanda and we’ve been living in married bliss ever since.

“I love you,” I whisper, tightening my hold around her when the sun finally sets, leaving behind an orange glow across the horizon.

“I love you, too,” she replies easily, chuckling when my stomach growls. “How about some dinner?”

I smile sheepishly and kiss the top of her head. “Yes, please.”

She lets go of my hands and turns around in my arms. “Then let’s go inside.”

I hum in agreement and bend down, pecking her lips a couple of times before following her into the house.

________________________________________________

This is not as good as Take My Hand, but I just had to write a follow-up because I hate angst without a happy ending and because I think Wanda didn’t deserve what happened to her.

#x reader #fluff #marvel #angst with a happy ending #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader

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cosmicpearlz · 6 months ago

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my love is mine, all mine (pt 2)

summary: more glimpses of your relationship with jude!

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

a/n: i’m having too much fun writing these scenarios lol

~one~

you rarely ever get into arguments with jude but when it does happen, it’s terrible on everyone’s part. this particular moment was about him not spending enough time with you.

“so you’re saying i can’t hangout with my friends? because that’s what it’s sounding like.”

“jude, that’s not what i’m saying! i’m just saying that it would be nice to have a day with just us. i feel like i’m left on a back burner right now.”

“we do hangout. i mean, i’m here right now but you wanna spend the time arguing!”

“tell me the last time we had a day to ourselves! please enlighten me,” you were beyond frustrated and your head was hurting from all the yelling.

“stop being so fucking clingy. i see you at home every night! we don’t need to be together 24/7.”

you felt your heart throbbing from the pain of hearing those words. is it really such a crime to want quality time with someone you love? between his training sessions and your job, there hasn’t been much alone time.

“okay. my apologies for wanting my boyfriend here with me. i won’t ask again,” you took a step back, looking down to possibly stop the tears. it didn’t work. the more you thought about it, the more it hurt.

jude instantly regretted saying that. he understood completely where you were coming from but the stubbornness in him clouded his judgement.

“baby, i’m-“

“i don’t wanna talk to you jude.”

it’s been hours since he last saw you. jude already made the guest room into his bed for the night and found himself restless. he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else but he couldn’t sleep without you near. even if you guys weren’t cuddling, at least his hand could be on you in some way. so he tossed and turned until he had enough.

jude makes his way to the room door, raising his hand to knock when the door swings open. it startles the both of you. leaving you to stare at each other in silence. jude noticed the dry tear streaks that laid on the apple of your cheeks. it made him feel worse.

“you really hurt-“

“i’m sorry bab-“

speaking at the same time wasn’t uncommon for you two, causing the both of you to let out a breathy laugh.

“you can go first honey,” his light whisper fell into the air as if he were too scared to talk any louder.

“jude, you really hurt my feelings earlier. i just wanted to spend time with you and you made it seem like i was asking for a million dollars or something bigger. i didn’t feel heard during our conversation but unfortunately i can’t sleep without you. so i was coming to drag you to bed even though i’m still very mad at you.”

“baby i’m sorry. i’m so sorry for hurting your feelings. i want you to know that i don’t mean it. hell, everyone knows i’m the clingy one! you’re the love of my life and i would spend days mending whatever hurt i caused,” his hands came to rest on your cheeks, fingers softly swiping at the dry tear stains.

“can we go to bed now? i’m exhausted and we can finish talking in the morning,” jude nods in response to you and kisses your nose.

“yeah, let’s go to bed m’love.”

~two~

“hey babe!”

jude looks up from his ipad upon hearing your voice through the phone. he was in germany for match and of course, he asked you to go with him. saying something along the lines of being his good luck charm. you couldn’t originally get the off time from your job.

“i miss you so much.”

“jude, baby you’ve been gone for like two days.”

“and your point is?”

“okay, whatever you say. anyways, i got a package for ya! just open the door.”

the boy failed to realize how close your face was in the camera and how you whispered. you had surprised him by coming to germany, being that your boss changed her mind and let you go. it wasn’t like you asked for off time a lot anyways.

“what?”

“can you open the door baby?”

jude jumps off the bed and practically leaps to the door. swinging it open to find you with a toothy smile. he rushes to hug you, bending down to your hight and pulling you into his arms.

“you said you couldn’t come!”

“surprise! my boss decided to let me take the time off last minute. i found the first flight here.”

“how’d you get to the hotel? i would’ve picked you up.”

“it wouldn’t have been a surprise then.”

he detaches himself from you to grab your bag, then grabbing your hand, walking you inside. you take a seat on the couch that was sitting in the room and smiled as your boyfriend put your bag next to his.

“i can’t believe you’re here.”

“well believe it,” jude sat next to you and began pressing kisses into whatever inch of skin he could get to.

“babe relax,” you say, in between giggles as he continued his work down to your neck. only getting off you when you pushed his shoulder back.

“i just missed you.”

“it’s been two days!”

“so what.”

~three~

you’ve become familiar with jude being your passenger princess. you never minded, it was just nice having someone to drive with. so, you took him on another one of your side quests. thrifting.

“i hope i find something good this time. last time we went, it was a bunch of bullshit.”

“i’m kinda hoping i see something i like,” you gasp into response to him, quickly looking at him and then looking back at the road.

“woah, thee jude bellingham is interested in thrifting?”

“oh come off it.”

“i’m just saying! i literally never heard you say anything like that. just making sure my ears heard correctly,” you give him a teasing smile.

“i will jump into oncoming traffic.”

“no you won’t.”

“i swear i will.”

“i’m calling your bluff.”

the silence in the car became loud as you both tested one another.

“no i won’t.”

“ha! i knew it.”

“whatever, drive faster loser. all the good stuff are gonna be gone.”

~four~

you wake up finding the bed empty. jude’s side is made up, totally not uncommon. you figured he was at training and got out of bed to get something to eat. as you walked to the kitchen, you find your boyfriend with his bare back towards you.

“good morning darling,” he turns his head to face you with a small smile.

“good morning. what’s all this?”

“i wanted to cook for you! training was canceled today because of a family emergency. i was gonna surprise you in bed but of course you had to wake up early.”

“that’s very sweet of you,” you make your way towards him and wrap your arms around his waist. pressing your front into his back, hugging him as tight as you could. you leaned up to kiss the back of his shoulder blade before stepping away.

“let’s spend the day inside.”

“are you sure jude? i know today is my off day but you don’t have to stay in with me.”

“i want to.”

jude plates the food and sits it on the dining room table. you follow close behind and go to grab your chair. instead, jude pulls out your chair for you. pushing you in before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. sitting down next to you, you both began to eat. a comfortable silence fills the room as you both ate. his free hand resting on your thigh, caressing the skin beneath his fingers.

“i love you so much. thank you for this.”

“you shouldn’t have to thank me. i’m your boyfriend, it’s a job of mine to make sure you’re feeling loved at all times.”

“trust me, i feel all the love right now.”

“it still wouldn’t be enough to express how much i truly am in love with you darling.”

“don’t get sappy on me bellingham,” you teased, watching his face attempt to hide a smile.

“oh we wouldn’t want that,” he plays along and kisses your cheek, making you both laugh in the process.

#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst

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lleeanarr · 2 months ago

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pt 2.

summary: The relationship was unexpected not only from the fans, but it was unexpected to the both of them as well.

genre: fluff, smau

paring: Lando Norris x Influencer!reader

warnings! : swearing, attempted humour

fc: Lani Pliopa

a/n: part two! sorry for the long wait😞😞

prev | next

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris : hello??

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reacted with : 😮‍💨

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, bsfuser and 23,689 others

yourusername small dump📷🍪

view all comments

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liked by author

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

catsuperior111 : do you seriously not post anything??

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landonorris : lazy ass

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername posted a story!

caption: me and my gang😍🤌🤌✨

view replies!

landonorris why did it take me a while to spot you💀

landonorris you blend in

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: i'm literally so sorry for taking so long to release the second part i will be posting more frequent hopefully...😓

taglist: @iamahallucinationnn , @hurtblossom , @papaya-twinks , @kami10471633 , @ahnneyong

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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The House Guest 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Where can a man get a beer around here?” Bucky’s voice distracts you from watching the starchy boil of potatoes.

You step back look at him as he fills the doorway. The house was built in another time. People were smaller. Or maybe he’s just big.

“Oh, the beer stores about fifteen minutes away.”

“Great,” he says. “Phone can’t find it. Map’s blank.”

“Ah, yeah, up here, that happens,” you say. “Fifteen minutes driving. It’ll be at least an hour on foot.”

“Right,” the disappointment is crisp in his voice.

“I got a case of Molson in the fridge. Neighbour’s wife was sick and I helped out. Gesture of kindness... for anyone that drinks. You’re welcome to it.” You take a fork and poke at the potatoes. “It’ll end up in the sink anyway.”

He inhales audibly, “you don’t mind?”

“As long as you don’t. I don’t know if it’s any good. I’m not a beer person. Unfortunately, everyone else around here is,” you turn off the burner and lift the large pot.

You carry it to the sink and dump the potatoes into the strainer. A cloud of steam puffs up and sets a sheen over your face. You grunt and put the hot pot aside. You lift the colander and shake out the excess water.

You look over your shoulder and set it back down. He’s still in the doorway, watching. It must be strange. To be fair, you feel the same. You’re not used to company and he’s a far way from home.

You go to the fridge and break off a tall can from the six-pack. You bring it to him and his lips clamp sheepishly, “thanks. Coulda waited til dinner... you need help?”

“I got it,” you assure as you hold out the can.

He takes it an examines the label. “More of a Heineken man.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t know the difference,” you shrug.

You return to the sink and dump the potatoes back into the pot. He lingers at the door as he cracks the can. You cross to the fridge again as tension pinches the nape of your neck. You take out the butter and milk. The door sucks shut and you sniff as you back up.

“I... never been to New York,” you say to fill the void. “I hear it smells.”

“Stinks,” he agrees. “Born in Indiana but I ended up in New York. Home to me. Or... was.”

“Right,” you nod as you add some milk and butter to the potatoes and grab the masher. “I grew up south of here. Small town but closer to the city. Compared to this it was a metropolis.”

“It’s quiet up here.”

“Sure it,” you agree. “It’s nice. Most of the time.”

You put a lid on the pot to keep it warm and go to the stove. You turn off the steamer as the lid begins to tremble. The timer on the stove counts down.

“I can take you to the beer store tomorrow. Sorry but I hate driving after dark. The moose don’t exactly abide by the rules of the road.” You explain.

“It’s fine,” he takes a loud slurp. “It’s beer. It’s not...” he sucks his teeth loudly. “You know, I can’t even get drunk. The taste is just familiar.”

“Fair enough,” you hit the cancel button before the time can yell at you. “Dinner’s ready.”

You open the cupboard and take down two plates. You lay them out side by side and work at doling out the portions. His shadow hovers on the other side of the stove.

“Thanks, you know,” he dares to inch closer. “You already put a roof over me, now you’re feeding me.”

“No biggie. Just the way up here.”

He sniffs and gets closer, peeking at the pan as you carve out a hunk of meatloaf, “hadn’t had good home cooking since... well, I been living off the microwave crap or take out.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn him. “It’s nothing special, I manage. As long as the meat’s cooked, I’m not complaining.”

“Me either,” he agrees. You lift the plates but before you can bring them to the table, he stops you. He puts the beer on the counter and brings his hands to the edges of the plates. “I got it.”

You let him take the food and he brings it to the table. You watch him then scoop up the can and follow him. It’s going to be an adjustment. For both of you.

You put the Molson next to his plate as he’s reluctant to claim his seat, “dig in. It’ll get cold.”

You go back to grab cutlery and come back. You sit and hand him a knife and fork. He reaches with his left hand and hesitates as you look at his metal digits.

He clutches the cutlery and quickly retracts. You don’t mention it though you do wonder if he’s embarrassed. Why? Isn’t that what makes him special? A hero? Or whatever he is.

“This place is old. My ma had the same lintels on her doors in 1934.” He points with his fork to the door frame.

“Old on top of old. Those are actually from the twenties. No one was doing renos in the thirties, I’m sure you know that. Somewhere back there, one of my great great whatever’s put in a stove and fridge and wired the place up. Kept the fire stove though. Antique now.”

“Antique, like me,” he scoffs.

You nod, unsure how to respond. You hope you don’t think you were implying anything. You get a bit carried away. Your mother and grandmother were always into genealogy and you caught a bit of the bug.

Or maybe he thinks you’re over explaining. He was alive. He would know all these things and could guess the rest. You bite into the meatloaf and stare at the painted trim on the plate.

“Ma’s place was taken down. Lived near the base since dad was there and they flattened it for a firing range. Now the place in New York... drug den now. New York, glamourous, really. You’re missing out,” he tuts dryly.

You look up at him and give a tight-lipped expression, “sorry to hear that.”

“It is what it is. The world changes. With or without you,” he reaches for the beer and swigs. His blue eyes dart to the wall and sharpen. He put the can down with a bit of force and pats his chest. He feels around and grimaces. “I’m gonna have a--” there’s a crinkle and he slides out another sucker. “Well...”

He waves the candy at you and stands. You watch him silently and scrape your fork through the mashed potato. He twirls the stick between his fingers.

“It’s good,” he points to his plate, “really.” He clears his throat and shifts on his feet, “back soon.”

He turns and marches out. You look down at your food and slice into the loaf. The grainy scent of the beer wafts over. You take another bite as your forehead creases in thought. Sam’s a funny guy and this feels a bit like a joke.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #the house guest #winter soldier #captain america #avengers #mcu #marvel

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everythingne · 1 year ago

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christmas in monaco - cl16 [2]

Trying to even bring up boys with Max ends up in a fight. You and Charles have a heart-to-heart. Daniel and Carlos help you devise a plan.

warnings/notes: comparing Max to Jos during the fight, mentions of shit parents, one (1) jab at Kelly, the chapter is serious and then Daniel shows up and that goes to shit, the last bit of set up before i go full scooby-do search party through the doors on you guys

verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend

prev | next

You know you're in for it when you open the door to Max's apartment, groceries tucked lazily in one arm and coffees in the other and he's staring at you.

"What?" You ask as if you have no idea what he wants. You can see Penelope laying on the floor, coloring while some cartoon you've never heard of plays, and thus immediately switch to Dutch.

"[Why do you look like you're mad at me?]" You say, walking over to where he sits on the kitchen island, plopping down the groceries, and handing him the coffee you'd bought. Kelly's off doing god knows what today, leaving the two of you to watch Penelope before you return to your apartment next door.

"[Who is he?]" Max asks, taking the coffee with a nod of a thank you as he helps you organize the groceries. You knew posting that picture would cause this conversation, you and Charles had spoken about easing Max into the fact you were dating at all, and maybe it wasn't the best idea. Max had been fiercely protective over you since you were kids, you don't know why you assumed he'd stop now that you were adults.

"[I haven't told anyone yet. We're keeping it hush.] Okay?" You speak softly, setting down some things for dinner. Simple pasta, since Penelope had picked that over pizza--as long as you made her meatballs as well. You pluck the ingredients from the mess of other groceries, making sure you have everything as Max leans back in his seat.

