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neevblanc · 1 year ago

Note

Aizawa with a pro hero & highschool sweetheart reader finally talking again after months (or even years) of no contact 😋

a/n —hey hey anon!! thx for sending this in! I've never written for shouta b4 despite having read my fair share of media involving him lol. i hope i can do him justice for you!!! this is such an interesting prompt hehe p.s this was literally the funnest thing to write ever im actually incredibly invested. i might as well have fleshed out a whole au for this, not that it rlly reflects it i think haha!

blanca’s cafe event!

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Aizawa Shouta x GN!reader

Tags— semi-angst, awkwardness, mentions of injuries/war, bittersweet

CW/TW— Manga Spoilers?

note — quirk — Revitalize: the ability to heal wounds and injuries by simply touching the affected area. They can accelerate the body's natural healing process. Their healing abilities also extend to others. They must gain the energy to do so by taking it from enemies or using their own(think Moyra from overwatch, sorta. w/ a mix of bastille's group healing ability thing teehee).

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"Have We Met Before? by Tom Rosenthal, Fenne Lily"

02:20 ━━━━━━━●─ 02:39

ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

“ Will you know it when you see it? Have we met before?”

You hadn’t been in Japan for years, having been sent to America by the Hero Commission as soon as you had graduated from Yuuei. Adjusting to the culture (both civilian and hero) was a struggle, but you did well with your healing-centered quirk.

Once the war had taken place, the commission had called back all of the heroes they sent to foreign countries they could, and you just so happened to be one of them. All for One was a looming threat, and with the amount of casualties suffered, they sent you home to help the war effort.

You stand inside Yuuei’s walls, stomach rolling at the bleak sight. Cities had been razed while you were gone, and Yuuei had been converted into a base for civilians and heroes alike. People milled around almost aimlessly, no doubt restless, as they were afraid to leave school grounds. You make your way through the crowd, eyes focused on the building you had been directed to.

Yuuei hadn’t had dorms since you last checked, but amongst all the changes you’ve seen in your hometown, you didn’t have the energy to even question it. You hurry up the steps and knock idly on the door, rocking on your heels while you wait for it to open.

The door creaks open, and an eye with a black sclera blinks at you before it opens wider, revealing a yellow-eyed, pink girl. She grins tightly at you, obviously confused by your presence.

“Hello, can I help you?” She said, and you take note of her for just a second. Young, most definitely not any older than 17- and tired. Her demeanor screamed of exhaustion. You smile gently at her.

“Hi, Nezu directed me this way. I’m looking for your teacher. This is 2-A, right?” You say, taking a step back just in case you had gotten it wrong (which you hoped wasn’t the case, seeing as the dorms were marked with the class names). The girl nodded and opened the door further, shifting to allow you room to enter.

“Yeah! You’re in the right place.” She says, and you enter the building quickly. You take your shoes off and place them into one of the cubbies near the door, and you note the number of shoes already in the cubbies. It reminds you of school, and you can’t help but smile at the sight.

The girl hands you a pair of guest slippers, and as you put them on, she grins a little softer.

” I’m Mina, by the way.” She says. You nod, both of you making your way out of the genkan.

” You have a very pretty name, Mina. I’m Revitalight, but you can call me y/n.” You reply, and she squints a little at you.

” Revitalight? I’ve heard that name before…oh, and thank you.” She says, startled out of her contemplation as she remembered the compliment. You nodded, a soft laugh leaving you. Even with the war, she was kind and very much a child. It both saddened and warmed you how her demeanor did not wholly mirror that of the community outside.

You both make it to the couches, where another group of teenagers are milling around. Their idle conversations pause as you stand at the edge of one of the couches. You wave politely, and Mina gestures toward you excitedly.

“Please welcome American Pro Hero: Revitalight!” She introduced, and you don’t have it in you to fight the American label- you’ve been a Pro in America for longer than she’s been in school. No point in telling her you went to Yuuei, too - or that you were still under the HPSC’s rule. The others say hello enthusiastically, waving from where they were sprawled out on the couch.

