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pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

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

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

chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]

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

AO3

Chapter 11: In the Beginning...

——Then——

In the beginning…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

————

In the beginning…

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

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

Following the Munson name.

————

In the beginning…

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.

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

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

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

“You know why.”

The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the final straw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Embarrassment, failure, freak..

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

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

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

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

Eddie froze.

Her.

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

Her.

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

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

“C’mon, Ed—”

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

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

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

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

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

Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.

Already, he failed.

Already, he was worthless.

Already, he was alone.

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

——Now——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna go,” you assured gently.

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

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

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

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

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

And you were pushed.

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

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

Soft music played from the radio station.

Riders on the Storm.

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

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

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

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

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

Now was not the time to bother him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lightning revealed his weary frown.

At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.

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

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

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

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

The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.

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

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

Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never good enough for anyone to stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Oh.

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

He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Across the Universe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Eddie took an anticipatory breath.

The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.

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

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

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

His shame was only beginning to unravel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That hurt,” Adrie complained.

“Ow,” you agreed.

“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.

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

Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”

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

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

“Are you feeling better?”

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

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

They blinked at you. You blinked back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The night was really fucking long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working man arms defined your waist.

Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.

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

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

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

“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”

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

“Or, what about when—”

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

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

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

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

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

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

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

——Then——

In the beginning…

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

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

“Can I live with you?”

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

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

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

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

His uncle never took his room back.

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

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

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

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

“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——Now——

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

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

“I was,” he confirmed.

“What does that mean?”

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

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

Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.

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

—Mom.

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

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

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

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

It was unfathomably dark in his living room.

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

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

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

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

"Daddy?" she checked.

The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.

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

"I wish Miss Mouse was here."

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

"I wish she was my mom."

"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.

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

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andy-wm · 2 months

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Back to WHO : the MV

This is a continuation of the earlier post that discusses the song WHO, by Jimin. That post was a first impression focused on the lyrics - while this one looks more closely at the MV.

(Remember this is my interpretation, not an official statement by Hybe)

The more times I watched the music video, the more I wanted to yell, because look...

IT'S REALLY STARING US IN THE FACE.

And again, kudos to Jimin's team because it's the most obvious thing in the world ever but only if you ALREADY KNOW what's going on.

Here's a summary:

The music video loosely represents Jimin's attraction/sexuality/love life as a timeline.

New colours - a new spectrum shall we say - filter into his life even though he's trying so hard to 'keep to the program'.

He searches high and low for a girl to love, but alas, nobody makes the fireworks happen for him. Then Billboard Boy crashes into his life, threatening to destroy everything. Jimin has to weather the storm and figure out where his place is because Billboard Boy is a major disruptor - a tornado in fact. In the end, the fireworks are popping and the chaos is happening, and Jimin has to just go with it and finds his place again. His colours have been getting brighter and louder as he goes along and in the end he's prepared to walk away from everything in order to be the spectrum he is.

<<I'm not saying it's literally a count of how many girls or boys or enbys he's kissed. I hope his kissed all of them and then some, frankly, but that's none of my business.>>

A few things to pay special attention to:

Burning cars > cars = masculinity. fire = hot. 1+1=2.

Dancers > people he's interacting with

Rough weather, as represented by the wind-whipped papers and eventually even cars being tossed about the set > His attraction to men (and dare I say it, culminating in a focus on one man in particular)

Colour flares, machine text, and marks on the tape (horizontal lines etc)

Are you ready? Let's go...

Jimin enters the scene looking like sex on legs (no surprises) and strolls casually onto the road. Immediately our view of hm is blocked by a pop-art style poster blowing across the screen. It's immediately followed by a car coming around the corner onto the road. The car is on fire. Jimin watches it pass by and follows it.

He follows the burning car.... and so it begins.

The narrative starts from before BTS even exists. Jimin encounters several female dancers who he has brief and sexy interludes with. In fact i don't think there's a single woman in this MV who he doesn't at least look at. He really does try everything (and everyone) in his efforts to find HER.

BUT WAIT.... rewind...

Let's go back to the poster... it depicts a street scene much like the one we see here, with the words:

WHO IS!! TORNADO OF LOVE

Note: those are exclamation points not question marks.

It's not a question. This is telling us UP FRONT IN BIG LETTERS that 'WHO' is tornado of love.

I could probably stop here and just say 'ok go watch it again' but it's too much fun to go through all the details.

So let's continue...

Jimin has a little more steamy choreo with the female dancers before the lyrics tell us he has so many people to see and places to go, and he leaves them and joins 6 other men in what looks like a work environment....

Hello we are BTS!

Yes you guessed it... like Yoongi did in Haegum, Jimin has his members represented here. (Fan chant going off in my head...) and more delicious choreography follows.

Notice that while Jimin was dancing with the girls, the only signs of rough weather were a few glittery specs floating through the air, barely noticable. Those bits of glitter multiply when he joins the 6 men, and instead of a sprinkling of glitter, it starts looking like a light snowfall.

That's all about to change....

The first moment of reckonning:

At the end of this section of choreo, as Jimin sings 'who is my heart waiting for' and moves into the next phase we have a barely visible flash of light across the screen and rainbow colours bleed into the footage (at 1.14).

This is also the moment the significant rough weather starts. I'd say this is where Jimin starts noticing how he feels, and the turmoil begins, because this is also where he makes eye contact with the camera (1.23).

He sees us watching.

Fuck. I had a moment here. There's a look on his face as he walks past the camera and stares right into it.

AUTO CALLIBRATION...

As another millisecond flash of light and rainbow colours seep into the footage, The machine text 'AUTO CALLIBRATION' appear on the screen and flash there for a couple of seconds.

CALLIBRATE: To standardise... by determinning the deviation from a standard so as to ascertain the proper correction factors (Meriam-Webster definition).

"Get a hold of yourself, Jimin. Reset (your behaviour and desires) to correspond with expectations"

Jimin makes a very determined bee-line for the nearest girl and dances with her, ignoring the burning car in the foreground.

This brings us to the next phase of the narrative, and the next location - the performance space in front of the OASIS cinema.

(Do you see the doors of the cinema - BTS referenced again).

As he dances with this girl, the camera zooms out and we see that a crowd has gathered outside the cinema, watching them, but the crowd does not seem friendly and the dance seems performative - the movements are exagerated and obvious. The girl has Jimin in a headlock at one point and then she pushes him away and leaves. All in all it's an unpleasant event.

At this point the BTS members return (Although now there's one missing) and they dance with and around a number of female dancers. flashes go off in the crowd as the choreo is performed.

As they dance the wind picks up quickly and papers and cans are blown about. Even when Jimin is obviously interacting with female dancers the weather continues to pick up. Dancing with the girls isn't helping.

The camera pulls back and we see the same car as before, still on fire.

This is the moment when the penny (or billboard) drops.

All the other dancers scatter, dissapearing in a matter of seconds as the billboard comes crashing down. The billboard blocks his path. Wherever he had been planning to go - or whatever course of action he had planned to take - this man on the billboard forces a new decision. Jimin has to rethink his plans.

Jimin turns and goes in the opposite direction to everyone else. (A similar scene occured in Like Crazy, Jimin going the other way, rejecting the norm, going against the tide).

The machine text flashes "REWIND ... REWIND" on the screen and we see Jimin heading back to where all this started... where the original car on fire was seen.

He's travelling his own path now, but as he walks, alone in what seems to be the wrong direction, we see the store lights brighter, reflecting off cars and filling the space around him.

He's going through the motions with the girls he passes but the interactions are brief and in one case he actually dodges the girl completetly.