"[Oh, so I'm just anyone now?]" Max lifts his hands in agitation, the same accusatory tone of your father's ringing in Max's voice. You swallow your vitriol, crossing your arms taught over Charles' hoodie you wear as you cross the room, then you tug up the red sleeves of the hoodie as you set down the ingredients for dinner by the stove.

"[Max, come on.]" You urge, hoping he'll drop it. But he's as stubborn as your father and as impatient as him too.

"[No, I feel like I have a right to be upset over this, how long have you two been seeing each other?]" His pointed glare at you as you whisk out a pan from under the stove makes your skin burn hot. You pause, mouth opening and closing as you slowly slide the pot onto the stove. If you say two years, does that link you to Charles too quickly? But if you lie, will Max see right through you? And you can't dodge the question, not here, not now.

"A couple months." You say. Yeah, twenty-four of them, then you scoff when Max makes a face, "[Stop acting like a child.]"

"[And how come Danny knows?]"

"[He found out on accident, and honestly I remember now why I didn't wanna tell you.]" You huff, filling the pot with water and clicking the burner on. You tie your hair up lazily, looking over at Max as your crack-open fridge next to the stove and then turn to grab the ingredients to make the sauce, "[you're treating me like a toddler.]"

"[You're my baby sister, I feel like I am kinda... obligated, to be concerned?]" Max's voice is sharp as you start to whip up the same sauce you've been making since you were fourteen. Max stands up and crosses the room to stand next to you, "[And I'm not treating you like a toddler. It's my job to protect you as your brother.]"

"[I'm a year younger than you! I'm not a baby, you just don't trust me, which is fucking stupid because I'm not the one dating a woman almost a decade older than me!]" You huff as you turn to Max, who tries to stammer some defense to his situation but you don't give him a chance to, "[and I don't know why you think I can't date drivers, by the way, you trust those guys with your life but not my heart?]"

"[Those guys are cheaters, I don't want you hurt.]" Max runs a hand through his hair, watching as you continue making the sauce. You can tell, just by his eyes, that he's thinking of the times you used to make him pasta after races growing up. You try to not think about the past.

"Who?" You ask, looking at the sauce and burning the red color into your retinas, mentally praying that he's not catching onto you.

"Lando, probably." Max huffs, stepping back, "Charles."

"Charles?" You hum, hating that you come to his defense immediately and not Lando's, "[The guy who just announced the girl he's been dating for two years?]"

"[He's done some interesting things.]" Max says in his defense and you can't help but laugh. You knew before Charles met you he had been a bit of a womanizer, or 'man-whore' as your friends so kindly said. But with you, it was like Charles was a brand new person.

"[You're so overdramatic.]" You deadpan, turning to add the noodles to the sauce and Max scoffs.

"[I'm trying to protect you so you don't end up with someone like Dad!]"

"[You haven't even met my boyfriend yet and you're assuming the worst! Why are you being such a dick, Max!?]" You slam the spoon down and then flinch, remembering Penelope is in the other room the second you do it. It takes a few seconds, and then her little head peeks around the doorway.

"Are you fighting?" She asks sweetly and you shake your head.

"No, Penny, it's fine." You try to smile at her, but Max seems to have taken another level of offense to everything.

"Y/n. [Go fuck off to your mystery boy, why don't you?]" Max takes the spoon off the counter. His cold shoulder isn't something new, but it's the way he says it, sounding like the harsh whispers your father would pass at you in public, makes you swallow hard. You walk across the room, grabbing your purse and car keys off the table before kneeling down in front of Penelope and kissing her hairline.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay honey? Sorry if I scared you when I slammed the spoon down." You squeeze her in a tight hug, closing your eyes as you feel Max's eyes burn into the back of your head.

"Okay, Tante Y/n." She smiles, throwing her tiny arms around you, "And it's okay, I thought you dropped it."

You step back, kissing her hairline again, before getting up and leaving the apartment in a breeze, coffee forgotten. Your hands fumble with your phone, finding Charles' contact and sending him a quick message as you try and calm your anger.

You have a spare key, and as you jiggle your phone and keys in your hands to find it, the door swings open and two arms wrap around you. Laughing softly, you bury your face into the fabric of Charles' sweater and sigh heavily. He's warm, smelling of the usual cedar cologne you'd bought for him a while back. He also smells weakly like his hair products and if you try to search for it, your perfume lingers on his neck.

"Hi, amour." You murmur into the fabric and he bends at the knee enough to scoop you up to carry you the few inches inside before popping you back on your feet as he uses one hand to push the door shut.

"Hi." He says back, stepping back and squishing your cheeks in his hands and peppers soft kisses to your hairline, "Sorry about Max."

"It's fine. He's just being overprotective again." You kick off your shoes and follow Charles to the living room, flopping down on his couch and burying your head in your hands.

"You know if..." Charles sighs, hand coming through his hair and then pausing as he scratches at his neck, "If it's gonna be easier for you, I can try and talk to him?"

"No... I should tell him, he's my brother. I just don't think now is a good time?" You say as Charles pops down next to you on the couch and you shift so you can lay his head in your lap as you kick your feet onto the coffee table to rest, "he just seems so... agitated."

"Because you're dating?"

"He's afraid I'm gonna end up with someone like Dad. That's the problem. He doesn't trust anyone with me and gives them no chances. He thought Jolie was a drug dealer for like, six months!"

"She's a teacher?" Charles turns to you and you can't help but just laugh because that's Max.

"I know!" You huff.

Silence lulls for a while, and then Charles sits up and grabs you to unceremoniously pull you against his chest as he lays you both down on the couch. your face squishes against his hands as he peppers soft kisses to your hairline, the apples of your cheeks, and your nose, before pressing one long kiss to your lips. Pulling back just enough to murmur,

"I wanna spend Christmas with you, properly, this year." He says against your lips, your eyes fluttering before he presses his thumb to your pulse to draw you back enough to make eye contact, "I want to be able to post you, to talk about you with everyone because you're so fucking amazing, and I wanna meet your siblings and your mom and go on holidays with you guys and have our moms meet because Maman and Arthur both adore you and..."

Charles drawls off for a moment, hands coming up to cup your face as he thumbs along the warm, delicate skin of your cheeks, "I want, one day, to be able to get down on one knee and give you my whole heart."

Your pulse rams under his touch, cheeks dusted red, eyes wide but happily smiling as he leans in to lock in a long kiss, then he peppers some pecks on the corners of your mouth.

"The problem is, I can't do anything without Max knowing about us. Two years of us dating without telling him is already bad enough and he's been in my life since we were kids--even if we absolutely hated each other at first." Charles sighs, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before letting you rest your head on his chest, "I feel terrible he doesn't know."

"But you know what he said." You sigh, closing your eyes against the warm fabric of his sweater--the grey one you'd bought for him a while back.

"I know, but we're either going to tell Max, or Max will find out." Charles sighs, "I prefer the first if I'm honest."

Even as you nod in agreement, you feel sick. The bubble of you and Charles had been safe for so long, that you weren't sure if you wanted to let Max in. But he was your brother, a year and fifteen days older, and you had told him everything up to this point. You'd be lying if you said you didn't also feel like shit for keeping Max out of the loop, but yet you feel like you have to.

"How'd Daniel find out?" Charles asks after a moment and he looks at you with those big eyes that make your heart thrum under your skin, love, and adoration seep from him and you don't understand at that moment how he could've ever been a womanizer when he looks at you like you hung the moon and stars just for him.

And then a small smirk peeks across his lips, "Because I know how Carlos did--"

"That one was your fault, Leclerc." You poke his chest, "Not locking the driver's room door was stupid."

"It was! But we're lucky it was Carlos."

"We're lucky we were only kissing."

"[We could've done more.]" He teases, making sure to really ramp up his accent as he speaks French so it's a bit harder for you to follow along, but you get the gist and whack his chest.

"Daniel saw me leaving, he was in the area doing media stuff." You explain, "I guess he saw me leaving."

"Oh, I thought it was because he moved in downstairs last week." Charles hums and you snap your eyes open and exclaim--

"What?!"

"Mhm. And Carlos lives in this building too." Charles looks over at you from where his eyes had been burning a hole in the ceiling, "Mon chéri, a lot of the drivers live in Monaco."

"I'm gonna lose it." You grumble, then pause, sitting up so you're hovering over Charles, one of his hands slides to support your waist immediately so you don't slide off.

"Carlos and Danny know." You say.

"Mhm."

"And... Carlos is your best friend--"

"--Arguably--"

"--and Danny is arguably Max's best friend, behind you."

"Uh-huh."

"...What if we ask them for help?"

"Absolutely not am I asking those two," Charles says and you huff.

"Come on! We clearly can't do it ourselves!" You exclaim, bouncing yourself on him with your arms, making him grunt as your body weight hits him.

"Daniel will tell us to do some sort of skit and Carlos will say for us to just say it!" Charles grips your waist and pulls you closer, "I don't need their shit advice."

"Maybe we need their guidance, and I promise it won't be bad! I promise! We can invite them over, have some wine and dinner, and voice our concerns--maybe they know something about Max we don't! Maybe they'll know he won't be mad or something."

"Y/n." He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"Charles!" You whine, "Look, if they give us shit advice, we kick them out and go back to the drawing board."

"Fine. But I'm holding you to this."

"I'm going to kick Danny out in about five seconds." You hiss to Charles and he laughs.

"Dude!" Danny shouts from where he sits on the floor, "I'm just saying, Max likes Charles. We all see it!"

"Believe me." Carlos hums into his wine, "There's a reason that... what is it... Lestappen shit is so popular. He's not gonna be mad its Charles. If it was like... me? Probably. Charles and Daniel are probably the only two drives you could date."

"And Yuki." Charles hums, "I don't think Yuki could do wrong."

"He might stab someone with the chef's knives he got for Secret Santa." Daniel points out and you snort.

"But you seriously have nothing to worry about." Carlos nods, "Honestly, you both are so stressed about it, I don't think either of you can think clearly."

You huff, "I feel like I can be stressed though. Max will either be fine with it or hate me forever."

"No, not forever, étoile." Charles hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he draws you close.

"I don't think Max can physically hate you. I think he'd explode." Daniel hums, "Remember when you were sick and he thought you were ignoring him but you just literally couldn't hear out of one ear and he almost had a crisis?"

"You remember that?" You blink at Daniel. That had been only shortly after you'd met Daniel, the first race of that season. You were so delirious you couldn't remember most of the weekend, but you remember Christian and Daniel holding that over Max's head for weeks after.

"I do because he almost lost his mind for like four hours thinking you were mad at him and ignoring him. And then you rolled over and woke up from your nap." Daniel finishes the unceremonious story and Charles and Carlos burst into high-pitched laughter.

"He didn't think to like, shake her shoulder?" Carlos asks between laughter, finishing off his wine and grabbing a bottle from the little makeshift bowl cooler you put on the floor. He pours himself another glass and then tops everyone else off before putting the bottle back.

"He knew she was sick, and Y/n specifically told him not to touch her or go near her while she was sick." Daniel explains, thanking Carlos before taking a sip of the wine, "It was ridiculous. And then he made her promise that she wasn't actually mad."

"It was pretty funny." You grin and Carlos nods.

"So then Daniel is right, Max can't stand you being angry at him. So he can't be angry with you. If he is, he's a hypocrite, and fuck him, obviously." Carlos raises his glass in mock toast as sarcasm bleeds through his sentence halfway through, "But I can't say he won't be mad. He might be furious when he finds out, you have explained how protective Max can be, but I think he'll feel better knowing it's Charles."

"Charles is like his best friend," Daniel hums, "if you're dating someone he trusts I'm sure he'll feel better about it."

"Didn't we just make this point?" Carlos turns to Daniel who nods.

"Yeah, but it's a good one, so make it again."

"Max trusts Charles so it's fine," Carlos says and you laugh, waving your hands.

"Okay, so how the fuck do we do this?"

The plan is simple but effective. And it takes a few words to describe; be exactly the same, but a bit less secretive.

And the best way to start that is via social media. Once again.

y/nverstappen made a new post! ↴

liked by carlossainz, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen, and 412k others..

y/nverstappen: he called me his star <3

joliejolie: CYOOTIE PATOOTIE WHHAAAT

user1: caption??? GUYS?? CAPTION??

maxverstappen: i still don't know who

charlesleclerc: thanks for using all my film

charlesleclerc made a new post! ↴

liked by ynverstappen, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 612k others...

charlesleclerc: never getting rid of this camera.

user2: get me someone who will do this for me.

danielricciardo: DUDE THERE ARE KIDS HERE.

⤷ landonorris: im covering oscar and logans eyes

⤷ logansargeant: yeah ok.

⤷ charlesleclerc: ill get worse

⤷ oscarpiastri: pls no

⤷ carlossainz: ill buy u wine if you do

⤷ danielricciardo: DONT ENCOURAGE THAT WE DONT NEED A FUCKING HOMICIDE ON OUR HANDS??? CARLOS???

⤷ ynverstappen: why is DANIEL on damage control??

user1: why is this the sweetest thing ever?

ynverstappen.jpg: make a jpg coward

⤷ charlesleclerc.jpg: who says i dont have one.

⤷ landonorris.jpg: its just priv.

⤷ danielricciardo: unpriv coward

⤷ charlesleclerc: ok ?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: YEAAA SECRET CHARLES PHOTOS!!

charlesleclerc.jpg made a new post! ↴

charlesleclerc.jpg: in her own world.

arthurleclerc: vomiting. put clothes on.

y/nverstappen: TWO shirtless photos. BRO.

⤷ charlesleclerc: oops.

maxverstappen: so she takes after you with not wearing a shirt?

⤷ charlesleclerc: low blow

⤷ ynverstappen: accurate blow tbh

landonorris: where is ferrari's pr manager.

⤷ carlossainz: no one can help her.

ynverstappen.jpg made a new post! ↴

y/nverstappen.jpg: some fuckin gems in my camera roll recently

charlesleclerc: omg finally a feature

danielricciardo: WHEN WAS THAT TAKEN I DO NOT RECALL

⤷ carlossainz: shit talk night w her and charles

⤷ danielricciardo: after the advice?

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: yes and u still owe me a new shirt >:(

maxverstappen: can you ever post a nice photo of me on here?

⤷ y/nverstappen: nope <3!

charlesleclerc: the banana is so old why now

⤷ ynverstappen.jpg: comedy

And by god, it starts working.

You're walking with Charles, hands intertwined as you wiggle through the tiny stalls in the small market that's popped up for the holidays. You both find a small corner to hide, stealing a chaste kiss and then you pop a chocolate strawberry in his mouth.

"Oh, damn." He hums, "You are right, these are amazing."

"I told you!" You grin, peeking behind your shoulder to see if anyone is watching. You swear you make eye contact with Max, but the longer you look the less the guy looks like Max so you turn back around.

"You good?" Charles rests a hand on your waist and you nod, taking a strawberry into your mouth and sighing.