“Please, call me y/n.” You say, sitting on an unoccupied section of the couch.

Mina explains you’re looking for their sensei, and a girl with frog-adjacent features stands from her place on the couch.

“I’ll get Sensei down here for you then.” She says, voice horse how you’d expect a frogs to be. You send her a grateful smile.

” Thank you.” You respond, and she does little more than nod and disappear down the hall.

“Why are you here, Revitalight-san?” A boy with glasses says, and you pause to consider what you can tell them.

“The commission asked me to return, and I’ve been dispatched here. Principal Nedzu said I should head here before finding Recovery Girl.” You explain, trying to ignore the way the kids around you sober up quickly at the mention of the Hero Commission. You didn’t know how much they knew, but you hoped it wasn’t much- for their sake.

“What’s your quirk do?” A blonde asks, and you can see his curiosity blatantly on his face. You smile and raise your hand, gesturing toward him. He straightens from his flopped-over position and stands excitedly, opening his arms.

” Hit me!” He says, pouting at the bespeckled boy when he tries to get him to sit down.

” Denki, we don’t know their quirk. What if it’s dangerous,” he cautions, and you laugh a little to ease his worry.

“Don’t worry, um,” Mina whispers into your ear quickly, “Iida-kun. This won’t hurt him at all.” You reassure, and Iida settles back into his seat without further complaint.

The kids watch as you flex your hand just slightly, and suddenly, a bright yellowish-white light floats slowly from your hand to Denki, curling and moving in the air. The glow hits Denki straight in the chest, and he takes a deep breath.

“Woah.” He says, shaking out his body and looking down just in time to see the glow follow lightning-like patterns below his skin and fade down his arms. You tilt your head and eye the lightning bolt in his hair.

“Your quirk is electricity, right?” You say, prompting him to nod. The way the kids stare at you makes you want to laugh, but you hold off in case they take it mockingly.

“I can tell from the patterns it made. I only see those jagged lines from people who have lightning quirks or have been exposed to high voltages.” You explain, and Denki brightens at the information.

Mina’s about to ask a question when someone clears their throat behind you, and the kids all deflate into exaggerated whines or pouts.

“That’s enough, all of you, to your rooms. Or anywhere but here, really. If you even think of eavesdropping, I’ll have you scrubbing bathrooms for a week.” The voice says dryly, and you grin as the kids file out quickly, whining, “This is a common area; it’s not eavesdropping,” and “Sensei’s such a buzzkill.”

You turn to face them with a sheepish smile already in place.

“Sorry for intruding. Principal Nedzu said I should speak to you before,” You pause, finally registering who exactly you’re talking to. The gaze you get in return is similarly dumbfounded.

“Shou- Aizawa-san.” You stutter, correcting yourself. The man before you is every bit the boy you remember, even with the injuries you can see littering his body. The same tired eyes, pitch black hair, moody expression.

And still, you’re hit by his age. The mature structure of his jaw and the strong frame that screamed, well, Pro Hero hit you more than you’d think. Most of all, his height struck you. Last you had seen, Aizawa was pretty short for your age. He stands in front of you at six feet at least, and you wonder when a growth spurt that big hit him.

You flick your fingers anxiously, and his eyes follow the gesture for just a moment.

“Y/n. It’s been…a long time.” He says, crossing his arms in an attempt to seem casual. You can see the awkwardness of the action, though, in the way his shoulders tense and his brow furrows. The familiarity makes you a little light-headed. You smile, nodding.

“Yeah, it has. 12 years, now?” You say, looking around for just a moment to avoid his gaze. His hair, longer than you remember it being, is tied into a half-up, half-down style. He nods, and you lace your fingers together in front of you.

“Nedzu said the commission was sending someone, though he didn’t say it’d be you.” He says, and you try to find some emotion in the statement. When you don’t identify anything negative from his words, you shrug.

” Principal Nedzu didn’t tell me you were the teacher I was meeting either. Speaking of,” You hum, stepping closer. Aizawa shifts, obviously watching you but not moving away. “Sensei? Didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher, Aizawa.”