He retraces his steps amidst the chaos, and the weather really goes nuts. Now there are cars being thrown through the air, streetlamps exploding. The storm is almost upon him.

As Jimin steps into that original street again, the one with the neon letters spelling BLISS, the machine text reads PLAY. It's almost ike he's having a redo, where he accepts who he is from the start and allows the chaos to happen. And the chaos DOES happen, because the tornado has arrived.

THE TORNADO OF LOVE.

There's a flash and the whole screen is flooded with colours, blanking out the footage.

Jimin can no longer dance in step with everyone else at this point. He's doubled over, belting those high notes at the climax of the song while the chaos rages in the background. Without the music to give his actions context, it almost looks like hes in agony.

Sparks fly, lights flash, even the film itself is affected...

He eventually gets it together and rejoins the choreography, picking up his life so to speak. But his callibration is forever changed. the colours that bled into his life are there for good now, and and as he walks away after the music stops, we see that those colours are not just for the performance, they exist outside of that.

A note about the light flares we see throughout the MV:

It was really hard to catch these, some of them were literal milliseconds. I had to slow the MV down to play at .25 original speed and even then they were fleeting - well hidden.

Only the one at the very end was really visible.

In this one, the word PAUSE appears, as the MV ends. I wonder if that relates to their military service?

The flares of light and colour, those rainbow flashes, aren't always easy to find. Youvhave to be prepared to seek them out.

We will find them if we look for them, but i think Jimin won't show his true colours until after the lights go down and the performance is over.

I respect his decision (if that's what that is) and i will continue to meet him here his stands. I'll support everything he does knowing what I know and I'll continue to search for and uncover the hidden messages he sends us.

#park jimin #jikook #국민 #bts jimin #park jimin who #jimin who #tornado of love #jimin muse

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unclewaynemunson · 2 years

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Okay so @willowworkswithwords sent me this fucking perfect prompt about Steve casually mentioning how much of an asshole his dad is is during a movie night at the Munsons and Wayne immediately shifting into Concerned mode, and I almost finished the thing but then tumblr glitched and i lost it to the void forever. I learned my lesson to never save anything to tumblr without backup ever again, buuut here it finally is:

Wayne first met Steve Harrington long before Eddie officially started dating the boy. He figured out that his nephew was head over heels before Eddie himself did. He hadn't been too thrilled about it, at first. In his experience, boys like Steve Harrington, with his big car and neatly ironed polo shirts, could only want two things from boys like his Eddie: drugs and secret encounters in the dark before he'd finally follow the path that was perfectly mapped out for him by his parents. But it didn't take him too long before he admitted that he had misjudged the boy. He noticed it even before Eddie himself did: Steve Harrington had fallen like a brick for his nephew, and he was in it for the long run.

He mostly met the boy in passing, whenever he'd come home from his night shift while Steve was just leaving the trailer park, or when he'd be heading out to get to work at the same time as Steve came by to pick up Eddie for a date or to hang out with that group of freshmen that Eddie would never stop talking about. The boy was always perfectly polite to him, calling him things like Sir and Mister, apologizing for being in his space and thanking him for the most ridiculous little things. Wayne thought it was a bit much, but he supposed that it was just how the boy had been raised, all formal and uptight. There was something behind it, however, a certain guarded look in his eyes, that always gave Wayne this uncomfortable feeling in his gut. He didn't quite understand what that was all about – until the three of them were having a movie night in the trailer on one of Wayne's nights off.

The two boys were all over each other on the couch, their legs entangled and their fingers intertwined, with their heads as close together as if they'd die if they wouldn't be breathing the exact same air. It made Wayne wish he had a camera on him; instead, he tried to imprint the picture into his memory.

He didn't care too much for the movie, which was about some rich teenage girl trying to break free from the restrictive uptown life that was suffocating her by getting herself some no-good boyfriend in a leather jacket – who Steve and Eddie enthusiastically agreed was a “hot piece of ass.” The main bad guy was the girl's dad, a character who checked off all the rich asshole dad stereotypes: suit that made him look bigger than he actually was, wife who let herself be bossed around by him at all times, and that kind of undefinable charisma, which made everyone else feel like all the air had left the room whenever he'd walk in.

'He kinda reminds me of my dad,' said Steve while leaning forward to get himself a handful of popcorn. It was just an innocent, offhand remark, and sounded perfectly nonchalant – but as he said it, the camera zoomed in on the girl's face to convey one single emotion: fear.

Steve leaned back into the couch and stuffed his mouth full of popcorn, getting crumbs all over his shirt and seemingly not noticing how both Wayne and Eddie had frozen by his remark.

Wayne met his nephew's wide-eyed gaze over the top of Steve's big hair. Wayne wasn't exactly a talkative person, and over the years in which Eddie had been living with him, they had perfected the art of silent communication, not needing more than some looks and gestures to have complete conversations with each other.

Wayne raised an eyebrow at Eddie, which meant something along the lines of Did you know about this?

Eddie responded with a barely-visible nod.

Wayne made a sideways movement with his head. Why didn't you tell me?

Eddie shrugged. It wasn't my place to tell, that meant.

Wayne nodded at him and turned his gaze back to the screen, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to properly shift his attention back to the plot.

'You wanna stay over?' Eddie asked Steve when the movie was finished.

Steve's eyes immediately flashed to Wayne's corner, that familiar guarded look in them. 'Um... Would you – would it be okay if I stayed the night, sir?'

'You can stay whenever you like, son,' said Wayne. 'And stop calling me sir, alright?'

'Alright, yeah, okay, sorry sir,' Steve stammered, which made Eddie burst into loud laughter. Wayne merely shook his head and got up from his chair.

He never sat Steve down for some official talk about his asshole dad – that wasn't his style anyway. He preferred conveying the message by little gestures: calling him “son” whenever he had the chance, refusing to be called “sir” ever again, giving him a key to the trailer, inviting him over to watch basketball together, taking him fishing when they both had a day off work... After a while, that guarded look finally disappeared from the boy's face. But it returned a couple months later, when Steve accidentally called Wayne “dad” in a distracted moment. Wayne didn't say anything about it; he merely gave the boy a pat on his shoulder to let him know it was okay. He didn't mind getting called “dad” by Steve Harrington for one bit.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #willow thank you so much for sending me this prompt i really loved it #wayne munson my beloved #ficlet #stranger things #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fruity ficlet

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n3kk1tty · 4 months

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"Imagine being the adopted Daughter of the Sinclair brothers showing up in Travis county one day after buying a piece of land and a home to start a new life for you and your fathers. "

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

Ambrose burned down that night and you were lucky to escape with what you did. Your twin father's clinging to life as tears streamed down your face tearing out of there before the cops could show ripping your family from you. You made sure you wouldn't be followed. No one would find your family and take them from you. You had grabbed what you could in the hours before departure after pulling your father's to safety and killing one of the survivors. You and Lester filled two cars with what you could before setting the whole town ablaze in a finale good bye. Your family home and town in mass flames as nothing would survive. Too many bodies to determine if you all had died in the fire or not.

You were a smart girl and had dreams of one day leaving the nest you just didn't think this is how it would turn out. When your fathers Vincent and Bo came to you were already across Louisiana state lines into Texas with your father Lester following in his truck. In the aftermath your family had found another ghost town to set up in. You were happy your years of prep for a life on the road had paid off as you had a lot of money to spare to help start this new chapter. You were practically tossed the keys to the house and land for cheap as everyone was abandoning this town, happy to sell for nothing. Bo took long to adjust to the change, getting into fits at having nonstop maintenance to do on the house and new garage. While Vincent lamented at the tragedy of what happened and how all his art was gone.