"Mhm. Just hate hiding." You lean into his touch, letting him wrap a firm arm around your waist as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline.

"Hey, think about it this way." Charles says, "Soon we won't have to."

As you step back and agree, Daniel pops up next to you with big wide eyes--and not the usual excited ones you're used to seeing.

"Hey, Max, on your six." He pokes your shoulder and you make a face, before Daniel waves his arms around in some sort of odd gesture and hisses out to you, "Clock direction!"

"Oh-!" You whip around as Charles' hand moves off your waist and walking towards you is none other than your brother. Offering a soft smile and wave.

"Hey! Didn't think you'd be here!" You call and he pokes your arm, crossing his arms over his chest as you, Charles, and Daniel kinda scramble to make it look like nothing was going on.

"Kelly wanted to grab some flowers for the kitchen," Max hums. The two of you hadn't really apologized for anything said during the argument. In your family, arguments were never really apologized for, you kinda of just moved on from everything. So even if there was still a bit of an awkward twinge, nothing was said.

"Oh! Somehow Charles and Daniel haven't had the strawberries so I brought them here to try them." You smile, and someone's hand comes to your jaw. You blink as Charles uses one of the napkins to poke your cheek.

"You got chocolate on your face, somehow." He murmurs and you laugh, grabbing his wrist and taking the napkin into your own hands.

"Thank you, Charlie." You blot where he says the chocolate is and you notice Max giving you a weird look. Looking over at your brother, you go to say something before Daniel pulls Max away to look at something, mouthing to you both,

"Be more discreet, maybe?"

And you can't help the giggles that leave your mouth as you lean into Charles and he wraps an arm around you, laughing out apologies.

Yeah, Max was gonna catch on.

and now you and Charles had to get real good at lying and dodging watchful eyes. Monaco was a small little country, and now that it would be filled with more people who knew you, it was about to become a real challenge to see if you could make it through the holidays without anyone knowing or noticing.

Oh, especially when your Christmas Eve dinner was now going to have the Leclerc's stopping by as well.

taglist. thank you!

@angelayse @iamahallucinationnn @ilove-tswizzle @supremebaddietrash

#f1 fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #formula one smau

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whirlybirbs · 3 months ago

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— BURNER CELL ; 2 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: after a week of silence, you finally text dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 1.3k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, cancer mention, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader a/n: this stole all my concentration. siri play emo boy by ayesha erotica ← previous | the tag

It's the kind of week where, aside from class, human interaction isn't really on life's setlist.

It's also the kind of week where you rediscover making a meal of raw cookie dough straight from the package. Your econ textbook might have a stranglehold on you, but you make enough time to scarf down a few globs between chapters — after all, who needs protein or fiber when you're sure this five-year master's program will kill you first?

Your head hurts.

You slump against the counter, refilling your water bottle.

It's late now — and you can feel the quiet woes beginning to wane as you blink at the clock. By now, your friends are probably on their second or third drinks. You turned the invite down when they asked yesterday. Nuri tugged on your sweater sleeve and pouted the best pout she could manage, but you didn't budge.

I've gotta finish this paper, I'm sorry, Nur'.

You roll your jaw as you shut the faucet off, wandering to your freezer to wrangle some cubes from the tray. You bend it slowly, deep in thought. A few pop out, and you idly drop them into your water bottle with a twang.

You're staring at your phone. It's by your computer on the counter.

...You never did text Dabi.

You told yourself it was for the best — after all, you weren't looking for a catastrophic derailment of your life at the moment. Things are good. You're two semesters away from finishing University, your family's bakery back in Kyoto is doing well, and Dad's chemotherapy seems to be working. Things are good! It's almost fall, you've managed to stick to your monthly budget, and Mizu settled in happily to your new apartment.

No four-day poop strike like the last time you moved.

The large tuxedo cat in question ambles through the kitchen — brushing against your leg and letting out a long, low mrrooow.

Things are great!

You shouldn't text Dabi.

But... even if you did, it's not like it'd be the end of the world, right?

Wait, could he figure out where you lived from your number...?

You could use one of those anonymous texting services. Then, it wouldn't even be your number. Just some fake string of digits that allow you to satiate the bizarre curiosity that's been swirling in your head for the last week.

You're sure the novelty will wear off.

He's probably not even going to respond.

You're telling yourself this is stupid as you begin to set up an account with the service — the app boasts privacy, andunlimited calls and texts... You can't help but feel a little strange as you finalize your account.

It's done.

You import his contact with two taps and stare at the blank screen.

...Now what?

Are you really going to do this? I mean — he's a wanted criminal. He's a member of the League of Villains. If anyone ever found out you were in contact with him, you'd be toast. You'd have All Might kicking your door in and demanding to look through your phone and that mental image is enough to make you cringe. Say goodbye to your degree, goodbye toyour future as Sakura Flour's owner, and goodbye to freedom. You're sure the Safety Commission would place you on some watch list for the rest of your life, and frankly, your tweets are already questionable. You don't need more scrutiny.

...So, there are two options.

Delete his number and move on... or don't get caught.

You shouldn't text Dabi.

...But, you do.

Truth be told, he isn't shocked to see that cute Nuri girl hanging on Giran's arm again. The Broker seems pretty into her — the guy even mentioned something about taking her to a nice dinner during the week as a congrats on passing some big test. Dabi can't blame him. She's cute. Looks good in red. Not his type, but he can appreciate it from time to time.

However, Dabi is a little shocked that you're not a part of the group cheering in Giran's VIP section. There's bottle service being ordered, laughter, dancing, and a gaggle of pretty, five college girls — and none of them are you.

His lips twist into a scowl.

He decides he's leaving; his piss-poor drink is tossed back, and he dumps a bill down for the bartender before tugging his hood up and sucking his teeth.

He never liked this club anyway.

He's crossing the threshold of the back door, stepping into the damp and dark alley, when the phone in his back pocket buzzes. Someone's smoking a Marlboro by the dumpster. The familiar smell makes Dabi's fingers twitch.

He's tryna quit.

He tugs the phone from his pocket, no longer bothered by the splintered glass screen. His battery is at 13%. This fuckin' thing barely holds a charge anymore.

The number on the screen isn't one he knows.

Dabi's passcode is unnecessarily long. His phone clicks open as he narrows his eyes and shambles towards the opening in the alley. He doesn't know this number. He has everyone's cell memorized that he needs. Shigaraki, Toga, Spinner, Jin, Compress, even Giran. He doesn't keep contacts. Doesn't work when he's ditching phones all the time. He's got his noggin. That's good enough.

The text is one word:

hi.

Dabi's squinting at the text when another buzzes through.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:48pm sorry, this is bar girl

→ dabi ; 11:46pm thought u were never gonna txt me ur girlie nuri is here where r u

There's no way.

Your phone buzzes three times from its far place where it sits face down on the counter — you just walked away from it, hellbent on distracting yourself while you waited out the potential reply. You go rigid in your kitchen.

Did he seriously text you back immediately?

You purse your lips, then slink towards the phone. It buzzes again.

→ dabi ; 11:47pm c'mon don't leave me hangin pretty

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the string of replies. He has read receipts turned on like the psychopath he is.

You lean back against the counter, chewing your cuticle as you let out a ragged sigh. Nuri is with him? Or... No, they said they were going to that club you hate.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:4pam oh, are they at the bar?‎

Dabi's fingers move fast.

→ dabi ; 11:49pm nah in downtown club tropical or whatever the fuck it's called

You snort a little.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:49pm i hate that place. their drinks suck.

Dabi has started making his way back to their hideout — back to the shit box apartments they're renting above Kurogiri's bar. He's slow, idly texting as he weaves through the crowds of nightlife in Kamino Ward.

→ dabi ; 11:50pm a girl after my own heart where r u ur dodging my question u on a date or smthng????

He's insistent, you'll give him that. You cross your legs as you lean back against the laminate counter and chew the inside of your lip.

He's typing. It starts, then stops, then starts again.

When you start typing, the bubble disappears.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:50pm nah, got a huge paper to finish uni student, remember? sorry to disappoint

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ur missin out giran got bottle service him and nuri looked cozy

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:51pm not shocked she thinks she can fix him

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ooooo love when that happens poor girl

Typing...

→ dabi ; 11:51pm u think u can fix me? :p

The emoji makes your face break into a smile — it's so... not what you expected.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:52pm nah i'm not stupid

→ dabi ; 11:52pm just busy.... really lame of u tbh coulda been fun

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:52pm wasting cash on mid drinks is the opposite of fun

→ dabi ; 11:52pm i meant seeing me

Oh, what the fuck.

Why does that text make your face feel hot? Why does that text make you feel like you're not texting the League of Villain's #1 Arsonist, but some cute boy from class? He's not a cute boy from class. He's a danger to society.

You're glad you don't have the opportunity to reply. Your phone is buzzing in your hands, the haptic feedback lighting the neurons in your brain on fire.

→ dabi ; 11:53pm gtg phone is gonna die have fun with ur paper u loser hope u get a good grade or whatever i'll txt u later

You shouldn't have texted Dabi.

But you did.

#burner cell #mha dabi #bnha x reader #bnha dabi #dabi todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi imagine #mha imagine #bnha imagine #touya x reader #touya x y/n #dabi x y/n #this is ridiculously fun i love these two haters

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thewritingrowlet · 3 months ago

Text

The Twins and Their Queens pt. 1, ft. NMIXX Jiwoo

tags: blowjob, creampie

length: 11k+

author's note: this marks the start of another (mini) series, where we follow the lives of Shane and Shaun, Harvey's little twin brothers. For now, I think the series will have 3-4 parts just like The Outing Trip, but time will tell.

Jiwoo wakes up feeling excited today, and she has a very good reason for it: she has secretly made a promise to cook for you to celebrate the 2nd anniversary early, and today, precisely 7 days before the actual anniversary, is the day to do so.

She contains her excitement as she slowly and carefully gets off the bed. To be sure that you won’t wake up and spoil the surprise, she puts a spell on you—she even wiggles her index finger around like a wand for good measure. “Stay asleep, Shane—stay freaking asleep. You’re very tired after working all day yesterday, and you want to sleep until the day changes again.” She hears a hum escape through the small gap of your lips, which makes her confident that the spell is working. “Good boy,” she pats you through the air.

She tippy-toes her way out of the bedroom and gently closes the door behind her; she’s doing everything she can to make as little noise as possible. She looks towards the TV to find the small clock sitting on the shelf: 5:04 a.m. “Should be plenty of time,” she says to herself.

Jiwoo ties her hair in a bun as she prepares to start cooking. She grabs some items from the fridge and sets them on the counter next to her phone. “Right, so,” she opens her memo app and looks at the ingredients list, “noodles, boneless chicken thighs, potato, and onion—that should be everything.”

She drizzles a bit of cooking oil into a non-stick pan that she has prepared and— “oh, wait, the chicken.” She was supposed to cut the chicken into cubes first, so she turns off the burner and places the chicken on a cutting board. Jiwoo skillfully cuts the chicken and then turns her attention back to the pan. “Now we can really start,” she says.

Jiwoo throws in the small pieces of chicken into the hot pan and stirs it around, making sure that it’s cooked through. After that, she tosses in the potato and onion (that she has chopped into cubes secretly yesterday before you got home) and stirs again for a few minutes. Once the potato becomes a bit translucent, she drizzles some more oil and adds black bean paste into the mix. “2 cups of water, okay.” Jiwoo grabs a measuring cup from the cupboard and fills it with water, repeating it again after that to meet the needed measurements. “Hey, Nudle, start a 10-minute timer for me,” she says to her phone, and it responds to her in its catchy voice.

She decides that she’ll use the time to wash the dirty knife and cutting board and wipe the dining table clean. After that’s done, she lies on the sofa to catch her breath. “I hope he doesn’t wake up now,” she thinks to herself while eyeing the bedroom door. For some odd reason, suspense enters Jiwoo’s mind; it’s as if she was watching a horror movie. “Oh, God, please don’t wake up. Han Jaehyun, please don’t wake up—not when I’m this close.” The ring from her phone steals her attention, and she immediately turns it off, concerned that maybe you’ll hear it and wake up. “Okay, okay,” she takes a few deep breaths to calm down, “everything is fine—everything is just fine.”

Jiwoo makes her way to the kitchen again to cook the noodles, which is the second last step to this sneaky adventure. She brings a pot full of water to a boil and throws in the noodles. They’re not dried noodles, so cooking them will only take around a minute, maybe a minute and a half. After that’s done, she turns off the burner and— “FUCK!” She accidentally touches the edge of the hot pot when reaching for the strainer, thus forcing her to let out a scream of profanity because of the combination of shock and pain.

“Are you okay, babe?” Your sudden presence shocks Jiwoo to the core; she didn’t expect you to sneakily come out of the bedroom like this, hence the little jump. That said, she currently has a bigger problem on her hands—literally. “O-oppa,” she says weakly, in pain from the burn, “h-help me, please.” Jiwoo briefly explains that her fingers are burning, so you drag her over to the sink and run some water on her hands. “What were you up to, baby?” You ask in a gentle voice as quiet sobs escape your girlfriend’s lips. “I-I was making some jjajangmyeon for you, oppa.”

You don’t know what to feel right now: you’re touched that she’s making a surprise for you, but at the same time, you hate seeing her get hurt like this, even if it was an accident. “Oh my God, baby,” you feel like your heart is being wrung, “are you feeling better, though? Is this working?” She nods and pulls her hands away from the sink, not forgetting to thank you for the help. You quickly glance at her face and see that there are tears on her plump cheeks. You turn her face towards you and gently wipe her tears with your thumbs, putting on a kind smile in the process.

“You can continue, babe; I’ll watch.” You place a hand on the small of her back and keep an eye on her as she strains the noodles and divides them into the two bowls. Jiwoo then pours a nice amount of the black sauce mix into the bowl. “Let’s eat, oppa,” she says. You stop her from grabbing her bowl and instead pull her into a lifted hug.

“Thank you for all of this, baby; I appreciate everything, seriously,” you say right into her ear. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she replies in a sad tone, “fuck, you’re so fucking stupid, Kim Jiwoo.” “Oh, c’mon, don’t say such thing,” you deny her attempt at self-deprecation, “you just had a little accident, babe—it doesn’t take anything away from your efforts, trust me.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, and you take it as a sign that she accepts your consolidation. “Now let’s eat, baby. This looks so damn good, and I can’t wait to shove it into my mouth,” you say, hyping her up.

You lower her gently onto one of the two chairs at the table and spray kisses all over her head. “Oppa, please, the food will get cold,” she tries to make you stop. You do stop, but before you grab the bowls from the counter, you turn her head towards you and come in for a kiss. It feels like she’s not too interested in kissing, but when you try to pull away, Jiwoo chases you. “Thank you, oppa,” she says after breaking the little tangle. “The pleasure is mine, baby.”

You take the two bowls from the counter and place them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you say. Hearing you thank her again makes Jiwoo feel better about all of this, and it looks like she’s not too upset about “failing” the surprise. “I swapped out the pork belly for chicken, oppa,” she informs you as her chopsticks dance in her bowl, mixing the sauce mix with the noodles.