Aizawa grimaces slightly with a sigh and drops his arms from his chest to shove them into his pockets. “It’s not really my thing. But someone has to do it.” He says, and you squint a little at his response. With his hands hidden in his pockets, it clicks in your mind, and you bite back a smug smile. Aizawa had a similar tell to you- his hands start motioning to crack his knuckles, even if no pop comes of it.

You let a calmer grin settle on your face, staring up at him.

“Totally. Either way, I think it’s pretty cool of you.” You compliment, and his mouth twitches faintly in response.

“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly, and for a moment, you can see in his face that he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

You huff a sigh, “Same reason as everyone else. The war effort needed help, so the commission sent me home.” You explain. Aizawa nodded absently, reaching up to rub at his neck as he thought.

“You’re here to help Recovery Girl, then?” He says, face serious. You shake your hand in a so-so motion.

“Yes and no. I’ll help RG here for now, but I’ve been told they’ll send me with patrol groups and into war zones when needed. I can heal en mass in a way she can’t.” You shrug. Aizawa frowned, and you could tell he wasn’t happy with how the hero commission seemed comfortable throwing you wherever. Still, they’ve been this blasé with your life since you agreed to the program years ago, so it wasn’t something you concerned yourself with anymore.

“That doesn’t seem sustainable at all,” Aizawa says, critical as always. You give him an unimpressed look.

“War generally isn’t, no. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say, waving your hand casually. “Anyway. I meant to ask, what’s up with…this.” You say, gesturing toward the eye patch. He pursed his lips briefly.

“War causality. Still getting used to it.” He rumbled, and you smiled gently at him.

“If anyone can kick ass with one eye, it’s you, Aizawa.” You hit his shoulder playfully, almost in slow motion as a joke. The movement is familiar, and for just a second, you remember how this same punch made him hiss like a disgruntled cat and glare at you, teetering away from the force.

Now, the stare he levels you with is unimpressed; mouth curled upward. He hadn’t budged. Your stomach flutters for a moment. “You’re ridiculous.” He mutters. That is familiar. The warm tone in his voice makes you painfully nostalgic, and through the ache in your chest, you laugh at his response.

“One of us has to be,” You tease, backing up and crossing your arms. Aizawa shoots you a look and rolls his eye. Without another word, he turns back down the hall he came from, and it only takes you a beat to realize you were supposed to follow.

“C’mon, Mic would wanna see you.” He calls, waving a lazy hand to gesture you over. You follow eagerly, almost tripping over yourself.

“Oh my GOD, Mic’s here too?!”

#gn!y/n #mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #my hero academia x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #boku no hero academia x reader #eraserhead x reader #mha x gn!reader #aizawa x gn!reader #neev.doc

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

Text

wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson

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aliveinacoffin · 1 year ago

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Deja ya de llorar

Shoto x GN! Reader

You've had a very bad day, and you're very tired, and you have a very cute husband.

little angst/very comfort, mostly fluff ^*^

The front door swung open harshly before it was more gently clicked into place. The decoration hung on the outside knocking back in protest.

You violently kicked your shoes off, not bothering to put them neatly back in their place in the shoe cubby that rested against the wall. Trying to get on with the settling down process, you went through the motions of hanging up your jacket, not noticing that you missed your mark and instead, it fell miserably to the floor.

"I'm hooome." You sighed, barely loud enough to be heard from the front door to the kitchen. You then limply tripped over the side, flopping down hard on the couch, squishing your face on the plush cushions.

There was silence in the house, no sounds of music or the TV playing. Most notably, no sound of your husband. Usually, he was out in the dining room doing papers or just otherwise bumbling around the house. Sometimes he'd meal prep or work out or even just be doing some D.I.Y project. But today, there seemed to be an absence of him. Which, wasn't a big deal, both of you were heroes, having met each other in class 1-A. Ever since you two had just been inseparable, clung together like magnets. Still, he made no mention that he would be working late.