You had managed to snag only a small box of your fathers tools and art journals in the fire but had made sure on a trip to pick him up new art mediums when you went towns over for supplies one day. You remember how hard the quiet man hugged you when you awkwardly showed up in his basement room with a box of different art mediums. Signing to your father while you spoke. " I know it doesn't replace what we lost that night. But maybe it's time to try new mediums just like our new beginning. I love you dad." After that day Vincent would dive into new mediums every time you brought him some. He quickly took up wood carving and mask making to replace his wax prosthetic while using his oil pastels to draw the texas sunsets.

You and your father Lester were the most positive of the family about the move. You did your best to make the house a home and to keep the family together while Lester got work a ways out picking up road kill just like he used to. The only piece of mind with him having such a long commute was the fact Jonesy was always with him and he was just a call away. Your family lived in the quiet town for a few months blissfully unaware of your cannibal neighbors lurking in the ghost town as well. That was until you started frequenting the corner store for goods. Things like nails, cigarettes, and beer became a regular on a trip for you to do as Bo was always asking you to pick up things while he stayed home mumbling to himself.

It wasn't till your third trip did Luda Mae start questioning you. You brought the beer to the counter pointing to the cigarette brand your father liked. " A husband at home who likes to drink and smoke missy?" You let out a small laugh in response to the older woman. " No, no. Sadly not Married nor dating Ma'am these are just for my father. He's been working on our house and having me go fetch him things. " The woman perks up behind the counter. " Working on a house you say. That wouldn't be in this town would it. Ain't hardly anyone left let alone new comers. " You lean across the counter the sweetest smile you could muster in your face.

" We actually like the quietness of the town. Haven't had time to meet our neighbors though after moving in a couple of months ago. We've been too busy trying to get the house in order. I think I have already lost count of the days with how much I've been in my garden or kitchen all day. " The older woman pulls in a seat motioning for you to sit with her at the counter as she interrogates you. " So you like keeping yourself busy? Is it just you and your father and mother in the house, I know I'll be losing track of days myself keeping up with the three boys in my house. "

You laugh as you shyly scratch your head. " No ma'am. Never had a mother before. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it but I'm adopted by three brothers. They kinda found me abandoned when I was younger in this roadkill dumping ground and when they brought me home none of them could decide who the father would be so they are all just kind of my dad's. Now I know that must be a little strange and off putting to most but I sware that's my life. Though I guess legally my Pa Bo is my father as he took me to appointments when I was little. "

The woman could feel her maternal instincts fluttering in her chest as she schemed a way to make you her daughter. Luda Mae was determined to be the mother you never had, or even mother in law. " Oh that sounds like something silly three men would do. Must have been tough growing up with no mother. " You sigh to yourself as you think back to the home you can never return to a sadness hurting your heart. " I mean my father's certainly struggled teaching me to be lady-like. If it wasn't for my dad Vincent I'd probably still be running around in a baseball cap and boy clothes being a wild child. He used to fuss for hours learning how to style my hair like all the other little girls and make me dresses to wear since sometimes money got tight. "

" Oh you poor thing. What brings y'all to Travis? Planning on staying long or are you gonna set out on your own eventually. " Your smile drops as you half heartedly try and smile again at the woman but she can tell that question hurt you. " No, I think I'll stay here with my dad's. Our last home was burned down thanks to burglars and we barely made it out alive. I'm just doing my best to hold my family together. They are all I've ever known and I wanna keep them safe. I should probably be heading back before the beer gets warm."

Luda Mae walks you back to your car patting your back as you finish your chatting. " Well you know men. If you don't tell them to take a break they will work themselves ragged. My old man Bo is probably fiddling in his garage or in the house again. I'd love to come by for a visit, Miss Luda and give a proper introduction since we're neighbors. Maybe I should bring some dessert for your boys. " The woman smiled as you started the car up. " Oh (Y/n) I think my Tommy would fancy meeting you. " A blush and a nervous laughter arises as you remember back to the last time you attempted romance and how Bo and Vincent nearly made him a wax figure in Ambrose.

" I'd be charmed to meet him. I'll be seeing you around ma'am don't work yourself to hard. " After that day Luda Mae became determined to hook Tommy up with you. You were the perfect candidate for her son. The list of womanly house chores you could do was phenomenal and you were a sweet family oriented girl who was pretty to boot. The next visits to the shop you brang the old woman all sorts of things while you two spend the time chatting away. Like homegrown veggies, or fruit you snagged outta town, you even brought her some embroidery you did while learning with Vincent. All things Luda Mae appreciated and shown how you were the perfect daughter in law for her. She brought the things home showing them to Tommy talking his ear off about how she found him a bride finally and the man was excited just to get a look at you.

Hoyt caught wind of the newcomers in town and decided since he was the sheriff he might as well introduce his authority. Luda Mae almost took his family jewels though stating that you were Tommy's and Tommy's alone so to keep his hands off her future daughter in law as the man got ready to drive over. It took the whole Hewitt family to stop Tommy from hopping in the back of the car to catch a peek. Luda Mae had to assure him that you'd meet in due time but she was buttering you up for your new position.

At your house you had snagged bees to add to your new little farms addition so you were attending to your helpers. There wasn't much food out here and you and Lester were the only ones bringing in money so you figured homesteading was good enough to keep your family fed and happy. Trips out to town were long and tedious like Ambrose but you made do with selling things at the farmers market to help bring home ends meat. Your little farm had rabbits, chickens, and bees for wax now. You beamed in pride up at the window as Vincent signed to you. " Bees ? For wax ? Bee- careful not to get stung. "

You laughed at your fathers joke as you smiled as you signed back to him. " Very funny Dad. " Suddenly a cop car came rushing down the pebble road to your home. You freeze in fear as Vincent takes notice of your face rushing to grab Bo and his tools as your brain rushed with the thought that your family had been found. You were panicking. How did they find you. There was no way anything survived that fire or the victims could pin point you. Your eyes darkened as you grabbed the knife in your apron pocket. No one would take your family from you without paying with their life first. The sheriff hopped out the car standing in the driveway to your porch as you stood in your gardeners outfit and sunhat before him. " Well hello sheriff what brings you all the way out here?"

" Well I sheriff Hoyt would be surprised that we have newcomers in town who haven't even met their local police officers yet. Luda Mae has been chatting up a storm about you missy and I figured since I'm the sheriff of our small town it only makes sense to get to know who I'm protecting. " Your grip loosens from the knife in your apron as you let out a relieved sigh. " Well my goodness sheriff what an honor it is you drove all the way here to meet us. I'm sorry I would have been dressed a lot nicer if I knew someone so important was coming. Why don't you get outta the heat sir. That uniform must be blazing in this heat I'll go grab my father and some lemonade to cool you off. " The man's ego felt extremely boosted by your demeanor as he took a seat in the rocking chair on the porch.

You rushed inside in time to stop your twin father's from rushing out the door to mangle the sheriff. You push your hands on their chest signing out with your hands what's happening just so you know no one can hear. " It's just one of Luda Mae's boys. The lady from the store said her son was the sheriff. He isn't here for us, just to introduce. " Bo stares down grumbling as he wipes his hands clean of car grease. " Guess we should make peace with our neighbors. Stay outta it if things go south though. Understand. " You smile at him as you go to the kitchen Vincent following behind as you shout to the man. " I will Pa. You want beer or lemonade?" You laugh as Bo replies back lemonade is fine as he doesn't wanna share his booze with the sheriff just yet.