“Oh!” The first mouthful takes your soul high to the sky, making your body sink limply into the chair. “Oh, my—oh my God, Jiwoo-yah,” your eyelids shut tight as you savor the taste, “this is incredible—the chicken is soooo juicy, too.” Unfortunately, you can only chew for so long before you must swallow. Fortunately, you still have plenty of this heavenly food in your bowl. “Thank you for the meal, baby,” you repeat, “thank you so, so, so, so much.” Your sweetness makes Jiwoo feel better once again, and her lips, without her realizing, are forming a wide smile. “Th-thank you, oppa,” she fans her red cheeks to cope with the heat.

You keep your attention on your bowl, shoving more and more food into your mouth at an uncontrollable pace. “Howy shid,” you swallow the food in your mouth before continuing, “I don’t have the adjectives, but I know my brothers would fight to have a bite.” Jiwoo can’t take it anymore. She rushes to you and squeezes your cheek in playful aggression. “Youuuuuu,” she kneads your face like they were bread dough, “you are sooooo—arghhhhh.” You let out unintelligible sounds as your face contorts from her touch. “B-babe, stop,” you hold her wrists to halt her, “you haven’t even taken a bite, have you?”

With a sigh, she returns to her seat and puts some noodles in her mouth. She starts chewing in silence while her eyes roam around. “Hmm,” she rubs her chin as she thinks about the taste, “could use a bit more salt, but yeah, this is pretty good.” “Pretty good? What do you mean pretty good? This is very good,” you argue. Your girlfriend lets out a long sigh in defeat. “Fine,” she says, “thank you for the kind words, oppa—I love you.”

You leave your seat and pull her onto her feet. “You know what I want, don’t you?” You expect her to come in for a hug, but no, she’s getting down on her knees. “Wait, wait, not that one,” you pull her onto her feet again, “I meant this.” You wrap your arms around her and make sure your hands meet perfectly on the small of her back. You whisper all the praises you can come up with, and most importantly: “I love you, precious. I love you so, so much and thank you for cooking for us this morning.” Jiwoo responds by giving you a peck, letting you know that the praises are well received.

“Come on, oppa, let’s shower,” she pulls away from the embrace, “I’ll take care of this, so you can go first.” You thank her one more time—you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve thanked her so far—and make your way towards the bathroom while Jiwoo stays behind to wash the dishes.

In the silence, Jiwoo finds herself grinning widely. “That was a success in my book,” she giggles, “one point for Kim Jiwoo—whooo, let’s go!”

“Oppa, do you think I can work at Harvey-oppa’s company? Will he take me in?”

“First of all, why do you want to work for him? Is there something wrong with your current job?”

“Nothing is wrong, but I feel like working for him would make me feel more motivated—y’know, he’s family and all that.”

Your heart flutters a little when you hear Jiwoo refer to your brother as family; she understands the importance of family and sees your brothers as her own, and you’d like to think that this is a good sign for the relationship going forward.

You clear your throat to focus back on her. “Okay, so do you want me to talk to him? We can call him now,” you offer her some help. Jiwoo says that she’ll try updating her CV and send an application first, and if that doesn’t work, then she’ll consider resorting to nepotism—not the prettiest or classiest approach to say the least, but it does have a high chance of success. “Okay, you do that,” you say, “maybe I’ll join you one day.”

“Why aren’t you working for Harvey-oppa? Is that not what mama and papa want for you and Shaun-oppa?”

“Yes, but Yunho-hyung is paying me very handsomely, and I don’t feel like leaving his company at the moment.”

“Ckckckckck,” Jiwoo shakes her head, “imagine not working for your brother because someone else pays you more—couldn’t be me.”

“I need the money to buy a ring and a house for you, baby,” you say in your head while putting on a smile as a front. “Well, it’s time to go to work—let’s get changed, babe.” You and Jiwoo exchange pecks for good luck and walk towards the bedroom together to get changed.

Jiwoo boots up her laptop as soon as she arrives at her cubicle. “CV, CV—where is my CV,” she browses through a bunch of work-related folders to find it, and she finds this file named “CV KIM JIWOO” that was last modified around a year ago. Before she opens this file, she looks around to make sure no one is watching—it’d be awkward if someone found out Jiwoo is trying to leave this company for another.

Jiwoo scrolls up and down through her CV, trying to figure out which part is out-of-date, and she finds that only the experience and skills need to be updated. She adds one more bullet point to the list of experience and explains briefly the things she’s accomplished in her current company, such as projects she’s taken a part of and awards she’s received. Just those two things alone take up over half a page since Jiwoo is very good at her stuff and well-liked by her co-workers, which means that she’s very often included on projects—it also means that she makes a lot in bonuses since each project usually comes with one. Jiwoo’s cursor hovers over a particular project that she’s very proud of, considering its complexity and how well she did her part. “If this doesn’t land me a job at Harvey-oppa’s company, then HR is cooked in the head and he needs to find replacements,” she says to herself.

Moving on, she adds some new information to the skills section of her CV. She recently got 855 on a TOEIC test and is very proud about it, so she replaces her old score of 820 with the new one. “I’m sure someone of foreign descent like him will appreciate good English proficiency,” she thinks to herself. One thing to note, however, is that her application will first arrive in the hands of HR and not one of the big bosses like Han Harvey, and she hopes that everything written on her CV is enough to impress the lower-level managers—if she can help it, she wants to get the job legitimately, not through nepotism.

Before she wraps this up and starts working, she reads her CV one more time from the top. “Name is correct, date of birth is also correct, address is—hmm, should I use Shane-oppa’s address?”

While Jiwoo thinks about it, someone taps her shoulder from behind. “What the—oh my God, unnie!” Jiwoo just got caught off-guard and red-handed by her co-worker, Soodam, who must’ve snuck up behind her when she was deep in her thoughts. “Hey there,” Soodam greets Jiwoo with a smile, “looking to jump ship, cookie?” Jiwoo minimizes the window on her laptop and turns to Soodam with red cheeks. “P-please don’t tell anyone about this, unnie; I-I just want to explore my opportunities,” she says. “Do you think I can go with you, Jiwoo-yah?” Soodam’s question startles Jiwoo. “Y-you want to leave too, unnie?”

Soodam explains that she thinks she’s not getting paid enough for the amount of work that she does and would like to “explore her opportunities,” just like Jiwoo. “I’ll talk to my boy—” Jiwoo covers her mouth to stop herself, but Soodam catches the slip. “Boyfriend, huh? What can your boyfriend do for us?” Before the conversation goes even further, Jiwoo pulls Soodam closer towards her. “My boyfriend is the brother of this other company’s boss,” she whispers to her, “I told him I’d try doing things legitimately first before… y’know.” “I’m with you,” Soodam says, “good to know that you have insider ties, though.”

After parting ways with Soodam, Jiwoo pulls out her phone to text you. “Oppa, who do I send my CV to?” She sees that you’re not online currently, so she locks her phone and gets ready to start working for possibly her last day at this company.

You see Jiwoo’s text on your notification bar, but you don’t want to answer right away; you first need a second opinion on this matter, and there’s no one more qualified for that other than your dear sister-in-law. “Noona, I need you; please pick up,” you say while waiting for her to pick up the call.

“Hello, this is Kim Yooyeon.”

“Oh, yes,” you sigh in relief, “noona, this is Shane.”

“Yes, I know,” you hear a chuckle from her over the phone, “can I help you? Are you looking for your brother?”

“No, no, I’m not looking for him—I’m looking for you,” you say, “can we talk? Do you have time?”

“Yeah, sure—what do you need?”

“This morning Jiwoo asked me if she could work for Hyunjin-hyung because she said it’d make her feel more motivated because he’s family, and now I’m wondering if I should tell him about Jiwoo’s intentions.”

Your noona stays silent for a moment, trying to come up with a solution.

“Jiwoo said she wanted to do it legitimately, but I want to help her—you know, with insider ties” you pile on.

“Well, in that case,” she says, “I’d say just let her do it her way first, and if that doesn’t work, then we’ll consider other methods.”

“Do you know when Hyunjin-hyung is coming home, by the way?”

“No, I don’t,” she lets out a deep sigh, “I miss him more than anyone, I can assure you that.”

“Noona,” you get ready to move on to the next subject, “I want to get married.”

“Huh? What?” The suddenness most likely surprises Yooyeon. “Wait, what? Why so sudden? Have you even talked to Jiwoo about this?”

“No, I haven’t—I just envy the way the both of you are so in love with each other,” you say, “do you think I have a chance at marriage, noona?”

“What the h—well, yes, I do; I think you’re a nice guy and Jiwoo is a nice girl,” she says, “you know, you’re being such a terrible little brother right now—how can you ask a woman whose husband hasn’t been home for a week about marriage?”

You’re not sure where she’s going with this. “Sorry, what?”

”Ugh, forget it,” she says, and based on her tone, you can picture her rolling her eyes, “anyway, like I said, let Jiwoo do it her way and then we’ll see what things look like.”

You thank her for the help, and after exchanging goodbyes, you hang up the call, and now that you have an answer to this equation, you turn your attention to Jiwoo. Via text, you send Han Group’s HR’s email address to her. You end the text with, “You said you wanted to do this legitimately, so I wish you good luck, baby.” “Thank you, daddy,” she replies, “I’ll send it right now—I love you!” Your eyes blink rapidly in a combination of disbelief and startlement; she just called you daddy as if you were in the bedroom. “Time and place, Jiwoo-yah—my God.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.” You reply to her and delete her text just to be safe.

You always pick up Jiwoo at her office after work, and today is no different. You stop on the side of the road right in front of the glass front doors of her building and wait for her to come out. After a few minutes, you see her walking out with another woman. “Wait, that’s—”

You jump out of the car (after looking at the side mirror first) and meet the two women. “Oppa, this is my co-worker, Soodam-unnie. Unnie, this is my boyfriend,” Jiwoo introduces the two of you. Soodam’s eyes widen in shock, “wait, are you—” “No, I’m Shane—you’re thinking about my twin brother,” you cut her off, and you swear that you can see her sighing in relief.

For context, Shaun, who is always into older women, tried courting this Soodam lady a few years ago, only to find out that she was engaged to another man. That was almost disastrous, by the way; your older brother even had to intervene.

Jiwoo looks at the two of you in confusion but quickly moves on to another subject. “Soodam-unnie also sent an application to Harvey-oppa’s company,” Jiwoo briefly gives some context. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Inside, however, you wonder if it is indeed so, because Shaun works at Han Group, and considering that he is in a relationship with someone else, this could be problematic. “This is not your problem, Shane,” you think to yourself.

You shake hands with Soodam with a smile on your face—a smile that’s hiding awkwardness behind it. “Nice to meet you, miss,” you say, and she says the same to you. You shoot a quick look at Jiwoo, who immediately catches the signal, and the two of you get ready to part ways with Soodam. Jiwoo hugs Soodam and then walks with you to the car, leaving Soodam alone on the side of the road.

In the private space of your car, Jiwoo airs her confusion. “Do you know her, oppa? Why did you mention your twin?” You shortly explain to her the history of Shaun and Soodam and why Soodam was visibly startled to see you. “So Soodam-unnie reacted like that because she must’ve mistaken you for Shaun-oppa—did I get that right?” “You did, baby,” you say, “and now I’m concerned that they’ll see each other again if she moves to Han Group.” “My God.” Jiwoo leans back in her seat as she tries to process this shocking reveal. “Don’t tell Seeun-noona about any of this, babe; we don’t want to get Shaun in trouble,” you say to her.

After catching up with your family’s little history, Jiwoo mentions that she wants to eat out for dinner. You ask if she has preferences, and she says that she wants to get tteokbokki. “You and your tteokbokki, babe—you’d think you would’ve got sick of it by now,” you comment, earning a giggle and a playful slap from her.

After a short drive, you find yourself stopping in front of an alley where Jiwoo’s favorite tteokbokki restaurant is located. You get out of the car with her and make your way towards the restaurant. She’s been to this place a lot; the middle-aged lady at the cashier (who you assume is the owner) instantly recognizes her and guesses that she wants the usual.

There aren’t that many empty seats at the moment; it seems like a lot of people have the same idea and want to have tteokbokki after work. You scan around the interior and find a table in the far corner of the restaurant, whose occupants are about to leave. They seem to have left the table clean, and you fast-walk towards it to claim it before anyone else—you’re the designated seat finder in this relationship, so leaving Jiwoo behind to sit first is A-okay.

Jiwoo joins you shortly after and sits across from you. Usually, she’d rather sit next to you, but the space doesn’t really allow that; to your left is the wall and to your near right is another table. She rests her head on the table, looking very exhausted after working today. “Tired, baby?” You pet her head gently, running your hands through her hair the way she likes it. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, “I had a lot of work today.” You praise her for working so hard all the time, and even though you can’t see it, she’s probably grinning in pride right now.

You tap Jiwoo’s arm to get her to straighten her posture as a server is on his way to you with your orders. He places a large bowl of tteokbokki and another large bowl of popcorn chicken somewhat crassly—he also has a sour face. “Yeah,” Jiwoo says, “he isn’t known for being the nicest guy around.” You’re starting to feel disgruntled; if you were alone, you wouldn’t be so mad to see poor service, but considering that you’re with a loved one, you feel angrier—no one gets to be rude and ruin the vibes when you’re with those you love. “I don’t mean to be arrogant, but we can easily buy out this place and replace that guy,” you snark. “That is arrogant, oppa,” Jiwoo rubs the back of your hand gently to calm you down. “Please, it’s okay—he’s probably just tired, oppa, like we are.” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and apologize for your attitude.

Your girlfriend picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. As you watch her eat, you can feel the heat in your heart gradually dissipate, and a smile is forming on your face. She picks up a piece of tteokbokki and immediately chases it with a large piece of chicken. You decide to put down your chopsticks and enjoy the sight of your girlfriend eating in front of you, not caring if she finishes the whole meal by herself.

It seems like she’s very hungry too; it took her until halfway through the meal to realize that you haven’t eaten at all. “Oh my God, oppa,” she exclaims, “why aren’t you eating?” “Ah,” you’re snapped out of your trance, “I was too busy watching you eat, baby.” You’re torn between two options, though: do you want to get some food into your belly after working all day, or do you want to keep watching your girlfriend eat oh-so-cutely?

“Say aaah.” Jiwoo decides for you by guiding a piece of chicken towards your mouth, leaving you with no choice but to open your mouth. There’s a grin on your face as you chew, and you can see her grinning too; you realize that only Jiwoo deserves your attention right now—it doesn’t matter if anyone else tries to ruin the mood; she’ll easily draw a smile on your face. “Thank you, baby,” you say to her, “I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she replies, “now eat, please.”

You get back to your car with Jiwoo after finishing the meal. “Would you like to get anything else before we go home, baby?” “No, let’s just go home, please.” Based on her tone, you can tell that she only has little energy left in her tank. “Home it is.” You turn the steering wheel to the left and place a foot on the accelerate pedal to join the moving lane.