You sighed and flipped over to your back, and took your phone out of your pocket. Lazily, you dialed his work phone and waited for him to pick up.

"This is Icy-Hot. I'm not available right now, reach either my assistant, partner, or me at a later time. I apologize for the inconvenience." The familiar one-toned voice you had gotten used to bleated back to you, and the phone beeped to leave a message. You made a confused noise before moving over to his personal phone number, the one that not many people had.

Just as the call was going to send you to voice mail, he picked up. "Hello? Is everything alright?" Shoto's voice called out to you, concern lacing his voice.

"No," You sighed, exhaustion taking over you slowly, unable for you to fight it much longer, "You weren't home and I was just making sure you were alive."

He chuckled, "Well I am don't worry. I'm on my way home soon, just another big battle in Tokyo, and you know how traffic can be." He sounded happy and content, and jealousy filled you at his ease.

"I hope it went well, and I'm glad you're safe. I love you, get home soon."

"It did, I'll tell you more at home. I love you, I'll see you soon."

The call disconnected, leaving the house in silence again. Suddenly, without even prompt or major reason, tilled filled your eyes and you were left breathless.

You were so tired, your body and mind so worn down that everything was moving too fast for you to keep up. Your eyes stung all the time, and your joints ached, body screaming in protest for running on fumes for so long.

You also had so many hard cases this month, a tsunami had hit the east, and because of the shortest of pros, you had been sent down there to mitigate the damage. The things you saw only added to the pile of horrors that kept you up at night. Lost little girls, old men torn apart, and young men crying in the middle of the street would haunt you for years to come. The paperwork and reconstruction that took weeks to finish, on top of commission work and public work, you were left beaten and bruised.

You cried yourself to sleep on the couch, too tired to change out of your civilian clothes or even move yourself to a comfortable position to find even a restful sleep.

___________________________________________

When you woke up, crusty, thirsty, and hungry, you found yourself in your shared room. Pictures of you and Shoto decorated the space, along with your different families and friends. Books, papers, and other small trinkets littered the room. When you came home after being away from a work trip, it always made your heart warm and fuzzy at your cozy living space, knowing you shared it with the person you loved the most.

You heard soft music from the downstairs, and slowly you drifted out of your bedroom. (You were also pleasantly surprised to find yourself in soft pjs.) Peeking out, a smiled crawled on your face at the sight you were blessed with.

Shoto, still in his hero outfit, was swaying softly to a soft song that you recognized, Hijo del corazón. While doing so he was making your favorite comfort meal. Both of you always had each other's comfort meals prepped and ready to go in case the others needed it.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" You said sleepily, hooded bagged eyes looking at him with ease.

Shoto turned to you, jumping a little in surprise before he completely melted under your gaze.

"Yeah, you tell me every day you love me, plus, I get a daily reminder you do every time I wash my hands." He tapped to the ring on his finger, the pale moon gem that was the centerpiece. The weight of your sun ring reminded you of both your vows, in sickness and in health.

"True, but I super love you." You walked closer to him, nuzzling against him while he kept busy.

"I love you, hard day?" He asked, and even though his eyes were on the food, you knew you had his full undivided attention.

"Hard month more like it. I'm just glad we're almost done though." You sighed, dragging your feet to grab a glass of water. Your heart filled with warmth when you saw your respective bachelor party cups.

"I'm glad, I miss you at home." Shoto said almost pouting.

"Just a little bit more recon, and a smidge more paperwork and I'm back to a normal work schedule. What about you though?" You asked, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" He turned to you, looking at you with his own raised eyebrows while he carried the food to the table.

"You're still in your hero suit, you didn't change back at the agency." You said that the answer was the simplest thing in the work. In truth, it kinda was.

"Oh," He looked down at himself, embracement suddenly flooding his cheeks. "I was just in such a rush to get home, I guess I didn't change." He started to eat with you.

"Why the rush? I'll always make it home." Or try to, at least.

"I missed you, plus, I have a surprise." Shoto suddenly got up, walking over to the kitchen to grab a fancy-looking velvet box.