The front door swings open as Bo towers over the man on the porch. His face switches to a smile as he walks over to the sheriff sticking his somewhat cleaned hands out. " Well hello there sir. How kind of you to stop by. I'm Bo Sinclair the man of the house. Sorry about the car grease, was working on my truck. " The sheriff shakes his hand as he looks the man up and down. At least they weren't bikers or hippies he thought as the pair sit down making small talk as you bring drinks out. The two spend hours shooting the shit almost bonding over there disdain of the bikers in town. They talk about the town and its history while Bo eventually offers to fix up the sheriff's car as it looks like it could use a look under the hood.

By the time the old men are done chatting and taking a look at the car discussing Bo fixing up cars for the sheriff and splitting profits off of car scraps Lester and Jonesey are making it up the drive way for dinner. Hoyt ended up meeting the whole strange Sinclair family that night as he stayed for dinner. Fresh veggies and beautifully seasoned food with dessert and beer. The man almost didn't want to leave and agreed with Luda Mae your family's would be best together through you and Tommy's future wedding. Though Hoyt wouldn't tell your fathers as the twins were built out of brick and Lester was proud to show off his roadkill job so winning the Sinclair's favor was the Hewitts plan.

That night Hoyt went home with a full stomach and plenty of leftovers as your rabbits were well multiplying like rabbits. The sheriff tossed the leftovers plate to Tommy as he patted the boy on the back saying he was lucky. " We found you a good one boy. Gonna have to marry that one so me and my future business partner can keep bringing good meals like this home. " Tommy nearly licked the plate clean as the cucumber salad and roasted rabbit were heavenly on his tongue and when he got to the Mississippi mud pie on the plate he almost wanted to run over there now and officiate the wedding. Tommy was even more excited as Hoyt told him not to worry about his face as your father Vincent had a birth defect to his face as well. Talking about how if Tommy asked he would probably make him one of those fancy prosthetics to boot.

The first time you met the giant guard dog of the Hewitts was on the faithful day you invited them all over for dinner. The Summer heats had been rough but you Sinclair's had made your new home finally to your liking and it only took half a year. Hoyt and Bo were thick as thieves in their car business. Your garden was flourishing as you did wonderfully at the farmers markets selling off eggs, rabbits, and flowers. On rare occasions you'd sell art that Vincent made. All the Sinclair's had pulled together and were now financially stable again and adjusted to their new lives. The past may have burned down but the new peace you had you wouldn't trade for the world.

Maybe Ambrose going up in smoke was the blessing you all needed as it took with it the past bad memories as well as the good. Along with the Sinclair's doing good that meant the Hewitts got to thrive off of your generosity as well. Luda Mae spent hours making Tommy scrub off blood and dirty from his body to be presentable for your first meeting. You had brought the woman many fancy soaps from your trips to town and she was currently doing her best to make the man smell like roses. She even went out of her way to trim back his hair and freshen his clothes. With the last spray of stolen cologne the Hewitts were piling into the new fixed up car they had fixed up by Bo.

When they arrived the porch was lit up with fairy lights and the old Texas farmhouse was now as beautiful as it ever was. New paint and many maintenance later with your adding of decorations and dried herbs on the porch the Sinclair's property was the prettiest in Travis county. How either family never broached the topic of murder was a mystery as it wasn't like Bo wasn't making people disappear for car parts and cash when they wandered into your property. Can't have his new sheriff friend being crossed with him but the Sinclair's weren't going to let anyone take their new home from them. While the Hewitts kept with keeping their freezer stocked.

Both families stood in front of each other smiling while their dark secrets made them even more similar than they thought. Tommy nervously handing you a bouquet of wild flowers he picked while you tried talking to the behemoth. The Hewitts made themselves comfortable in your living room while they talked your fathers up. The same fathers who kept glaring down the Hewitt boy any time they thought he was stepping out of line with their beloved daughter. You two were watched like a hawk as Tommy nervously fiddled with his dress shirt while you softly talked to him trying to get him to look at you. Gentle hands felt his forearms as he tried to communicate back but couldn't as he was unable.

The Sinclair brothers watched like guard dogs around their daughter as you sat with Tommy on the couch teaching how to use sign language to communicate with you. Jonesey sat by you getting pets as you taught him how to sign dog. You liked the sweet man you did. He was shy and big but he was a gentleman to you as electric shot through your heart every time you touched. The Hewitts plan was working and you and Tommy were just in the beginning stages of your love story they thought. The two family's after that night became thick as theives. You and Tommy were paired together most days then not afterwards as the boy would get so excited he would happily do the long walk to your property just to see you.

Even if his help wasn't needed he would be there for an hour so you could teach him sign while Vincent worked away on a better prosthetics for your boyfriend to be. Every time this boy lumbered up the porch he'd bring you a gift and be as clean as possible while happily making noises at you. You even started sneaking off to the Hewitts under the guise of helping Luda Mae in her own garden and home just to see Tommy. Under the Texas heat love bloomed in the air and the families grew closer and closer together. You were so close it was becoming harder to hide each other's secrets.

It all came out in the open one day though when one of the victims came out of the basement when Bo and you were over to help. They came running out covered in blood begging you for help in the kitchen with you and Luda Mae in the middle of pickling. They yanked you away while swinging the knife at the old woman shouting for everyone to hear that the Hewitts were monsters and you should leave. The old woman panicked begging for you not to leave coming up with excuses as the victim lunges at her. With a swift wack of a cast iron they were slumped in the floor as you made work to cutting the vocals cords and Achilles tendon in the poor thing.

Luda Mae stood in shock as her sweet gentle future daughter in law was blankly using a knife to finish the girl off making sure she wasn't gonna be causing a fuss anymore. You stood above her as you looked at the old woman, blood smearing your face as you laughed. " Guess our families are a lot more alike than I thought Luda Mae. " Bo and Hoyt came sprinting into the room noticing the blood and girl on the floor as Hoyt was prepared for the worst of having to fight his friend before the mechanic gave an approving chuckle. " That's my girl. Quick and effective. Well come on Hoyt the ladies can't keep pickling with this bitch on the floor so let's get it cleaned up. I'm hungry for some lunch too. Would y'all ladies mind making us men something. "

After that the families solidified a friendship between the two Travis County quickly became a place for people to disappear and die. The Sinclairs did not partake in the cannibalism like their friends but they would gladly help lure victims or finish people off. The families were always at each other's places to help and soon we're even helping fix up the corner store and the Hewitt home. Life was peaceful and eventually Tommy got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. Through the little sign language he did know under a southern live oak tree Thomas Hewitt asked for you to be his girlfriend.

You gleefully said yes as you tackled the man down to the ground placing a loving kiss to his face. You two hid under your tree from your prying families as you spent the evening in each other's arms giggling away as you exchanged kisses and bated breath. Your life in Ambrose may have been destroyed in that fire that night but you wouldn't trade your new beginning for the world. A fire could destroy the past but it also could warm your heart to the new future to come.

This was an idea in my head after I rewatched both movies. If y'all want more of Thomas Hewitt X Sinclair daughter make sure to let me know or if you want more Sinclair Daughter posts in the future.

#leatherface #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x reader #sinclair brothers #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #sinclair daughter #house of wax fanfiction

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sunhoures · 1 year

Text

And It Was All Yellow

pairing: wonwoo (svt) + reader (fem.)

genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, photographer!wonwoo, artist!reader (+ journalist!mingyu)

word count: ~5.7k

synopsis: wonwoo doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he finds himself falling for you a lot sooner than he thought possible

inspired by: the text post pictured above ^^ & the song “yellow” by coldplay 💛

posted: august 21, 2023

The weather in Seoul was dull—gray clouds and scattered, drizzling rain suspended over the city since dawn had broken. Most people hated such weather, but Jeon Wonwoo was not one of those people. In fact, he found comfort in the gloominess. He enjoyed the idea of having an excuse to stay in. And if he did need to go outside, he liked that there was a lack of the usual crowd of people that would be around if the weather was more ideal. Traffic was less compacted. Lines of any kind were short (or non-existent). The city was quiet, just as he liked it.