The traffic isn’t too bad; it’s just that this specific traffic light is infamous for its long queues during rush hour. In the corner of your eyes, you see that your girlfriend is sleeping in her seat with her mouth slightly open. Unfortunately, it seems like her current position isn’t too comfortable, but there’s nothing you can do at the moment. “We’ll sleep properly at home, alright, babe?”

After getting through the traffic light, you pick up the speed, aiming to get home as soon as possible so that Jiwoo can rest properly. You take advantage of slower drivers and change lanes whenever possible, earning some honks from other drivers occasionally. “Screw you—pay attention to the road next time,” you comment.

You go through the last turn before you reach your apartment building and quickly go up to your designated parking spot. Once your car is neatly parked, you turn off your car and turn your attention to your girlfriend, who is still asleep. You then rush to your unit with Jiwoo’s limp body in your arms.

“We’re here, baby.” You lower her gently onto the bed, and she’s still asleep. You prepare a T-shirt and shorts for her to change into for later. “I’ll shower first, babe.” As you’re leaving, however, you hear a grunt of disapproval from your girlfriend. “Oppa,” she calls to you with raspy voice, “don’t leave me.” You join her in bed and pull her into a cuddle. “Wait, don’t you want to change first, babe? I prepared some clothes for you.” You can tell that she doesn’t want to move too much but her work clothes are anything but comfortable. “Help me change, oppa,” she says.

“May I?” You ask for consent, which Jiwoo gives in the form of a nod. You start unbuttoning her shirt from the top. With Jiwoo’s cooperation, you free her arms from the restraining sleeves of her shirt, and if it weren’t for her bra, she’d be entirely topless right now. You move to take off her trousers, but first: “may I, baby?” Jiwoo nods to your question, expressing her consent one more time, so with that, you unzip her trousers and pull them down her legs until they’re properly off.

Jiwoo lifts her butt off the bed when you try putting on a pair of shorts for her. “Last one, baby.” You put on a T-shirt for her, and she cooperates once again by putting her arms through the sleeves herself. “Good girl,” you peck her on the forehead, “my turn now.”

You change into a T-shirt and shorts before joining your girlfriend in bed. “Hngh,” Jiwoo grunts again while reaching her arms out, asking to be held. “Of course, baby; I won’t forget about you.” You pull her into your embrace and close your eyes, savoring the lingering scent of her perfume from this morning. “Let’s rest a bit, okay? We can worry about other stuff later,” you say.

Something is telling you to open your eyes, so you do—what time is it, even? In your half-asleep state, you look around the dark bedroom with your half-open eyes. You can see and feel that Jiwoo is still in your arms, which is a good start. You gently run your hand on her back, just the way she likes it.

If there’s anything that could be considered “wrong” with you, it’s your inability to keep your hands off your girlfriend, but at least she’s okay with it most of the time; physical contact is one of Jiwoo’s favorite things in the world.

“Oppa,” she calls to you suddenly, “I want to be with you forever.” You really want to say that you’re working on it, but you don’t want to spoil your plans, so for now, you give her a basic answer: “I want to be with you forever as well, baby; there’s nothing more that I want for us than that.”

“Do you think we have Harvey-oppa’s approval?” Ah, she’s concerned about your older brother, the honorary head of the Han family. “You do,” you assure her, “he and Yooyeon-noona know what kind of person we are. Not only that, but they also know that we’re in love with each other.” Jiwoo lets out a hum, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

“Their anniversary is around the corner, right?” Jiwoo moves on to the next subject. “Huh, you’re right,” you just realized now. “We should call them, oppa; you know, say congratulations and all that,” she suggests. “We’ll call them this morning before leaving for work, okay? Let’s try going to sleep again for now.” You peck her head a few times and close your eyes again.

The morning rolls around, and you wake up after what felt like a few minutes of sleep (it was probably a few hours in actuality). “Baby, sweetie, cookie—let’s wake up, hey?” You poke Jiwoo a few times to wake her up, and she slowly opens her eyes. “I’m tired, oppa,” she says. You look at your phone to see if she has time for extra rest. “You have 30 minutes, baby—I’ll take a shower first while you sleep, okay?”

While standing under running water, you remember Jiwoo telling you that your brother’s anniversary is coming soon. “I should call them after this,” you think. You quickly finish showering and check up on your girlfriend again.

“Baby, I’m sorry but your time is up.” You hate breaking it to her, but you have no other choice. With a groan, Jiwoo gets off the bed and wraps her arms around your body. “Take care of me, oppa.” You’re not sure what kind of taking care of she needs, but you think that it’s probably best to have her shower first. You lift her by her thighs and carry her towards the bathroom.

She lightly bites you in the neck when she notices that you’re taking her to the bathroom. “Oh my God, I hate you sometimes—why are you doing this to me, oppa?” “Sorry, baby, but this is necessary.” You gently lower her onto her feet and make to leave the bathroom area. “Wait!” Jiwoo halts your steps by hugging you from behind. “Please—please don’t leave me.”

You’re not sure why she’s behaving like this. “Baby, are you okay? You don’t act like this usually.” “I-I don’t know,” she says, “I just don’t want to be left alone.” “Okay, so do you want to shower with me, or do you want me to wait here?” Jiwoo takes a sniff and lets out a grunt after. “You already showered, so I’ll just shower alone—wait here, please.”

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and walk backwards to the bathroom, keeping her eyes on you the whole time. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” You sit on the floor in front of the bathroom and simply wait for her to shower. “What’s going on with Jiwoo, man?” You ask yourself, wondering why she’s acting like this out of nowhere.

You feel someone poking you on the knee. “Oppa, what are you doing?” You open your eyes and see Jiwoo, fresh out of the shower with wet hair, kneeling in front of you. “Did you fall asleep, oppa?” “I must’ve,” you rub your eyes to get yourself together, “you’re done showering, baby?” Jiwoo holds your hands and tugs, signaling to you to stand up, so you do just that. She then comes in for a hug, placing her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for being difficult, oppa.” You assure her that she has nothing to be sorry for. “You’re always so kind, oppa—thank you,” she says.

You lie down on the sofa while Jiwoo dries her hair, and you’re reminded again that your brother and his wife, Yooyeon, are celebrating their anniversary today. You come up with a congratulatory message and send it to Yooyeon. “I think I’m looking to propose by the end of the month, noona,” you add.

The app says that she’s typing, and the timing couldn’t be any more perfect: Jiwoo is asking if you can video call your sister-in-law. “Sure, let’s do it,” you say. Once she’s ready, you start the call.

“Hey, guys,” your brother greets you from the other side of the screen, “good morning!”

You take the speaking baton first. “Good morning, hyung and noona—congratulations on the 6th anniversary, guys!”

Harvey thanks you for the congratulations, and in return, he asks how you and Jiwoo are doing. “We’ve been very good, oppa,” Jiwoo takes the baton from you, “I know we’re not married yet, but our 2nd anniversary is around the corner.”

Truthfully, you forgot that it is indeed around the corner; you shoot a glance at the sleeping TV, which screen saver says the date and time, and see that your anniversary is 6 days away.

“Ask Shane to take you on a dinner, Jiwoo-yah; I’m sure he has the money for it,” your brother says, snapping you out of your little trance, and the gears in your head start turning, trying to quickly come up with a plan to celebrate your anniversary.

Through the video call, you see that your sister-in-law is aiming her camera at the food on their table. “Ahhhh, unnieeee!” Jiwoo slaps your thighs repeatedly, reacting hysterically to the Morningside logo on the bowl shown on the screen. She promptly turns her attention to you and whispers something right in your ear. “Oppa, can we go to Morningside this weekend?” You respond to her suggestion with a nod. “We’ll join you next time, unnie—we have other things to do today,” Jiwoo says.

You take turns with your girlfriend to start conversations with your brother and his wife, and after a few minutes, you notice that she’s almost ready to end the call. “Harvey-oppa, Yooyeon-unnie,” Jiwoo says, her tone sweet and sincere, “congratulations on the anniversary, seriously. I hope me and oppa get to live happily together like the two of you.” “Thank you for the kind words, cookie,” Harvey says, “we’re rooting for the both of you—see you soon!”

You exchange goodbye waves with the people on the other side of the screen then end the call right after. “Visit us this Saturday for Jack-in-the-box,” says a text message from Yooyeon, making your heart rate climb. “What does that mean, oppa?” Jiwoo points at your screen, right where the floating notification is. “I-I don’t know,” you answer nervously.

You’re nervous because truthfully, you know what it means: you, Shaun, and Harvey came up with that term to secretly refer to “getting a ring and proposing” when Harvey was courting Yooyeon a few years ago. So the fact that he’s said it now after all this time must mean that he’s in full support of your relationship and encourages you to commit further, which is both exciting and nerve-wracking.

“You believe in us, don’t you, hyung?” You say in your head while trying to maintain a straight face. “You’re acting weird,” Jiwoo comments with a chuckle, “first it was me, and now it’s you—what’s wrong with us today, oppa?” You let out an awkward chuckle, still trying your best to not show your nervousness. “Well, I guess we’ll find out,” you deflect, “c’mon, let’s go to work.”

Before you know it, it’s now Saturday. Your brother invited you to his house a few days ago for Jack-in-the-box, a secret term that hasn’t been mentioned in years—one problem, though: how do you go to his house alone, because Jiwoo most likely would want to tag along if she’s free.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing your chin to come up with something to dissuade your girlfriend from coming along, and that’s when she walks out of the bedroom with a question. “Oppa, Soodam-unnie asked me to hang out at a café with her—can I go?” “Of course, baby,” you put on a smile for her, “do you want me to take you there?” She takes you up on your offer and gets back into the bedroom to change, and you let out a deep sigh of relief; you don’t need to fool her into not tagging along because she already has something else to do.

After dropping off Jiwoo at the café, you start driving towards your brother’s house, which is quite close from where you are. There’s little-to-no traffic today, since it’s the weekend and still early—it’s barely 10 a.m.

You pull into his driveway next to his car and get off yours. “Hi,” your brother greets you from the front door, “come in, we need to talk first.” You follow him inside but see no sign of his wife. “Where’s noona?” He says that she just got out of the bathroom and will join you soon.

Your brother takes a seat on the sofa while you take the cushion chair to his left. “Oh, you’re here,” Yooyeon greets you, “this must be for the Jack-in-the-box thing.” She takes the empty spot next to her husband. “Can one of you explain what that means?” Harvey explains briefly what it means: “we’re also going to help him buy a ring,” he adds.

“Do you think you’re ready for this?” Your brother’s question makes you nervous. “I do,” you answer, “I, erm, I think we’re in love, a-and, you know—” The way you’re stuttering makes them laugh. “Well, I hope that you’ll be less nervous as the day goes.” Harvey stands up from his seat, and when the (honorary) head of the family stands up, you follow. “Let’s go get breakfast first and then we’ll visit the jewelers, hm?”

You depart in your brother’s car to ensure maximum secrecy—Jiwoo wouldn’t recognize this car if you happen to pass in front of the café she’s at. You take a seat in the middle row behind your brother because obviously the front passenger seat isn’t vacant. “We haven’t done this in so long, haven’t we, hyung?” Your question makes Harvey smile. “We haven’t, true—we’ll do this again with everyone once Shaun and Seeun return from New York.”

You’re promptly reminded of your meeting with Soodam. “Hyung, I met Soodam-noona a few days ago.” His unique, sharp eyes look at you through the rear-view mirror of the car. “Yeah? What did she say?” “She thought I was Shaun,” you answer. You hear a deep sigh coming from him. “That’s fine, I guess—it could’ve been worse.” Yooyeon is curious: she doesn’t know who Soodam is, and in turn, doesn’t know what Shaun has to do with her. When she asks, Harvey explains in longer form their history, and at the end, you see her placing a palm on her face.

You, Harvey, and Yooyeon sit together at a 4-person table at Morningside, which happens to be somewhat empty currently. Here are the things you and your company ordered: two Singaporean-style toasts, two congee with char siu beef, and three hot lychee tea.

“Shane,” Harvey whispers to you while looking over your shoulders. “Jiwoo is here.” You turn around in shock, and would you look at that: she is indeed here—Soodam is also here. “Oh, shit, the surprise is spoiled,” you think, and you feel like you understand how Jiwoo felt when her surprise was spoiled a short while ago. “She doesn’t see us, though,” you comment.

While it is true that Jiwoo doesn’t see you, Soodam does and tells Jiwoo about your presence. She jogs towards your table and gives you a peck on the lips. “Oh my God, what a crowd—hello, my name is Kim Jiwoo. Pleased to meet you,” she says, earning a collective laughter from your group. “Crazy coincidence, isn’t it, baby?” “It is—we could’ve gone together, oppa.” Jiwoo then asks again if she can hang out with Soodam, and obviously, you let her go. You’re not holding her back from hanging out with her friends (aside from her male co-workers who have tried shooting their shots but that’s a story for another time).

“God,” you let out a sigh of relief, “I thought it was blown.” Your brother lets out a laugh, fully understanding of your feelings. “Keeping a secret from your beloved lady is never easy—ask me how I know” he adds, and Yooyeon joins him in laughing.

The smell of butter steals your attention, and when you turn your head around, you see a server walking towards your table. “That must be your toasts, noona,” you say, and indeed, it is her toasts. You help the server distribute food to your brother and his wife. “The tea will be out after this—please kindly wait,” the server says, already way kinder than that guy working at the tteokbokki restaurant. “Sure, no problem—thank you,” you reply with a smile.

Yooyeon is the first to both take a bite and react to her food, letting out satisfied hums while chewing her first mouthful. “I really can’t have enough of this,” she comments. Harvey reacts to that by giving her a peck on the cheek—a cute sight, really; you love seeing your brother interacting with his wife and how in love they are with each other.

After a short ride, the three of you arrive at this seemingly none-of-the-ordinary jewelers.

You ask Harvey if he’s been here before. “Hm? Oh, yeah,” he says, “I bought a necklace for Yooyeon-ie from this place a few months ago.” “You did, hon?” Yooyeon scratches her head as she tries to remember. In playful aggresiveness, your brother pinches his wife cheeks for failing to remember. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She exclaims frantically, and your brother stops right away. “Come on, let’s find something for our cookie,” he says, leading you and Yooyeon inside.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Han,” a staff member in a neat three-piece suit greets your brother. He then takes turns to shake your and Yooyeon’s hands. “My little brother here is looking for a ring,” Harvey says. “Do you know the measurements, sir?” The staff turns his attention to you. Your eyes land on your sister-in-law as you think about Jiwoo’s finger size. “Should be similar to my noona here,” you say. Yooyeon takes off her ring and passes it to the staff who then takes a measurement.

“Size 6, hey?” He shuffles some shelves around and place one that’s packed with brilliant rings on the top. “Here are the options we have currently, sir—we can also make a custom ring but that will take longer and cost more,” he says. Harvey can tell that you’re nervous about the price, so he whispers in your ear that he’ll take care of it. “Your job today, Shane, is to choose one that you really like,” he says. “Thank you for this, seriously,” you whisper back to him, getting a soft pat on the back from him.