"Sho' I don't mean to break your heart, but we've already gotten married." You laughed quietly at your own joke, turning in your spot to follow him.

"No not that. I know you don't really like jewelry, but I saw it and I just had to give it to you." He had you the box gently, placing it in your awaiting hands.

You looked at him before tenderly peeling open the box, and a gasp escaped your lips when you saw what was inside.

It was a beautiful golden heart-shaped locket. The design it had was stunning, on the front was an open sort of caged design, and you could see the inside of the locket through it. Around the mini heart-shaped window was a winged sort of design with small bridges on the side. On the back were two interlocked hearts surrounded by leaves and little tiny snowflakes.

When you peeled it open, it was your guy's wedding pictures. But it wasn't one where either of you were fake smiling. Instead, it was you ugly laughing with your eyes closed and leaning toward Shoto. While he had the widest grin ever looking at you so tenderly it made tears spring to your eyes.

"Oh Sho', it's beautiful. Thank you so much, I love it." You stood up to bring him into a tight hug. He hugged you twice as hard, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Of course, I hoped you'd like it." He whispered.

"I love it, thank you so much for being here for me." You sighed into his arms, the warm embrace he protected you into would always bring you inner peace.

God you loved this man, and you knew he loved you ten times as much.

#x reader #my hero academia #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #shoto torodoki x reader #shoto x you #mha #mha x reader #shoto x reader #fluff #hes so cute #todoroki x reader

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constantwarriorblogs-blog · 2 months ago

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One scenario that keeps coming to mind is what happens if someone were to somehow find a way into The Grim and accidentally makes Cody cry. Nine would just be ruthless, especially if it happened after the cocoon scare, so he's extra protective of his little Chao companion. Seriously, he would be out for blood. He still doesn't trust anyone that isn't Sonic, a Chao or one of his robots and now some dipshit intruder comes inside, messing everything up.

You could take this the other way by having Cody scare the intruder, possibly on accident if this takes place after Cody makes their own mechanical tails. Imagine breaking into someone's home and there's a cute, cubby, baby-like creature, and said creature suddenly starts scuttling along the walls like a horror film

Something like this

Then that thought led to the question. What if the intruders are The Chaos Council? What if they somehow get back to Nine's base and find out Cody is the one who replicated Nine's tails, meaning Chao can be intelligent. What if they take Cody to experiment exactly how smart Chao can be?

They'd probably want to enslave Chao if left unchecked. Now Nine has to stop the council again and save Cody. And now I'm just imagining while Nine is on his way to save Cody, said Chao is driving the council insane with a game of Cat & Mouse as Cody uses their tails to evade them.

Nine finally gets there, the Chaos Council are basically out of commission, and Cody happily scurrying up to Nine with a little dance.

#i am so normal about this #i promise #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #tails the fox #miles tails prower #tails miles prower #miles nine prower #tails nine #nine the fox #nine the chao dad au #sonic prime au #sonic au #chao world #chao garden #cody the chao

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omgpurplefattie · 5 months ago

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MLC WIP Wednesday

Hurrah, I have a WIP going again. Here's a bit from the next chapter of RV Lianhua Lou. PoV is Fang Duobing.

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

There was a display shelf in the sitting room that looked suspiciously solid, so Fang Duobing picked up a few flower pots that dotted the shelf, put them on a table, stuck his hand up the most likely cubbies, and started investigating the hinges and corners of the shelf.

Yet another thirty minutes later, he had found a number of levers and buttons, and a sofa on the other side of the room slid aside, to reveal a low door, and stairs going down. You had to duck your head, but otherwise, it was perfectly serviceable.

“I would never have thought…” Zhiyu breathed, leading the way down the stairs; so she was the first to step into the hidden vault.

The ceiling lit up automatically, and Zhiyu screamed.

“Dad!”

Governor Jin was lying on his back on the floor, eyes wide open, wearing only one slipper, and dead as a doornail.

“Damn,” Li Lianhua breathed. “There goes our new business model.”