On days like today, he preferred to spend his time inside with a book or playing video games. But work had been scarce for him these past few weeks, so when his best friend, Mingyu, had informed him of a job offer he had no choice but to accept it. That’s how he ended up at a local art museum downtown at 9:45 a.m. on a Thursday morning. Despite the doors not opening for another fifteen minutes, a worker had let him in through the front door when he got her attention and pointed to his camera bag. She realized he didn’t have an umbrella with him, and so she quickly let him in. Luckily he had a raincoat over his outfit and a hat to protect his hair, so the most he had to deal with was a little rain on the back of his neck. He thanked the worker, staying close to the door to get any glimpse of Mingyu arriving.

In the meantime, he watched the cars pass by outside, each one splashing water out of the puddle and onto the sidewalk just in front of the entrance to the museum. He noticed it had lightened up a bit outside, the sky turning from a darker gray to a lighter gray with wispy, white clouds. He wondered if anyone would even show up to this exhibit opening in such weather conditions.

About five minutes after he arrived, Mingyu came knocking on the door, covering his head with a magazine. The worker came back and opened the door for him, deciding to leave it unlocked. Wonwoo’s younger friend came in, complaining under his breath about forgetting his umbrella and getting wet. He shook the sopping magazine, droplets of water falling onto the concrete floor. His gray button-up was a darker gray on the shoulders and sleeves from the rain that seeped into it. Wonwoo noticed the worker glaring at his friend for dripping on the floor and tried not to let his amusement show.

“Forgot your umbrella too?” he questioned Mingyu, “Hopefully your notebook didn’t get ruined.”

His friend looked to the bag he had hanging from his shoulder. The bag didn’t have a zipper, but it did have a flap that fell over the opening to keep it “closed” in a sense. He quickly shoved his hand inside, feeling around for his notebook. When he felt the edges of the paper and confirmed they were dry, he smiled, “All good. And why so early? That’s unusual.”

“I’m never late,” Wonwoo defended.

“Yeah, but if I tell you to be somewhere at ten a.m. you usually don’t walk in until nine fifty-eight.”

The older of the two shrugged, “Got an early start today.”

The two men began their work day, Wonwoo fine-tuning the settings on his camera to his liking while Mingyu made some preliminary notes in his notebook. They set up together in the lobby, but once the artist had arrived, Mingyu excused himself to greet her. Wonwoo stayed in the lobby, taking a couple of test pictures to see if anything else needed to be adjusted. Around him several museum workers, journalists, and other photographers were gathering with the artist. Wonwoo wasn’t the biggest fan of interacting with strangers, so he kept to himself. Luckily, he busied himself with his camera which was enough to keep people from disrupting him.

Once Mingyu returned to his friend, the two joined the growing crowd waiting by the entrance to the new exhibit where a ceremonial ribbon cutting was about to take place. Wonwoo found the ribbon to be a bit superfluous. Nonetheless, he stood towards the back of the small crowd, arms crossed and camera slung around his neck by its strap. He was hired to take some pictures of the event and the art pieces for Mingyu’s article, and that was it. It was somewhat easy money for him, but it did take more time and social interaction than he liked. Truthfully, he couldn’t wait for this to be over and go home to edit.

He watched you, the artist, get behind the ribbon and make your speech thanking everyone for showing up. He snapped a couple pictures as you thanked the museum for giving your art a home temporarily. After a few minutes, you ended your speech by giving a small spiel about how art was therapeutic to you and it should be for everyone else. He found himself subconsciously nodding in agreement, because photography was a form of therapy for him as well.

The ribbon was cut after your speech, and the congregation of guests entered the exhibit for the first time. Mingyu and Wonwoo brought up the rear, but they were just as astonished as every single person ahead of them when they saw the art on display. Several paintings of various mediums hung on the walls, varying in size. The large columns in the middle of the room also held paintings on them, each piece of art accompanied by a small plaque with information about it—like the title and date. Mingyu, just like the other journalists, was already jotting down notes in his book, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his pressed lips in concentration. Wonwoo peered around the room, simply taking everything in. His hands held his camera which was still hanging from his neck.

The two friends walked around together, patiently waiting for the other guests to continue on before taking their time in front of a piece to write or take pictures. As they got to the last few paintings, Mingyu made a comment about finding the bathroom, and that he would be back shortly. Wonwoo nodded and continued to snap a few pictures of the paintings before him. He came to a stop in front of a simple painting of sunflowers; the acrylic paint forming a kind of 3D effect on the canvas. He stared at that one for a moment longer than the rest of them, not for any particular reason, he supposed. It didn’t stand out from the others or anything, but he liked it for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Do you like sunflowers?”

Your voice startled him, though he didn’t show it. He merely turned to you, giving you a small nod of acknowledgement as well as a small, polite smile, “They’re fine I guess.”

“This was one of my first pieces I made in art school,” you explained, and it was then he noticed it did indeed have the earliest date posted among all of the canvases in the room.

“It’s nice,” he said, “Congratulations, by the way. You’re very talented.”

Your face broke into a sweet smile despite that being the nth compliment of this morning. Each one felt like a gold star being rewarded to you, and it filled you with happiness. You gestured to his camera, “Do you work for a magazine?”

“Um, sort of,” he shrugged, “My friend does, he just has me shoot pictures for his articles.”

“Oh, I do remember seeing you with someone,” you remembered, “Um, the tall one with the gray shirt, right?”

“Yes.”

“I see. I haven’t gotten to speak with him in depth yet, do you know if he’ll be back soon?”

“He should be returning from the bathroom soon,” he replied. Usually Wonwoo was terrible at making conversation with strangers. He dreaded it. But you gave off such a comforting, welcoming energy. He found himself wanting to talk to you about, well, anything, “This weather isn’t too ideal for this occasion, isn’t it?”

“The rain?” you asked, “Yeah, it’s a bummer, but the turn out was great still. I didn’t think so many people would come.”

“Why’s that?” his brow raised slightly in curiosity.

“I didn’t think my art was special enough to warrant such an exhibit. One of my mentors from art school is friends with the head of the museum, and he asked him for a favor. He’s put a lot of time and faith in me, but I don’t think my art is worth such a grandiose gesture,” you spoke so casually, as if it was fact. Wonwoo found your confession to be a little disheartening. Sure, the art might not have the prestige to qualify for the MoMA or the Louvre, but to someone like him who casually enjoyed art, your work was impressive.

“Well, I’m glad he did. Your work is amazing,” Wonwoo was a man of few words, but he hoped the few he could give would bring you some reassurance. And for the moment it did. You smiled warmly, perking up further when Mingyu returned to the both of you.

“Hello again, would you be able to spare a few minutes with me?” he asked you, already getting his notebook and pen from his bag. You agreed, and the two of you began a conversation while Wonwoo continued to snap some photos of the last paintings. When he was done, he waited patiently for you and Mingyu to finish your conversation. Around ten minutes passed, and the crowd was fluctuating as some people left and some newcomers joined. Wonwoo watched the guests observe the art, getting some inspiration to take photos of them as well. He figured some candid pictures would look nice too. He even got one of you and Mingyu discussing the sunflower piece before he approached the two of you again.

The three of you talked for what felt like hours but in reality was only twenty minutes. At some point the conversation had veered from art to your social lives. Mingyu was a very sociable, outgoing person, so it didn’t take long for him to strike a casual conversation with you. He had learned that the three of you frequented the same coffee shop a few streets away.