You first point out to the staff member that you’d rather choose from this abundance of choices than wait for a custom-made ring. “Can I look at that one, please? Row 3 column G,” you say. You flip it around in your hand, inspecting small diamond main piece. “Jiwoo doesn’t like flashy stuff, so I think this is definitely one of the choices for now,” you comment. You place the ring on the glass counter and start looking for other options. “Row 5 column C, please,” you say. Upon closer inspection, however, it doesn’t look as good as the first one.

Initially, you thought that you should find 3 rings to choose from, but aside from the first ring your eyes landed on, nothing else catches your fancy. “Guys, what do you think?” You turn to Harvey and Yooyeon for opinions. Yooyeon defers; she thinks that you should choose what you like. Her husband, on the other hand, thinks that your choice is a good one. “I would buy that if I were proposing—I’m not, just so we’re clear,” he adds, laughing at the end. “I’ll take this, please.” You hand the ring back to the guy, earning a praise for your “good eye” from him.

Today is the day of your 2nd anniversary with Jiwoo. Not only that, today is also the day she’s doing an interview for the job at Han Group she has applied for.

Jiwoo says that she has permission from her manager to take today off so that she can go to the in-person interview. She also asks you to drop her off at the Han Group building on your way to work. “Sure, baby—let’s leave after this, okay?”

For the interview, Jiwoo opts for a white shirt and a black skirt—a very typical interview attire worn by fresh graduates looking for a job. She walks into the building and sees a reception desk that has someone attending it. “Excuse me, miss,” she says quietly, “my name is Kim Jiwoo. I’m here for an interview.” After looking at the screen in front of her, the staff tells Jiwoo to go up to the 4th floor, where an interviewer will join her soon.

Jiwoo sees an open room with a big conference table on the 4th floor. “This is it, probably,” she thinks. It is when she’s right at the door that she sees the short list of today’s interviewees: Kim Jiwoo and Lee Soodam. She also sees that each person will be given around an hour for the interview.

“Hello. You must be Kim Jiwoo.” A female around her age enters the room, making Jiwoo jump a little thanks to the shock. Her eyes widen when she sees the person behind this lady. “Hi, cookie. How are you today?” Harvey’s sudden presence stuns Jiwoo: no one mentioned that he’d be in the room where it happens—what if she lets him down? What if he thinks that Jiwoo isn’t needed at Han Group?

“Mi-mister Han,” she stutters, “p-pleasure to meet you, s-sir.” Harvey laughs. “You thought I wouldn’t know, Miss Kim? I have eyes and ears everywhere, you know,” he says. Jiwoo remains quiet as Harvey moves to take a seat at the other end of the table. “Please, there’s nothing to be nervous about. We’ve known each other for a while now, haven’t we?” “Y-yes, sir,” she replies nervously. Harvey shows her a kind smile. “Well, let’s start now, Miss Jo,” he says to the interviewer.

Miss Jo, paying little attention to personal details, throws some work-related questions at Jiwoo, and she answers each one as best she can, glancing occasionally at Harvey. “Wow, their smiles are very similar,” she thinks. Miss Jo then turns to him, passing the speaking baton over. “So, Miss Kim,” he starts, “can you tell me what you’re looking for at this company?” Jiwoo’s heart races as she tries to come up with an answer. “With respect, sir, I think working at Han Group w-would make me be more motivated,” she says the first answer that comes to mind. “Really? How so?” In her head, she wonders if she should say the same thing she did to you: because Harvey is family. “Ah, whatever—here goes nothing.” She takes a deep breath and answers: “b-because I’d be working for fa-f-family, s-sir.” Her stutter was worse than earlier, making her want to slap herself for it.

Harvey grins. “Family, Miss Kim?” He asks, and she’s starting to regret saying such answer. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “First, I like that you refer to me as family—I’m sure your significant other would be delighted to hear it if he was here. Second, I think that someone can only be really motivated about work if they enjoy and find satisfaction in it. Sure, working for family sounds like a good time, but at the same time, there’s the burden of relationship in that; there’s a chance that you’ll find it difficult to make objective decisions or critics because, well, they’re family.”

Jiwoo can’t help but stay silent during Harvey’s speech, feeling the pressure of the big boss’ commanding presence. “Any opinions on that, Miss Kim?” “N-none, sir. I understand what you said, and I think it made sense,” Jiwoo replies. Harvey whispers something to Miss Jo, and after a short back-and-forth, she leaves her seat and walks out of the room.

Harvey summons Jiwoo to sit next to him, and she complies immediately. “Jiwoo-yah,” he says, his tone softer than earlier, “why are you here, seriously? Answer honestly, please." She wipes the stray tear her glassy eyes released. “I-I meant it, oppa; I want to work for you because you are family,” she emphasizes. He puts his hand on Jiwoo’s, rubbing the back of it gently, the exact same way you usually do. “If you’re so sure, then I’m not stopping you—welcome to Han Group, Jiwoo-yah.” Jiwoo, without asking for permission first, jumps to hug Harvey. “Thank you so much, oppa. I won’t let you down, I swear,” she says tearily. “I know, cookie,” he replies, “go home for now, your work here can start some time else.”

As soon as you enter your apartment, a fragrant smell enters your nostrils. “Jiwoo-yah, where are you, baby?” You hear her reply from the kitchen area, so you drop everything at the door and make your way towards her.

“Welcome home!” Jiwoo hugs you warmly as a welcome. “Thank you, baby—what is this smell, by the way?” Over her head, you see that there’s a pot sitting on one of the burners. In it, there’s rice cake swimming in a bubbling red sauce—oh, there’s popcorn chicken on the counter, too. “You hated the service at that tteokbokki place, so I made it for you,” she says. You barrage her head with kisses, showing your appreciation for her efforts. “You always spoil me with your cooking, baby,” you say at the end.

Your girlfriend asks you to sit at the table while she gives final touches to her cooking. She then proceeds to put some in two bowls and places them on the table. “Thank you for the meal, baby!” You grab the chopsticks she has provided and immediately put a piece of rice cake in your mouth. “Oh, that’s so good.” You then chase it with a piece of chicken. “Wow, that’s also really good.” Your eyes land on Jiwoo, and you see that she has her happy face on; her plump cheeks are squished by the wide grin on her face.

“There’s no way it’s that good,” she thinks you’re exaggerating. “Why are you putting yourself down? Just take a bite and see for yourself, why don’t you,” you say, and based on your tone alone, Jiwoo can tell that you’re starting to get annoyed by her attitude. “It’s not that, oppa; it’s just that when you cook, your food doesn’t taste as good as when you buy it,” she reasons, her soft tone different to yours.

She takes a mouthful of food and thinks about the taste as she chews. “It is good,” she shyly admits, “I see why you like it so much.” “See? Don’t put yourself down so much next time, okay, baby?” Jiwoo nods and promises that she’ll keep it in mind and never do it again.

“Oppa,” she moves on to another subject, “I got the job at Han Group.” “Yeah? How did the interview go?” Jiwoo first mentions that Harvey was present during the interview and how surprising it was for her to see him. “I had a feeling that you wouldn’t have gotten away with being sneaky,” you say, adding a chuckle at the end. “You didn’t say anything to him, though, right?” No, you didn’t say anything to anyone about Jiwoo’s sneaky job search—it’s just that your brother does have eyes and ears everywhere.

After dinner, you find yourself chilling on the sofa with Jiwoo. She’s resting her head on your thighs while her hands are busy with her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. You, on the other hand, can’t be bothered with it; you have a bigger thing to think about: how do you propose to Jiwoo? “Should I take her to the park? Do I just do it here?” Your brain gets busy trying to figure it out. “Fuck, man, what do I do?”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down, and apparently, it’s loud enough to reach Jiwoo’s ears. “Are you okay, oppa? Do you need anything?” Nervousness is peaking in your head right now and you’re starting to sweat. “Can we talk, baby, please?” Your girlfriend lifts her head off your lap and looks at you nervously. “What do you want to talk about, oppa? Am I in trouble?” You close your eyes and take another deep breath. “First, I’d like to apologize for being so boring like this, but I’m just stumped and don’t know what to do,” you begin, making Jiwoo both nervous and confused.

You get off the sofa and get down on one knee. “Miss Kim Jiwoo,” you fish the small velvet box out of your back pocket, “will you marry me?” She stays silent. Her palm is covering her mouth. Her eyes are as wide as they can be. This isn’t quite the reaction you were hoping for, and as you wonder if you’ve made a bad move, your eyes wander off towards her knees.

“Yes, I will,” is her answer. When your eyes meet with her again, you see that tears are coming out of her eyes in abundance. “I will, oppa—I will marry you,” she repeats. Seeing her cry makes you emotional, and without command, your eyes start releasing tears. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come up with something grander for my proposal,” you say, feeling regretful. She joins you on the floor and hugs you tightly. She assures you that it’s okay and you have nothing to worry about. “It doesn’t take away from your efforts, oppa,” she uses your words against you. Deep inside, however, you promise that you’ll propose again with a grander prelude—Harvey proposed to Yooyeon at The Sapphire, maybe you can replicate that.

Jiwoo lets go of the hug and looks at the ring that’s still sitting in its tiny pedestal in the box. “I-I think you’re supposed to put it on my finger, oppa.” You chuckle. “Sorry, baby. I’m new to all of this,” you crack a little joke, earning a giggle from your girlfriend. You pull the ring out of the box and slide it onto her ring finger on her right hand. “I’m yours forever now, oppa,” she says while turning her hand around to inspect the ring. “This is a beautiful ring, too.” You place your forehead on hers, still unable to calm yourself down and stop the tears. “I love you, Jiwoo-yah. I love you with every cell in my body.” Jiwoo says she loves you more, referring to you as her fiancé.

“Oh, speaking of fiancé,” she says, pulling away from your embrace, “now that we’re really official, I want to go to university again, oppa—you know, get my master’s degree and all that.” You wipe your tears off your face and gather yourself. “O-okay, go—hah—go on.” “Can you, erm, can you pay for that, please?” Obviously, you’re not stopping your fiancé from getting higher education, so without thinking twice, you say yes. “I’m sure it’ll be beneficial for all of us, baby, so go ahead. Let me worry about the tuition,” you add.

In joy, Jiwoo jumps to hug you, and only now are you remembering an important fact. “Happy anniversary, baby.” Your fiancé lets out a chuckle. “I thought you forgot about it, oppa.” “I’m sorry, baby. I’m a freaking mess today,” you say. “Let me help fix that mess.” Jiwoo plants her lips on yours while her hands are fixed on your shoulders, and at this point, you swear that every mess in your heart and mind has been washed away. “Thank you, baby. I needed that so bad,” you thank her for the help. “Can we go to the bedroom, oppa?” “We sure can, baby.” You carry her in your arms and walk towards the bedroom.

“We’re here, baby,” you say as you climb onto the bed, “so, how do you want to cuddle?” Your fiancé frees herself from your arms, shaking her head as she does. “If we’re getting really married, oppa, you need to get better at catching signals,” she says. You look at her wordlessly while she takes her T-shirt off and throws it over her head. “Oh, she wanted to have sex—was I supposed to know that?”

Your attention is shifted towards her when you feel her fingers on the first button of your shirt, stripping you out of your work clothes. “You just proposed to me and agreed to pay for my master’s, and you thought I wanted to just cuddle? Ckckckck, you’re terrible at this,” Jiwoo expresses her disappointment. You want to defend yourself, but you can’t seem to find the words. “Sorry,” is all you can come up with. “No need, it’s not too late to make it right.”

Jiwoo plants her lips on yours again with different intentions this time. “Take me,” she whispers to you, “take me just like you usually do.” “How bad do you want it?” You’ve now gotten yourself together and are in the correct head space for this. She starts humping your thigh, letting you know how wet she is down there. “C-can’t you tell, oppa?” “I think I can,” you giggle, “let’s start, shall we?”

Yes, we shall. You roll until your fiancé is lying on her back, and her beauty instantly catches your attention. “My God, you’re so beautiful, love. Who am I to be so lucky to be with you?” Your words satisfy her, as shown by her precious smile on her face and her soft hands on yours. “Who am I to be so lucky to be engaged to you, oppa?” You ask if you can show her how much you love her. “Show me, oppa, and I’ll do the same,” she says.

You put your lips on her neck, nibbling and sucking until it’s marked with your love. “Oh, yes, please keep going,” Jiwoo eggs you on. “You’re mine, baby, and I’m yours—forever,” you whisper to her, giving her goosebumps. “I’m yours, oppa, and you’re mine,” she replies. “Please take me already—I can’t wait any longer.” You chuckle. “One second, baby; let me finish marking you first.”

You’ve sucked and nibbled for a few more minutes now, and when you pull away to inspect your work, you see a decently sized dark circle on the side of her neck. “Now everyone knows you’re mine.” You straighten your back, and that’s when Jiwoo asks you to “put it in.” Obviously, you know what it means, but it doesn’t hurt to tease her just a tad more. “Put what in, baby?” Your fiancé takes a deep breath, annoyed and impatient. “Your junior,” she says, “put it in me.”

You move towards her legs that are still covered by her mini shorts. When you grab the waistband, Jiwoo places her hands over yours. “Yes, baby?” You ask in case she wants to change her mind.

“Let’s make some promises before we start, oppa.”

“Sure, baby. What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll pay for my tuition.”

“We’ve talked about it before, but yes, I promise.”

“Promise me that you’ll love me forever and never leave me for anyone else.”

“I promise.”

“Lastly, promise me that you’ll call me love—you know, since we’re getting married.”

“I promise, love.”

“Great,” she smiles, “now we can start.”

With her consent, you pull down her shorts down her legs and past her ankles. Oh, look at that: there’s a big wet spot on her panties—how cute. You free yourself of your work clothes, and while you do that, Jiwoo frees her tits from its constraints. “Respectfully, you look very, very hot, love,” you say, drooling as you do. “And all of me is yours, oppa,” she replies, “my lips, my breasts, my vagina—everything.” “That’s certainly one way to put it,” you think to yourself.

You hold your cock in one hand, and without struggling too much, you ease your way into her warm and wet core. “T-took you long enough,” Jiwoo quips, “oh, yes, that’s good, oppa.” You wrap your arms around her body, and in response, she wraps her limbs around yours, locking you in place to make sure she has maximum physical contact. She proceeds to let out moans right into your ear, showing you how much she’s enjoying this. “I love you, baby—fuck, I love you so much,” you whisper. “W-wrong pet name,” she still has the head space to say such thing.

“I’m about to burst, oppa,” she says, “please—oh, God—please, oppa.” You notice that her embrace is getting loose, so you take advantage of it and straighten your posture, thus allowing you to deliver better thrusts. “Go on, baby,” you urge her, “burst for your fiancé.” Obviously, words aren’t enough; you need to keep up the tempo to be able to send her flying across the finish line.

Jiwoo’s moans become louder as she inches closer towards orgasm—she’s also squirming around. You grit your teeth when you feel her insides squeezing your shaft. “Come on, love; cum for me.” You turn up the pace to the highest you can possibly do while making sure you’re hitting her deepest points. You pull out just in time as she screams from the top of her lungs, her thighs trembling from the hard-hitting orgasm.