A bit further inside the secret room lay a Klingon everybody present swore they had never seen before, just as dead, among several open, empty boxes.

“The Blood Vessel of Doom!” majordomo Jin exclaimed. “It’s gone!”

“After this,” Li Lianhua sighed to Fang Duobing, “nobody will commission a security system from us ever again. Our very first client ended up dead, and the main treasure he wanted guarded got stolen. Oh dear.”

“We will get it back!” Fang Duobing declared. He was feeling despondent, but only for a moment. If the Klingon doctor was holding Di Feisheng hostage against that Blood Vessel, then they just had to find the damn old pot again. Giving up on A-Fei was not an option. “Forget about the security system trade; it has been fun, but really not our core competency. I’m an investigator of the Hundred Rivers agency, so let’s do some investigating!”

He took out his tricorder and started recording evidence. Moving the slightly hysterical majordomo aside, Li Lianhua squatted down between the two dead bodies, got out his medical tricorder, and began to record facts. He turned over both corpses and paid special attention to Jin Mantang’s bare foot, which he held in both his hands, bending it sideways and pondering every detail.

“They must have killed each other!” Zhiyu said. “My dad must have discovered the Klingon intruder and tried to stop him from taking the Vessel, and the other artifacts he had down here. Perhaps he has thrown his slipper at him to get his attention?”

“But then where are all the magic pots?” Li Lianhua said. “And I would never try to stop a Klingon with a slipper again. Believe me, I have attempted it, and it didn’t work.”

#mysterious lotus casebook #li lianhua #fang duobing #wip wednesday #mlc wip wednesday #star trek au #i am writing

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garbinge · 2 years ago

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Commission Job

Nestor Oceteva x F!Galindo!Reader

Day 19 from these April Prompts: A Commission Job

Summary: Part 2 to Minimum Wage, but can be read as a standalone. After Miguel orders a hit on Nestor, he comes crashing at your doorstep.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Angsty af. Mentions of blood, killing, death, murder, all canon level thangggs ya know.

Mayans Taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @justreblogginfics

Part 1

You wished you ignored the doorbell and the persistent knocking. That was the lie you were telling yourself as the two parts of your brain argued against each other on what to do with the disheveled man at your doorstep. The part of you who had been living in this small town under a new name with no ties to your old life was fighting with the other part of your brain that hadn’t been functional in years… the Galindo in you.

The initial shock of seeing Nestor bruised and bloody on your doorstep was gone in seconds. You didn’t ask questions, you just brought him inside and into the coat closet.

“Wrong house!” You called out to the company you had over that was currently in the kitchen halfway through dinner as you shoved Nestor into the closet and shut the door. He didn’t say anything either, he just followed your suit.

“You know, I’m not feeling so hot.” You made your way back to your kitchen bar and made a scrunched up face. “Getting up made me realize I’m feeling kind of blah.” You were easily falling into the lie, your Galindo traits rising back up from the ashes.

Your date was making their way down the hallway, disappointment all over their face as they did whatever they could to change your mind. Little did they know that the half broken man in your closet was not going to make that happen.

After your company left you moved immediately to the closet and opened the door to see Nestor sitting on the cubbies you had as storage.

“You think you can make it to the bathroom? It’s upstairs.” You would ask questions later, but right now you were prioritizing.

“Yea.” His voice was rough and more raspy than normal but it brought your heart up to your throat. Seeing him caused you to go into reaction mode but hearing him speak for the first time caused you to want to throw up.

You brought your arm around his torso and his arm instinctually went around your shoulder as you trudged upstairs. Luckily, it wasn’t many steps before you were in the bathroom. It was obvious that he wasn’t putting all his weight on you but once he was seated on the closed lid toilet you could see his body collapsed in exhaustion.

Black eye, deep scratch over his cheek bone, probably some broken ribs from the way he was limping. That was the bulk of the damage you were able to clock by looking at him. With a deep breath you opened the cabinets below the sink and pulled out the first aid kit.

“I’m gonna need you to lift your shirt up.”