“We’ll have to get coffee together some time,” you said, “Should we swap numbers?”

Mingyu happily did so, and the two of you swapped phones to add each others contacts. You made a comment about getting with some other journalists, but you promised to stay in touch before leaving the two men with a “thank you for coming!”.

The rain had cleared up by the time the two friends left the museum. They walked together to the bus stop across the street, waiting for the bus that would be passing shortly. While they waited, they talked about the notes Mingyu got and the shots Wonwoo took.

“She was really sweet,” Mingyu said with a smile, “She told me she didn’t have many friends in the city. We’ll have to take her out with our friends some time soon.”

“Sure,” was all Wonwoo responded absentmindedly, replying to a text from his brother.

“She was pretty, too,” Mingyu added in a suggestive tone.

That made Wonwoo look up from his phone with a pointed look, “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” his friend shrugged, but his expression was telling before his mouth was, “It’s just been a while since you’ve dated is all. You two seemed to be getting along well.”

The older man rolled his eyes, returning them to his phone as he opened Instagram and proceeded to scroll through his explore page, “I spoke to her for five minutes while you were in the bathroom. I’m not going to fall in love with her in five minutes.”

His friend sighed, “You’ll never fall in love if you’re not open to a potential relationship.”

Wonwoo got quiet then, and the conversation didn’t pick up again until shortly before the bus arrived. On the ride he thought about what Mingyu said. It was true, he hadn’t dated in a very long time, since college actually. Now that he was twenty-seven, it was getting harder and harder for him to find himself in a situation to meet someone. He rarely left his house. He spent his free time doing things alone, and when he did go out with his friends he stuck to them pretty closely. On top of all of that, he wasn’t the most approachable person. He wasn’t a cold person, or at least he didn’t consider himself one. But his looks gave the impression that he was, his sharp eyes and straight-drawn lips making him seem standoffish.

And unlike his friends, he didn’t believe in “love at first sight”. The idea of meeting someone for the first time and instantly being head over heels for them just didn’t connect with him. He didn’t understand how others felt that. When he dated in the past, it took weeks, even months to fall for the person he had a crush on. And he wasn’t necessarily upset with the way he lived; he didn’t mind being alone. Since he was a kid, he always felt more comfortable doing things by himself. But lately he realized his day-to-day did feel a little lonely, especially since most of his friends were settling down with their partners or moving away to pursue careers. Maybe Mingyu was right. Maybe he did need some kind of change.

The first time you hung out with the two men after meeting them at the museum, Mingyu had invited you to join them for lunch. The three of you ate Korean barbecue, learning a bit about each other over a few bottles of soju. Wonwoo didn’t do much talking that time, mostly speaking only when spoken to. You and Mingyu carried the conversations, not that either of you minded. You felt like Wonwoo would need time to open up to you, so you gave him that. Luckily, the two agreed to hang out with you again later in the week. Mingyu had to get some editing done, so he invited you and Wonwoo to keep him company at his apartment.

You were shocked when Wonwoo was the one to engage in conversation with you first, greeting you at the door and welcoming you in. He and Mingyu were preparing a simple dinner, so you sat at the kitchen island watching them cook. You noticed Wonwoo seemed more comfortable talking this time around. Maybe it was because you had hung out already, or maybe it was because he was in a familiar environment. Either way you liked seeing a little crack in the shell that kept his true personality shielded away from you.

Over a couple months the three of you became really close, and you had even met some of their other friends. Mingyu’s office wasn’t far from the art supply store you visited every week, so you made it a habit to visit him every Thursday on your supply runs. The two of you would get lunch or just sit in his office and talk during his break before you returned to your art studio. You really liked the friendship blossoming between you and the two men, but then one day something changed.

Wonwoo texted you out of the blue one Saturday mid-morning asking if you wanted to get some coffee with him. You found it odd that he texted you because he had never done that before. It was usually Mingyu who texted you, or they texted you in a group chat that you had together. Nonetheless, you responded with “of course!” and got dressed.

When you showed up to the café you were confused to see Wonwoo sitting at a two-seater table by himself. You noticed he looked like he put more effort into his appearance today. Normally when you hung out he was in lounging clothes—a simple shirt with sweatpants or maybe loose jeans. The only time you remembered seeing him dressed this nicely was the day you met, and he was working then. But he didn’t mention working today? So what could be the occasion for him to wear off-white pants, a mustard yellow sweater, and what looked like new shoes?

He was reading something on his phone when you approached him, the light from the screen reflecting on his thin-rimmed glasses. When you set your purse down, he looked up at you and gave you a small smile, “Hey.”

“Hi, is Mingyu not joining?” you asked curiously as you sat across from him. You didn’t notice when the corners of his mouth wavered for a second.

“No, he’s working. You’re stuck with just me today,” he joked.

You chuckled softly, “Don’t make it sound so bad. Was there a reason you wanted to hang out today though? I have to say I was a little shocked when you texted me.”

It was Mingyu’s idea, but Wonwoo didn’t want to admit that. His friend had pointed it out that the two of you had never hung out alone. He figured it might help Wonwoo warm up to you more if you spent some time together one-on-one. And even though he didn’t say it out loud, Wonwoo knew Mingyu secretly wanted the two of you to work out romantically—for whatever reason, he wasn’t sure. Wonwoo wasn’t completely closed off to the idea; you were gorgeous and friendly. But he knew it wasn’t going to be an overnight thing. It took weeks for him to feel comfortable with you as a friend, he could only imagine the time it would take to start a romantic relationship.

“I, um, just realized we never got a chance to hang out alone. We don’t really know much about each other outside of our hang outs with Mingyu,” he said. In that moment he also realized how tense he felt. His legs were stiff and knees were drawn in close together under the table. His fingers toyed with the wrapper of his straw from his iced americano. His shoulders were drawn in the slightest bit, and he could feel his posture was kind of terrible. He tried to relax without making it look obvious that he was tense in the first place.

“Yeah, I guess I figured you just didn’t like to socialize as much as Mingyu did.”

“I don’t, but I’m trying to be better about that,” he admitted, and you felt like you might actually be getting somewhere with him, “He teases me a lot about being a hermit.”

You laughed softly, and he smiled with you, “Well, it’s nice to see you coming out of your shell.”

After an appreciative look from him, you excused yourself to order a drink. Wonwoo immediately opened his phone and texted Mingyu.

wonu 🐈‍⬛: ok i’m here, now what do we talk about?

gyu 🐶: well first, don’t be on your phone smh. second, just ask her questions about herself. seem interested. try not to look bored like you always do

Wonwoo sighed in annoyance, ignoring the last part of his message as he turned his phone over on the table. You returned shortly after, also with an iced americano. He decided to give his friend’s advice a try, “Do you always order iced americanos?”

“Only sometimes. My go-to is usually a hot latte, but it’s a bit warm for that today,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. He nodded in understanding, but he was unsure of what else to say. It was so much easier to converse with people you’ve been friends with for several years.

Luckily you had no issue with it, and you broke the awkward silence up for him, “How long have you been doing photography?”

“I’ve done it as a hobby since I was in high school, but after I graduated I started doing freelance work. So, almost ten years.”

“I’d love to see your work some time,” you spoke fondly, remembering the first time you met, “Your shots of my exhibit were amazing, so I can imagine the rest of your work is too.“

“My stuff doesn’t compare to the art you make,” he said it without even thinking. You weren’t sure if you should take it as a self-deprecating remark or flattery.

Your lips quipped into a thoughtful line before you derailed, “Okay, your turn. Ask me a question.”