Amidst her moans and pants, Jiwoo manages to ask you to hold her, so you do just that, enveloping her with your arms. “That’s good, love,” you praise her, “you’re so good at this.” “Th-thank you,” she replies with heavy breaths. You pamper her with endless sweet words while waiting for her to calm down; among them is, “I love you and will spend the rest of my life with you.” She can’t string together a proper reply just yet, but that’s fine; you’re certain that the message is well received.

Her pants have died down after a few minutes, and when you check on her, you see that she’s fallen asleep. “How cute,” you pinch her cheek lightly, “well, good night, love.” Without letting go, you roll over so that she’s lying square on your body and close your eyes.

During your sleep, you’re shown a dream. One where Jiwoo is on her knees while moving her mouth up and down along your length. You put a hand on the back of her head, assisting her in making sure that her hair doesn’t get in the way. “That’s good, love—that’s very good,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual. Your praise excites Jiwoo, making her bob her head faster. Unfortunately for you, you’re starting to lose your grip on the scene, seeing it slowly fade away to be replaced with a different one.

At least that’s what it seemed like was about to happen. Instead, your brain wakes you up. “Wait, I know this feeling,” you say in your head. Your eyes roam downwards as you try to get a grip on the situation around you. “Love? What are you doing?” “What do you mean what am I doing? What does it look like, oppa?” Well, it looks like she’s stroking your cock, kissing your tip occasionally. “I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” she says.

You tell her that you saw her sucking you off in your dream. “I mean, I was sucking you off in your sleep,” she reveals. “So that was a mix of dream and reality, wasn’t it, love?” Jiwoo laughs. “Even in your dream, you can tell that I’m touching you.”

Jiwoo asks you to sit, so you sit and lean against the headrest. She then crawls between your spread legs and takes you deep in her mouth. Just like you did in your dream, you place a hand on the back of her head, petting her gently as you do. “That’s so damn good, love,” a praise freely escapes your lips, just like usual, and as per usual, it excites Jiwoo. You can feel her moving along your shaft faster, pushing through the gag reflex. “Fuck, you’re going to make me bust,” you say the first thing that comes to mind.

You’re ready to send your load straight into her stomach; your cock is throbbing and cum is pooling on your tip, and—ah, fuck, she removes you from her mouth. “No, no, no,” she wiggles her finger in front of you, “you don’t get to cum in my mouth anymore; I’m your fiancé, not your girlfriend.” Your racing heart doesn’t allow you to come up with a reply, but that’s okay with Jiwoo.

She turns her back against you and move backwards until her entrance is hovering right over your tip. “From this point onwards, you can only cum in my pussy—is that understood, my dear fiancé?” “Yes, love, I understand.” Happy with your answer, she lowers herself until you’re fully inside her. “Oh, fuck,” she lets out a gasp, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” She starts fucking herself on your cock, her hands and knees serving as stabilizers. You lean back and admire the way her hourglass figure looks from behind.

“I-I thought you—oh my God—I thought you were close, oppa?” “I am,” you admit, “I’m about to bust any second now.” Hearing such an answer invigorates Jiwoo, giving her the push she needs to keep going until you cum.

With a profanity, you send your load deep inside her, and Jiwoo plants her butt on your crotch so that nothing leaks out. The warmth of your ejaculation makes her let out a very long moan. “Do you want to be a dad?” “No, love, not yet,” you reply between your heavy pants. “Then you’ll need to buy me some pills—we’ve run out of them.” “We’ll get some later before we leave for work, love.”

That’s one question answered, and it’s time to address the other one: how can you prevent her from making a mess on the bed? “Just carry me reversed like this to the bathroom and pull out there,” she suggests. You gather the strength in your legs and stand up. “Hehehe,” you let out a suspicious laugh, “come to think of it, we’ve never had sex while standing up.” “Let’s not—oh, fuck—let’s not get ideas now, oppa; I don’t have the energy for more.”

You arrive at the bedroom with no accident, which means you can now “safely” pull out of her hot core. “Fuck, that’s a lot,” you comment. “That’s just how much you love me,” she giggles, “so what do we do now?” You don’t know what time it is (because there’s no clock in the bathroom, obviously), but you guess that it’s probably best to quickly clean up and go back to sleep soon.

You’re back in bed with your fiancé after quickly cleaning up. Jiwoo puts her right hand in the air and inspects the ring (despite the darkness of the room). “When did you buy this, oppa?” You reveal to her that Harvey bought it for you when you went out with him and Yooyeon. Jiwoo bursts out laughing. “I bet you were sweating bullets when you saw me walking in with Soodam-unnie—you thought the surprise was ruined.” “You have no idea, love,” you chuckle, “well, at least it all worked out in the end.”

“I love you, oppa,” she says, seemingly out of nowhere. “I will be the best person I can be for you—for us.”

“Certainly, love. I will be the best person I can be for you as well, because you deserve the best of me.”

“Sounds like we have a good future,” she says, “well, let’s go back to sleep now—good night. I love you.”

“I love you more—way more than simple words can express.”

#girl group smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader #male reader smut #smut #nmixx smut

310 notes · View notes

citricacidprince · 2 months ago

Note

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

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torusmistress · 10 months ago

Text

co-parent bakugou

katsuki bakugou x reader (part two)

fwb! bakugou who often came by your dorm during college to drop off school work when you missed lectures and loads when you missed him.

fwb! bakugou who came by before bed to fuck you into your pillow and listen to your hushed moans, hushed so your roommates wouldn’t hear. (they did)

fwb! bakugou who’s scared of committing because he “couldn’t see you in his future” and was too focused on his.

fwb! bakugou who’s late night visits became more and more scarce.

fwb! bakugou who months later soft launches his new partner on his story after telling you he’s not ready for a relationship.

fwb! bakugou who stops breathing at the sight of your name popping up on his phone as he cuddles his partner while watching movies, and nearly has a stroke at the “Im pregnant.” text.

_____

“well are ya sure it’s mine?” he asks, not daring to look away from you. you break eye contact and look outside the coffee shops’ window to focus on anything other than this conversation you’ve been dreading. “are you serious? you should know i’m not exactly one to sleep around,” you say to the man. he nods and his grip on his mug gets tighter, knuckles visibly whiter. “well, are ya keepin’ it,” he asks, “i don’t think that’d be a bright idea for either of us.” you kind of glare but think over his words. “you know how my parents feel about abortion kats.. i’d be disowned. the second the press found out about it, my family would be done for,” your eyes start to water and a tear threatens to fall, you pause “.. i thought you said you don’t do relationships?”

katsuki stares at you and shakes his head, “those fuckin’ hormones already getting to your brain or somethin?“ he sighs, “you know i can’t do this *nickname*. i’m in a committed relationship with raya, we’re getting engaged next month. on top of that, i can’t be number one with a baby leechin’ of me.” your heart drops, “you’re.. getting engaged? i.. um.. well, congratulations. i’m sorry to burden you with all of this… and i can’t abort it anyway.. i.. i’m too far along.. and i cant do this.” you finish & get up from the table and leave.

________

baby daddy! bakugou who ends up losing contact with you for months after you block him on everything a refuse to meet up per your family’s request.

baby daddy! bakugou who nearly forgets about you years later til kirishima brings you up and shows him your instagram.

baby daddy! bakugou who gets home and stalks you from a burner account, finds out you still talk to everyone from college but him.

baby daddy! bakugou who sees a pretty little ruby-eyed girl down your timeline, her resemblance to him uncanny.

baby daddy! bakugou who pulls some strings and texts your number asking to meet his daughter, hana.

___________

hana is 2 years old by now, forming choppy sentences and now waddling on her feet. after a week of texting, you finally fold and let him come over to meet his daughter. when you open the door to let him in he nearly finds himself choking on his spit at how beautiful you are. you looked even better than your posts, if that’s possible. you greeted him with a nod and invited him in. he takes his shoes off and head to the living room you led him to. you exchange stale pleasantries and small talk til you decide to go get your baby girl. “her name is ‘hana lei bakugou,’ as much as i wanted her to have my last name.”

you walk over to him and hand her to him, noticing the wedding band resting around his ring finger. you scoff, “wow so you two actually got married?” he nods and analyzes his daughters’ features. “shes so pretty, just like ‘er momma,” he half smiles and look up at you. “so i’ll have her back later tonight, gonna take ‘er home to meet the wife and all of that.” he goes to get off the couch. “woah, you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to come back back after all this time like nothing happened.” he looks frustrated for a second, “you can’t just- … yea yer right, ‘m sorry.’’

you nod, “how about we go up to her room and play?” he agrees and follows you into his daughter’s bedroom while carrying her.

“So.. how long have you two been in the area?” he asks, scanning his daughter's room. “I never really left, just moved closer to the city i guess,” you reply; putting hana down to the floor. She waddles over to katsuki. “hana, baby this is your father,” you look down at the little girl. At first she looks up at you with her glowing beady eyes then she looks over to Katsuki sitting over on a couch. “papa?” she asks and she points her dainty finger at him. you nod and smile. “yes baby, that's your papa.”

katsuki looks at the little girl and she reaches up for him. “up.” she says, and he obliges. you two talk and rekindle for what seemed to be days. In reality it was just about 4 hours. “*name* it was really nice to see you again, let's go out for dinner sometime. with hana of course.” you lead him downstairs while he says his goodbyes to hana.

“I told ya about this years ago raya, you can't be mad about this. What did you expect? for them to disappear?” bakugou yells at his wife. “well i didnt fucking expect you to go out of your way to to reach out either!” she pouts, anger and jealousy laced in her tone. “I have to own up to this responsibility now whether you like it or not, stop fuckin’ cursin’ at me. ‘m already stressed as is; ‘ion need yer bitchin’.”

“oh so now i'm bitching because you went out and got some slut pregnant.. you're just full of it katsuki.” raya says, glaring at him now. “ya cant get mad at me because I wanna be a father, ‘nd not just leave some kid stranded out here.”

“it's not just about the kid is it? do you miss the bitch or something? do you miss the sex? did she give you better head than I do?” raya accuses, bakugou sighs and goes to leave the room, “‘nd yea- she did give better head.” as he walks to their shared room he can hear her still yelling in the distance.

katsuki bakugou goes to sleep confused tonight. He wonders why was he such a prick. he wonders why did his heart pound so fast- why were his hands so sweaty when he saw you.

he couldn't do this. he has a wife. hes happily married, regardless of any arguments. his wife was the mayors daughter and promised him various things, she promised him glory. of course he didn't need her but it's definitely more helpful to have more "support." plus you hated him, only putting up with him for the sake of his daughter. no, it wasn't attraction- it was just nervousness. he loved his wife.

katsuki woke up to his wife, raya in his arms. she looked so pretty and peaceful like this. he snapped out of his daze and got out of bed to catch a shower. he couldn't help but find his hand reaching down to take care of himself. usually when he finds himself touching himself; its of thoughts of his wife from the night prior. but today it was you. he felt shameful but he just couldnt help it. he couldn't stop himself from thinking about you. hes only human.

#lulawrites #katsuki bakugou #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #no proof read #no beta we die like men #im sorry guys #part two soon #fwb series #HIII guys leave feedback or any typos #ive missed writing #bitvh

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natailiatulls07 · 10 months ago

Note

could i request some leclerc!reader and so comfort with charles please

It's okay

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - neglection, running away

Growing up with three older brothers and two of such competing in karting competions, life was hard for Y/n Leclerc. Pascale and Hervé invested lots of their money and energy into Arthur and Charles.

When she was seven, Y/n's interest in ballet started. The young girl had her heart set on being a professional ballerina. So thats what she did. Y/n convince Pascale to enrol her in ballet class.

From then on, she became more and more talented. Quickly becoming the top of class. Yet when recitals came round and she was the lead, the only person who came to watch was Lorenzo.

The rest of the family were out at karting competitions cheering on Charles and Arthur. Yes they would apolgise to Y/n for their absence but to her it never really felt quite right.

Y/n was 14 years old, life got harder. Karting turned to formula 2 and E. Lorenzo now building his own life, he moved out of the house.

And the worst of all, Hervé Leclerc passed away. This meant attention was limited, Pascale was busy. She had her salon to run, she was running around supporting the two boys racing and she was mourning the lose of her partner.

As much as he wanted to support Y/n during her recitals, Lorenzos life became busier and he could no longer come along each recital. She felt as though no one her family could see her or her talent.

So what did she do? Y/n collected enough money to enrol herself into a ballet academy. In the dead of night she packed just enough and left without a sound. Of course she couldn't leave without leaving a note, she loved her family.

Dear Maman, Charlie and Arthur, I love you all dearly, please don't worry about me. I will be gone for a while, Lo Lo knows where I will be but please do not pester him. Thank you for everything and more Love from your dearest daughter, Y/n xx

Y/n Leclerc was a sensation, one of the best of her age. She was a household name, even if you weren't that well educated on ballet you knew who this elegant women was.

However, it was rare for the ballerina to speak publicily, Espercially as many would ask of her surname and family relations. And it wasn't hard to understand why.

"So Y/n please tell me, any relation to formula one driver Charles Leclerc?"

"No comment, thank you"

Charles, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo watched on, following her social media through burner accounts not wanting to make this harder for Y/n.

They could see how she spent most of her time dancing, spending time to herself or getting cocktails with friends she made along the way.

yourusername

Week in my life...

Spending time alone, you must prioritize self care

Fruit cocktails with friends, the key to my heart

Looking after the minis, they're the cutest little things

Lounging on my sofa after a long day of rehearsals, it is tiring!

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comments are limited

username Gorg gorg girlie

cl_2648749 <3

username I so wanna be her friend omfggg

But she wasn't stupid, Y/n knew who those burner accounts were. Every single post, the burner accounts were there front and center. She felt their eyes on her, it was silly really but she constantly felt like they were watching her.

However, Y/n felt warm with that in mind. Like they were finally noticing her for the first time. No longer was she fighting for the attension with her two older brothers. But was it just online? If she were to go back, would it go back to how it was before.

Plus she had built up a life on ballet. Y/n made a family with her friends. Everyone knew her, fuck she is a household name hiding her Leclerc identity from the world, even herself.

"I think it's a good idea! It's been long overdue in my opinion"

"No. We need to work to her choices, not make her uncomfortable."

"Okay when?!" Charles throws his arms in the air with frustration. He was pacing in front of the television; Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo all sat on the sofa watching him.

The topic of Y/n came up in passing by Arthur and it became much more. Charles was fighting, he was desperate to get his dear little sister back home. However Lorenzo, knowing how Y/n felt about everything, was fighting back and trying to prioritize her feelings.

The constant pacing stopped abruptly, and Charles turned to look at Lorenzo with a harsh glare. "Why do you want to so desperately work to her choices? Are you in contact with her?" You could hear a penny drop.