Nestor obliged, it was then that you realized he wasn’t in his normal outfit of a button up and slacks but a t-shirt and jeans. You frowned but quickly moved to look at the bruising and cuts on his abdomen.

“Great, more open wounds.” You mumbled as you bent down to clean up the dried blood around the cuts. You both sat in silence for a while as you cleaned up the cuts and gave Nestor a cold washcloth to hold against the bruising until you could go downstairs and grab an ice pack.

“You need stitches.” You pointed to his face as you sat on the edge of your tub. “I don’t have the tools for that but I can give you a butterfly bandage.” Your voice was monotone as you spoke.

“That’s fine.” His voice still deep and raspy.

With a nod you were leaning over him and grabbing the bandage from the kit and applying it to his face. His breath was hot against your face as you got close to adjust the open cut with the bandage. Quick to move back you looked back down at his ribs.

“Let me get you an ice pack.”

Before he could say anything you were up and out of the bathroom and picking up your pace down the stairs. It was an opportunity to truly ask yourself what the fuck was happening. It had been years since you saw Nestor. Suddenly everything was hitting you. How did he know where you lived? Why was he here? Who beat him up this bad? Why didn’t he go to Miguel? Did Miguel know where you were?

It was overwhelming to say the least, you started to get angry but then you thought about Nestor’s helpless being upstairs and it disappeared instantly. The only way you knew you were going to get answers was to ask him, and if things were even remotely the same as they were years ago, you knew that wasn’t a guarantee either, but you had to try.

As you walked back to the bathroom you saw Nestor struggling to stand up.

“Woah, what are you–” Your feet moved quickly on the bathroom tile and before you could finish your statement he was collapsing into your arms taking the wind out of you. “C’mon, sit back down.” A large groan came from the both of you as you took on his full body weight now and attempted to place him back down on the toilet. The pain from his injuries and your shitty attempt to placing him carefully back down causing him to react in agony.

“Take this.” The medicine cabinet was opening as you shuffled through your things and pulled out an old prescription of some pain medicine. You handed him two pills and filled up a dixie cup with water after he tossed them in his mouth.

You stared down at him, your mind finding itself back in that same place it was downstairs.

“I need something.”

Those were the words you decided to lead with. Not what the fuck is happening. Not what the fuck is going on. No. You decided that you’d go into this the way you knew worked best with Nestor. Meeting him at his own place of comfort. It wasn’t fair, he came to your house, which was still unclear how, but he was the one barely able to stand in your bathroom right now so, sure, you’d give him a break.

“Mikey has a hit out on me.”

Now you were the one barely able to stand. You stabled yourself by gripping the bathroom counter.

“Come again?” You frowned. It was shocking to hear Nestor so easily give up information and to hear THAT information was cause enough for you to feel like you were going to throw up.

“Your brother hired someone to kill me. A commissioned job.” He said it again, this time more explanatory and it only made your stomach pit tighten more.

“Wh– Uh– How?” You started to stutter, you weren’t able to take in that information. You prided yourself on your ability to take in all sorts of information, coming from the Galindo family where your father and brother lied and killed and manipulated, nothing came as a shock to you. For God’s sakes the braided man in front of you knocked on your door, that he shouldn’t have known about, bloodied and bruised and you brought him in with no words or question. But this? This was unexpected.

“Your mom. She’s dead. He, uh, isn’t doing too good. He killed Paco. Right in front of me. In front of Marcus.” Nestor’s voice was rattled. It was how you knew that this wasn’t a normal situation, not that Nestor telling you your brother put a hit on him was normal but you were searching for anything right now.

“Marcus?” You questioned completely ignoring the part about your mother, your voice just as rattled as his.

“Consejero.” Nestor let out a deep breath as he remembered you had no idea about anything.

“Nestor, what the fuck is going on.” The rattled tone changed to desperate and before he answered you heard a knock at your door. It was firm and loud, and it matched your heart beat.

Nestor was standing up like none of his injuries existed, if you were thinking logically, you would have chalked it up to adrenaline but right now you just felt your whole life crashing down on you.