“Oh, are we playing twenty questions?” Wonwoo joked, sitting back in his chair and sipping on his drink. The sunlight beamed directly across his right eye and onto his cheek. His eye was a deep chocolate brown color as opposed to the dark, cold, almost-black color it usually was. You wondered if his eyes were always that soft.

“Yeah, I’ve just decided. Your turn,” you repeated. You crossed your arms on top of the table, subtly leaning in as a sign of giving him all your attention. He fought the smile wanting to live on his lips, opting to look deep in thought. The two of you went back and forth for nearly half an hour, just asking each other questions. Some answers warranted tangents and story times before you went back to the questions, but you enjoyed it to the fullest. And truthfully, Wonwoo was too. He didn’t think he could get so much enjoyment from a game he used to play with his friends in grade school, yet here he was. On the verge of laughter as you told an embarrassing story from high school in which you were running late to school and didn’t realize until your second class that your underwear was stuck to the back of your shirt.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Wonwoo laughed softly, a crinkle appearing on the bridge of his nose, “I would’ve dropped out of school.”

“I thought about it,” you joked, a bashful smile on your lips as you remembered the story like it happened yesterday, “But yeah, if you’re going to get your clothes from the dryer, double check that your under garments aren’t stuck to them first.”

“Noted,” Wonwoo looked over and noticed that a new couple was sitting at the table behind you. That was the second time new people sat right there. He wondered how long you two had been sitting, but he didn’t want to check his phone in case you got the impression that he was in a rush to leave. Which he definitely wasn’t, “Okay, I think it’s your turn again.”

“Okay, um . . . “ your eyes searched the room for a question prompt, but you were grasping for straws- Wait, that’s it. Straws. The cups of plastic-covered straws on the counter were organized by color, one cup for each color they offered—pink, blue, and yellow, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Hm, why don’t you guess?” Wonwoo replied.

If he was honest, he didn’t really have a favorite color. He supposed if he considered it more he would settle for blue or purple, but he didn’t care enough either way. A good ninety-five percent of his wardrobe was black and five percent color, but he just liked black as a good neutral color to wear. He figured he would just let you guess until you decided to give up.

You thought about it for a moment, but no specific color came to mind immediately. His clothes were mostly black, but lots of people wore black clothing and had a favorite color that wasn’t black. His shirt was yellow as well as the straw for his americano, but there was no other indication that it would be his favorite color from what you could remember. Still, you figured it might be your best guess, “Yellow!”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile at your prideful declaration. You said it as if you knew it for a fact.

“Yeah.”

“Wait, really?” your eyes got wide and the grin on your face grew wide. Did you really guess it correctly in one try?

Even Wonwoo was shocked by his answer. Yellow wasn’t his favorite color. He didn’t have one. But you seemed so excited and hopeful and sure of yourself that he didn’t even think twice about his answer.

“Yeah, good job,” he praised you, and he had to admit to himself you looked really cute when you clapped your hands together in a small celebration for yourself, “What’s yours?”

“Pink,” you seemed visibly brighter when you answered. It made sense to Wonwoo. Pink was such a cute, bright, outgoing color. It signified friendliness and sweetness, and all of that just screamed you. Maybe he liked pink too. “It’s been my favorite since I was a kid. Everything I had was pink.”

“Pink suits you.”

You felt yourself flushing at the compliment, your smile turning sheepish, “I think yellow suits you, too. I’m picturing a nice pastel yellow for you. Very spring.”

He tried to picture it: him in a pastel yellow shirt. The mental image seemed foreign, since the mustard sweater he was currently wearing was the brightest color he had ever worn besides white. But he wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“Alright, your turn.”

A few more questions were exchanged between you two, long after your cups were emptied. The patrons of the café that had been present when you showed up were long gone, and new faces took their places. After a while you felt a little guilty for hogging the table for so long, even though it had only been a little under two hours. Wonwoo made a comment about heading out, so you both got up and threw your trash. He walked with you to the bus station, even though he had driven to the café in his own car. You thanked him for inviting you to hang out and told him that you enjoyed it.

“We’ll have to do this again some time, but maybe not tell Mingyu. He might get jealous,” you teased your non-present friend, making Wonwoo laugh softly. He knew for a fact that Mingyu would have no problem with it; he would probably encourage it, if anything.

“I don’t think he’d mind. He’s not usually the jealous type,” Wonwoo replied, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. He tried to think of something you two could do together, and he recalled that during the twenty—more like fifty plus—questions you had said you liked video games too, “If you want, we could hang out at my apartment, play some video games. And order pizza or something?”

“That sounds like fun!” your eyes lit up at the idea. You had never actually been to his apartment before. Every time you hung out was at Mingyu’s place, your place, or somewhere in the city. You wondered what his apartment looked like. He seemed like the type to keep everything tidy and minimal, “I’ll be pretty busy this week, but maybe we can work something out for next weekend.”

“Cool,” he nodded and kept small talk until the bus arrived to pick you and a handful of other people up. He waved you off politely, and when you were out of sight, he let out a hefty sigh. It felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders, but not in a bad way. He liked you, so there was this small, subconscious pressure that he felt to be more outgoing. He wanted you to like him too.

Over the next few weeks, there was a shift in the dynamic between the three of you, and it seemed to be obvious to everyone except Wonwoo. You and him had grown a lot closer as you started to hang out alone outside of your usual outings with Mingyu and their other friends. And it showed when the group was together. You always took the seat closest to Wonwoo. He laughed more at your jokes. You complimented his outfits—which were slowly but progressively becoming more colorful. He offered to walk you to your car or the bus or home whenever he could. Yet, still, when asked if anything was going on between you two, he seemed confused.

“It’s not like that,” he told Mingyu when the two were walking to a job they had booked one afternoon—a restaurant opening, “________ and I have gotten close, but not that close.”

“Hey, I know you wear glasses, but you can’t be this blind,” his friend retorted, “You two like each other.”

Wonwoo faltered a bit as he walked, but tried to play it off, “Did she say she liked me?”

“No, but she doesn’t need to. Neither do you, but as your best friend it would be nice if you told me these things.”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, annoyed that Mingyu had made him think you had finally admitted having feelings for him.

“You two act like you’re in your own world all the time. The guys notice it, too, not just me,” Mingyu continued, “And since when do you like yellow so much?”

The question took Wonwoo so off guard that he laughed incredulously, “What?”

“She’s always giving you stuff that’s yellow. And you started wearing yellow clothes,” Mingyu pointed out. And it was true.

The first thing you had gifted him was a simple pen; it was a sunflower yellow color with black lettering etched on the side that said ‘hello, sunshine!’. He was confused when you had handed it to him that second time you hung out together to play video games. You showed up on his doorstep, telling him to close his eyes and put out his hands. When he had opened them again the pen was sat in his palms.

“What’s this for?”

“Nothing, I guess. I was at the supply store and noticed it by the check out, and I thought about you. So I got it for you. It’s cute, isn’t it?”

Wonwoo honestly had no reason to use such a pen since his day-to-day work required little writing. And most of his notes were made in his phone, but the sentiment behind your gift made his heart flutter, “It is. Thank you, _______.”

And nearly every time after then you had gifted him things similar. While at the park with him and Mingyu, you bought him a banana flavored popsicle, solely for the fact that it was yellow—and you were relieved to find out he liked the banana flavor. When you went bowling with their friends, you gave him the yellow ball and left yourself with the last one which was brown. When you went to Mingyu’s to see the two of them, you had brought them each a keychain from a new pop-up shop that was near your art studio. You gave Mingyu a red one that had a soccer ball on it while Wonwoo’s was yellow and had a sunflower on it. You had initially got it because of its color, but the flower reminded you of the day you met him, so it held even more sentiment.