Eyes snapped over to the oldest boy, all confused and harsh. Lorenzo sunk into himself. "I um..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yeah um so I kept contact with her yes"

"Is she okay?" The first question Pascale asked. Years of guilt plagued her mind, she neglected her own daughter and she was now paying the price for that.

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, she's okay...Y/n she um built up a family through her friends and as you know she is doing well for herself..." A small proud smile morphed onto his face, he was proud of her for doing this for herself.

"Does she hate us for what we did?"

He breathed in and out. "No, she doesn't hate any of us...she understands completely..." That did ease some guilt for the other three, it would of killed them to know that she hated them, her own family.

There was silence for a couple of minutes whilst they all fell into their own thoughts. And then Pascale spoke up again. "Can you at least text her or call her whatever...talk to her, please tell her that we love her and that we want to see her again...we're so so proud and sorry"

Arthur and Charles both nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do..." Lorenzo promised.

It seemed that the next time they would see Y/n would come round much soon than expected. It wasn't planned, totally sporadic.

Charles was in the kitchen, in Lorenzos apartment. He was scrolling through his phone when there was a ring coming from Lorenzos phone. "Lorenzo! Your phone, it's ring!" Looking over the driver read the name.

Y/n

He knew it was wrong to answer the call, but it felt right like this would do something so he did. Charles picked up the phone and answer.

Before he could speak the voice he missed so dear filled his ear, yet it was panicked and he could hear uneven breathing.

"Lo I'm sorry please, I came back to Monte C but uh um the paps they um oh my god I can't breathe they keep following me! Please please I don't- I don't know where to go!" He missed her voice, granted it for much more mature and wiser now, he still missed it.

Though he was entranced by the situation, now very concerned. "It's okay, it's okay" His mind was on speed mode, much like it was in the car. "Send me the location, I'll come and collect you"

Y/n's voice came out calmer and confused now. "Cha...is that you?"

Charles nodded his head before realising she couldn't see him. "Yeah um it is Cha, I'm on my way" He rushed down to his ferrari.

Pulling up to her location, his heart clenched. Y/n had grown so much since he had last seen her, she had grown into herself and looked alot like Pascale now.

Charles climbed out of his car, walking over to her and collided her into a bone crushing hug. "Oh chérie, je suis vraiment désolé..." Oh darling, I'm so sorry

Tears soaked his shoulder, the whole chaos of the day and reuniting with her older brother weighing down on Y/n had finally toppled off completely.

She couldn't speak, just hung onto him. That long time spent away from her family catching up to her. "It's okay...it's okay..." Charles whispered in her ear.

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

Text

Addams Family B-Side (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two (you're here!) Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One 10th Doctor and Rose (on the way! might take a little, I have plans for this one)

Hello, and welcome back to Addams Family B-Side, where I take my Addams Family Steddie idea and flip the cassette tape

This is part of a larger series in which I give Steve Harrington good parents from different shows/movies/etc. If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Also, there's a meme at the end, so enjoy that hfjks

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :^)

---------

Just because Steve finds Eddie Munson fascinating, that doesn't mean he's going to immediately move to wooing the guy. Well. He would, but his mother has some reasonable yet strict rules about these things, the first of all being that Steve can't like someone just for a pretty face. Or sizable personal wealth. He's got to talk to the person to figure out if they can stand each other before commencing the romancing.

Steve doesn't see himself getting a chance to talk to Eddie anytime soon, so he morosely (and it's not even fun this time) puts his fascination on the back burner for the rest of the day.

Then school ends, and Pubert has some after-school commitment, so Steve waits for him in the grossest bathroom he can find on campus. It's near the fine arts hall, has a flickering light above the mirror, and sports mold in one corner that Steve is tempted to harvest for Grandmama. He bets it'd make a great ingredient for something.

He's just about to scrape some of the mold away when the door slams open. Steve looks up in time to see Eddie (his eyes wide and somewhat terrified, and Steve is briefly angry and consumed by the thought that he's the only one who should be making Eddie scared like that) slip across the tile and crash into the wall on the far side of the bathroom.

Steve is momentarily stunned by Eddie's appearance, his heart lurching in his chest and the sudden urge to hide behind something rearing its head. In the back of his mind, he remembers his father describing the first time he saw Debbie; how he clammed up and was so in awe of her that he couldn't say a thing. Steve finally gets it. If he tried to speak right now, he'd probably only mumble or mutter something unintelligible.

Steve is about to try anyway when the door slams open again and three other boys walk in. They're wearing letterman jackets, and Steve recognizes one of them from lunch. He wasn't the boy who called Eddie a prick, but he was sitting at that table and looking particularly annoyed. Now, he just looks taken aback by Steve's presence, and the feeling is mutual.

"You're that new kid, right?" he asks, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he looks Steve up and down. "Get out."

"I was here first," Steve says, frowning slightly as he glances from the boys to Eddie. "What are you doing?"

"We're teaching this dipshit a lesson for disrespecting us," the guy says, cracking his knuckles and narrowing his eyes at Steve. "So, unless you want your ass kicked, too, get out."

Oh. This is bullying. Steve blinks, a sudden glee building in his chest. He glances at Eddie. "Were you planning to fight back?" he asks, figuring he won't take that fun away.

Eddie stares at him like he's clinically insane, and Steve is a little flattered. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie asks, throwing a hand out and gesturing at the guys. "They're brick shithouses."

Steve hums softly and nods, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and opening the main pocket. As he's rummaging around, he hears the ringleader of the jocks (that's what they'd be called in a movie, he thinks) scoff at him. "Are you fucking dumb? Or are you that eager for a ride in an ambulance?" he asks.

Finally, Steve finds what he's looking for and smiles. "Oh. No. I just had to get a weapon," he says, pulling his travel mace out of his bag. He presses a button and spikes release from the ball on the end. Steve looks up at the jocks with an eager smile. "Who first?"

"What the fuck is that?!"

Steve blinks, a little worried about the public education system. "It's a weapon. A mace, to be exact. There's three of you. This evens the odds," he explains.

The three take a step back, looking at Steve like he's clinically insane, and this time he's disgusted by the gesture. "You're fucking crazy," the first one says before turning heel and leaving the bathroom. The other two follow closely behind, and Steve has to stifle the sheer disappointment.

He sighs and retracts the spikes, placing the mace back into his bag. "Are you disappointed you didn't get to fight?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve's attention back.

Eddie is noticeably more relaxed now, and he's looking at Steve like he's an enigma. That's not quite as good as clinically insane, but it's still flattering nonetheless. Steve swallows down the nerves that suddenly appear again, trying to channel his mother's calm confidence instead. "A little," he admits, zipping up his bag before slinging it back onto his shoulders. "I'm Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington."

"Oh, uh, Eddie Munson."

"I know. I saw you at lunch."

Eddie perks up a little, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah? And what did you think, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at him for a moment before taking a step forward, the faint scent of weed and cheap body spray making its way to him. He makes a quick mental note to look into colognes for one that would fit Eddie best (perhaps something crisp and harsh like a wild blizzard with inescapable winds). "I think," Steve says, holding Eddie's gaze, "that you've got incredible conviction."

"Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome," Steve says, studying Eddie a moment longer. "Let me know if they bother you again. I can pull out a bomb next time."

Before Eddie can respond, the door swings open for a third time. Steve looks over his shoulder and pulls back when he sees Pubert. "Ready to go?" Pubert asks, glancing between the two. "Or am I interrupting something?"

"Not interrupting. And yeah, ready to go."

"Wait, how do you know Pubert Addams?" Eddie asks, looking between the two with a frown. The emotion in his eyes is recognizable if only because Steve has seen it in his mother's eyes when someone beats her to a sale or happens to be wearing a nicer necklace. Jealousy, plain and simple.

Steve grins at Eddie, ready to soothe his jealousy when Pubert cuts in. "Save it," he says, grabbing Steve's hand, "we're gonna be late." With that, he pulls Steve out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"What was that for?" Steve asks.

"I've got to get my entertainment somehow," Pubert replies, smirking as he drops Steve's hand. "Watching someone be jealous will do for a while."

-----

When Steve gets home, leaving Pubert on the sidewalk without another glance because he's too excited to get inside and tell his mother about the crush that he's talked to, he finds only his father in the kitchen. Without needing to be asked, Fester says, "Debbie and Morticia went to get their nails done. It was an emergency. Apparently, Debbie couldn't tear open letters as easily anymore."

Steve nods once and drops his bag onto the island. "I'm in love," he announces.

His father freezes, a tray of roasted vegetables in his hands. A few moments pass before Fester fully processes Steve's words, and he asks, "Have you talked to them? You know your mother's rule."

"I have," Steve says, unable to help a grin, "and he's perfect."

Fester drops the tray onto the stovetop, and Steve suddenly finds himself lifted into the air and spun around. "In love! Oh, I hope it's miserable for you," Fester says.

Steve laughs, nearly tripping over his feet when Fester sets him down. "I haven't decided how to approach him yet," he admits, grabbing onto the counter for support.

"Tell me about him," Fester says, grabbing Steve's shoulders and staring intensely at him. It's like he thinks he'll be able to read Steve's mind if he refrains from blinking long enough.

Steve pushes his father into one of the chairs at the kitchen's island. "His name is Eddie Munson. He's got this wild look to him. Like, his hair is all wavy and kinda poofy like he got half-electrocuted. And his eyes are the most beautiful swamp-mud brown I've ever seen. He speaks with conviction and has a shirt with a demon head on it and has all these rings and spikes on his vest. And he looks incredible when he's terrified. I mean, if I hadn't been so angry, I would've proposed right there," Steve gushes, the words falling from him in a breathless rush.

"What made you angry?" Fester asks, quickly latching to the last point.

"These...jocks. That's what they're called. Jocks. They were chasing him for stuff he said at lunch. He made this whole speech at lunch, by the way. It was incredible. Way too short and just barely addressing the actual issues and he'd never win a single political campaign. Anyway, these jocks, they chased him into the bathroom where I was, and they had him outnumbered and were muscular, so he was scared of getting beat up, I think. They threatened to beat me up, too, which I was excited about, but they ran away when I pulled out my travel mace. I mean, how rude is that? It's just bad form to run when someone's pulled out a weapon."

"And he wasn't angry about you taking his chance to fight?" Fester asks.

"Not at all! He seemed relieved. I think he might be better with, you know, poisons or something," Steve explains, shrugging slightly. He knows everyone has their specialties; he's a master of physical brawls and fights, Pubert does best with explosives, his mother just has a way with words and manipulation, and his father can give people the creeps just by looking at them.

Fester nods, an eager grin taking over his face. "You've got to start wooing him!" he says, slapping his hand on the island counter and pushing himself out of his seat. "Start small, something to test the waters."

"Oh! I could get him a rat," Steve says, thinking of the ones that like to burrow around in their yard. They're big and fearless, and Steve used them to practice his prowling and hunting when he was young. He's got many fond memories of crouching and pouncing right before they scattered across the yard.

"Wait," Fester says, holding up a hand and thinking for a moment, "we should think like your mother. She's the most romantic person we know."

"She blew you up," Steve agrees, nodding seriously. "She'd probably say that I shouldn't give him a live rat. Because he's, uh, not like us?" Steve looks at Fester, waiting for his father to nod once in approval before continuing, "I think Mom talked about stuffed animals once. So, maybe I can get him a stuffed rat, instead."

"Yes! Good! And then you should...learn about his interests! What does he like?" Fester asks.

"I'll have to watch him to find out. I can probably make him something once I know. I mean, he's probably got normal interests, like bugs and poisons and torture practices, right? That's what most people like."

"Don't forget dancing or music."

"Right," Steve says, "dancing or music. But he'll probably have special interests, too. Like Satanism. I should watch for those."

With something akin to a plan in place, Steve leaves Fester to sneakily poison the roasted vegetables while he plans the first step of wooing Eddie.

-----

Ever since meeting Steve Harrington in the bathroom, Eddie has been feeling eyes on him. Not even the normal kind that are annoyed or just curious about the school's resident freak. No, these eyes are...intense. They're laser-focused on his every move and clearly filled with some kind of intentions that he can't discern.

He just doesn't know where they're coming from. When he looks around to see who's staring, he can't find anyone. It's been driving him crazy for almost a week now, and Eddie is just about ready to scream when he opens his locker and...

And finds a rat.

Like, a real rat.

Well, it's dead, but it was alive once. Eddie blinks, staring at the taxidermied rat innocently sitting on top of the pile of books and papers and folders stacked in his locker. It's big and has a surprisingly shiny brown coat, kind of like someone had given the thing a thorough wash with extra shampoo and conditioner. There's a blood-red ribbon wrapped around the rat's neck, a perfect bow tied behind its head, with a tag hanging from it. When Eddie hesitantly turns the tag over, he finds "Name: Kas" at the top and "Hope you like him" written on the bottom in careful, meticulous handwriting.

It should be creepy. It should be disturbing. Eddie should be paranoid beyond reason because how did the mystery gifter even know his locker combination? Did they stuff this rat themselves? Did they kill the rat themselves? Why the fuck would they give him a rat?

But...it's oddly...sweet? Somehow, Eddie can feel that it's not, like, a malicious gift. And he likes the rat. Kas. He likes Kas. Its fur is surprisingly soft when he picks it up, and Eddie spends a good minute just rubbing his thumb over its back.

Then he feels those eyes on him again. They're even more intense this time, like they're watching him closely to see his reaction and...oh. Is this...a weird secret admirer? Does Eddie "The Freak" Munson have a secret admirer? A weird one, sure, because who the fuck gifts taxidermied rats, but still.

He looks around, taking in the other students in the semi-crowded hallway, trying to find those eyes. He doesn't find anyone staring at him, but he does end up staring himself at Steve Harrington. The guy is leaning on a locker across the hall, inexplicably fiddling with a lightbulb as he talks to Pubert Addams, who's digging around in his own locker. If Eddie squints, he could almost convince himself that Steve's cheeks are a little pinker than normal.

After a few seconds, Steve glances up and meets his gaze. They stare at each other for a few tense moments, something building in Eddie's chest as the weight of Steve's eyes surrounds him. It doesn't feel bad, but he's not used to being the center of someone's attention like this. Normally, people are frowning when they pay attention to him. Or, if they're his friends, goading him on and joining in the joke. But this is different, like Steve finds him fascinating.

And then Pubert Addams slams his locker door shut and looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowing when he sees Eddie staring at Steve. He frowns, throws an arm over Steve's shoulders, and pulls him away. Pubert's shoulders are a little tense, his expression sour as he says something to Steve that results in one last, furtive glance at Eddie before he's out of sight.

Suddenly, nothing is more important to Eddie than figuring out what the fuck is going on between Steve Harrington and Pubert Addams.

------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@estrellami-1, @itsall-taken, @mugloversonly, @fandomcartographer, @hippielittlemetalhead, @agree2disagre-kicks, @ledleaf, @just-a-tiny-void, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @ink1177, @maya-custodios-dionach, @littlebluejane,

And now, a meme for your viewing pleasure:

#steddie #steddie fic #addams family b-side #addams! steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #pubert addams #fester addams #steve deserves good parents actually #my writing

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