So many thoughts in such little time. You didn’t ask for this. Nestor came to your doorstep and now you were dealing with the aftermath of that. You’d kill Miguel. Galindo habits die hard, but your will to protect yourself from them would go down harder. Nestor was quick to grab the gun from under the bathroom sink that he probably clocked earlier but like you said, Galindo habits die hard and he knew you probably had one stored in each room of the house.

He was making his way down the stairs, way faster than when he arrived. He peaked through the peep hole and immediately his shoulders relaxed and he opened the door, quick to fall back on the steps.

Now, there was a stoic tall man in a button up t-shirt and slacks standing in your foyer as Nestor laid collapsed on the bottom step and you at the very top staring down to both men.

“Marcus.” Nestor pointed to Marcus in his way of introducing you.

“I’d say nice to meet you but this is fucked.” You made your way down the stairs to grab the gun from Nestor and situate him in a better position. “I’ll be taking this for now.” You put the safety back on and placed the gun in your back waistband before picking Nestor up against the wall. “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on and how the fuck you knew where I was?” It was essentially two questions, one was pointed at Marcus and one was pointed at Nestor.

“I’m sorry to barge into your home like this.” Marcus said like it was the beginning to an explanation but just looked at Nestor to respond.

“She knows.” Nestor breathed out the two words.

Marcus nodded. “Well then, you know everything we do.”

You raised your eyebrows and let out a laugh. “Respectfully, I think the fuck I don’t.”

Marcus was glaring at Nestor again, not wanting to get anymore involved in this than he already was.

“I knew where you were, found you a few months after you left. Never told Miguel.” Nestor’s eyes were closed as his chest raised and fell with his deep breaths.

You were speechless which was Nestor’s invitation to keep talking.

“I got attacked. Your brother, ordered the hit on me. He’s pissed about your mom.”

Your mom. When Nestor mentioned it before it slipped out of your mind over the thought that your brother ordered a hit on his best friend.

“She was murdered. Not sure by who but he blames us all. I got away, laid low, told Marcus to meet me here.”

“How do I know you weren’t followed.” You snapped your head to look at Marcus who was still standing stoic in your entryway.

“I wasn’t.” His voice was steady. You believed him, there wasn’t anything you could do if you didn’t but the way he was handling this right now was better than you expected from someone you’d never met.

You sat in the silence for a minute, taking everything in before shaking it all off, letting the Galindo fall right back into place.

“So what the fuck do we do now?” You looked straight at Marcus as you asked, knowing Nestor called him here for a reason and if he trusted him you should too.

“We run.” His advice was chaotic but it was spoken so confidently that you didn’t have an ounce of doubt in you. Maybe it was because running was a life you knew about pretty well, it was comfortable. It was safe, ironically. “But for now, let’s get him to a couch, we’ll head out in a few hours.”

You nodded in agreement as Marcus walked over to help you bring Nestor to your living room. Placing him on the couch you both stood over him. After a moment you looked over at Marcus and introduced yourself giving him your name.

“Miguel’s sister.” You specified even more. Before the two of you could speak more, Nestor was mumbling under his breath.

“What?” You placed your attention on him.

“Before I showed up. Were you on a date?” Nestor grumbled, the pain medicine obviously kicking in.

Embarrassed, you snapped your head towards Marcus who was quick to look away.

“I’ll, uh.” Marcus pointed towards the kitchen and quickly made himself scarce leaving you and Nestor in the living room.

“Not a very good one if this was the highlight of my night.” Your voice was annoyed but you spoke the truth.

Nestor smiled at your response. It was a mix of pride and also relief. “Maybe, when this is all over, I can take you on a date.”

His voice was slurring, it was another empty promise, you knew that, but you also knew that he meant it.

“You should get some rest, Nes.” As your hand swayed next to him, he grabbed it.

“Promise me that you’ll give me a chance.”

You froze at his touch but then nodded. If he could give you an empty promise, you should be able to also.

“I promise.”

Part 1

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