And recently, Wonwoo’s favorite water bottle had broken, so while you were out shopping you had found one that was similar to it. The cap was a little different, but it had the same shape and size, and it was a golden yellow hue.

When you gave it to him, the two of you were about to leave his apartment to get some dinner at the fried chicken place down the street. You had mentioned that you had a surprise for him, then you fished the bottle out of your tote bag to show him. His heart skipped a beat and a smile crept onto his lips when he saw it.

“I know you probably won’t love it as much as your other bottle, but hopefully you still like it,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. He took it from your offering grasp and shook his head.

“I do love it,” he said.

“You can leave it here while we go eat,” you turned towards the door, pulling your bag more securely onto your shoulder. But just before you could reach for the doorknob, Wonwoo’s voice called your name, making you turn back to face him, “Hm?”

Your eyes widened when you realized he was a lot closer than you thought, just a foot or so away from you. His tall frame seemed to tower over you, causing you to have to look up at him. You could see a struggle happening behind his eyes, as if he was going back and forth in his mind trying to decide on something. You were about to question him when suddenly he leaned forward and placed a quick kiss to your cheek. The skin that he touched felt hot in his wake, the warmth spread across your face and ultimately your whole body felt heated under his gaze.

“Thank you, ________. For everything,” he spoke softly, his anxiety apparent in his tone. He averted his gaze, looking down at his hands. A bracelet that you had bought him last week was wrapped around his wrist—white beads and yellow smiley face charms decorating it. For some reason seeing the jewelry gave him the little boost of confidence he needed to ask, “Would you like to make this a date?”

Your eyes widened even further, but you couldn’t ignore the flurry of butterflies going wild inside your chest, their fluttering wings tickling your heart. Your crush on Wonwoo had started long before his crush on you had formed, but that didn’t bother you. Because you knew that he liked you now, and you couldn’t pass the opportunity to say, “Yes.”

A charming smile grew wide on his face, prompting you to grin too. Happiness bloomed inside you, and the two of you walked out of the apartment suddenly feeling shy after wordlessly admitting your feelings for each other. Despite his nerves, though, Wonwoo found the courage to take your hand in his as you walked down the sidewalk to the fried chicken place.

Along the way you pointed out some yellow canola flowers planted outside of an office building, and Wonwoo decided in that moment that he would never get tired of the color yellow. The way your face lit up when you saw it or gave him yellow-themed gifts, he would always find it cute. As far as he was concerned, the entire world could be covered in the color yellow, and he would be content just knowing it made you happy. He no longer would appreciate rain; instead, he would look forward to sunny days when the bright, yellow sunlight would remind him of you and your kind heart. Maybe yellow wasn’t his favorite color at first but, over time, it would be.

— please like, reblog, and/or leave a comment! i appreciate your feedback! 🧸

— join my taglist here

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aajjks · 1 year

Text

Mommy Issues (III)

synopsis. They wanted you, they needed you.

pairing. yandere!single dad!jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings. yandere behaviour, extremely delusional behaviour, obsessive behaviour, Jungkook simp 101, dark themes.

note. hello y’all. 😳 umm it’s surely been a while… but here’s another update, enjoy! and please share your feedback and thoughts! also send in asks for mi characters as well.

series masterlist.

taglist: @mageprincess7 @bids97 @saltandsugaa @minshookie29 @oppa-agust-d @sugarvenomlit @jinat8mydumplings82 @bloombaekhyun @peach-olic @multifandombishthatlovekth @vcutvante @minshookie29 @douknowbts @xjiminsthighsx @knjkitten @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @koocreampie @kooksmataec @monijeon @swaneffects @dragons-flare @dragonjimin @illnevertrustmyselfagain @itsjust2am @vicki1031 @burnahtsw @fjssk @jamacaicanxbarbie [will tag more people later!]

“Hello son.”

Even hearing his voice made Jungkook want to throw up.

He gripped the phone in his hand tightly, his body tensed hearing his fathers voice into the speakers, tired eyes wandered around to see if anyone had heard him.

He sighed deeply as he saw his coworkers busy at their desks.

“Why did you call me?” Jungkook’s tone had now changed, he whispered. his nerves vanishing as his anger took over, the man bit the inside of his cheeks, venom dripped from his voice.

“I can call you whenever I wish to, son.” The older man was just as stubborn as Jungkook, it irked him so much that how calm the older man was. “Ha, of course.” Jungkook replied sarcastically.

His father had no right to sound so entitled, especially not after he had kicked Jungkook out five years ago.

“How’s your son?”

“Why do you care?!” He barked, his voice raising, “fucking hypocrite?! How can you even bring yourself to ask about my son?! The son that you wanted me to abandon, leave him to die?” It was hard for Jungkook to contain his voice from getting louder but he was trying his best.

And his father sensed that.

“Calm down, Jungkook.” The said man wanted to laugh at his “dad” for advising him to calm down, Jungkook’s dad really was the most hypocritical asshole he’d ever seen.

“Why’d you call me, dad?!” Jungkook emphasized on the last word, chewing on his bottom lip as he grabbed his car keys, the phone still pressed tightly into his ear.

“I want to have dinner with you.” Jungkook scoffed, clearing his desk out, “you cannot be serious.” Jungkook grabbed his coat and left the building, too engaged in his conversation with the man he hated the most.

“Tell me, is this about nara?” Jungkook knew his father very well, he was never a man who cared about his family.

“Dinner at the plaza, son. Saturday evening. We’ll continue our conversation there. Goodbye.” The line disconnected before jungkook could argue, his jaw was left agape as he sat in his car, his phone now in his hands as he stared at the screen,

His mind completely blanked. He was not going to be a pawn in his dad’s game this time. Jungkook would rather die than fulfill his fathers demand.

“Fucking damn it!” He started the car, his mind was going crazy the more he thought about his monstrous father.

He banged his hand on the steering wheel out of frustration, his mood was ruined, his excitement was gone.

He was looking forward to seeing you.

He couldn’t afford to have his mood ruined. Right now? He needed to focus on the PTM.

He needed to focus on you.

You’ve been here for the last two hours.

“Mrs Choi, haru is a very good boy, he’s very into arts and is always very eager to participate in such activities.” You smile at the young woman, praising her son who smiles in return at you.

Seeing the little guy’s smile makes your heart very warm. “But.” You clear your throat. “He can be quite naughty especially with his friends.” You watch as Mira, the boys mother throws him a stern look.

The boy just pouts in return, his green eyes shining with mischief.

“Thank you for letting me know, Ms Yn… I’m guessing the friends are Jeon Seol, Min byung-ho and Lee-Jin?” The mother passes a look of disappointment to her son. You smile lightly at the sight.

“He’s a very good boy, very athletic too.” You begin praising your student, “and his friends are very good boys too, although Haru seems to be a little attached towards Jeon Seol.”

The mother turns her head to look at you once again, “yes I’m aware, they’re very close friends since their childhood together actually. My husband is a friend of Seol’s Dad.” You raise your eyebrows at that.

You were not aware of that, Mr Jeon was such a friendly man? He was even friends with your best friend and her husband too.

Small world.

“And yes, his English and both Korean are very good, especially for a little guy his age.” You nod at the young mother who ruffles her sons hair.

“Say thank you, haru.” She was such a sweet woman, barely any older than you, and you were almost done with the meeting.

“That’s all, mrs Choi.” You stand up and you watch the foreign woman take her sons hand and she bows her head to you, you repeat the gesture.

“See you soon.” You wave the duo bye and sit down at your chair again, you are pretty sure your ass aches but.

a few more parents were yet to meet with you.

It was going to be a long long day.

You sighed.

“SORRY I WAS LATE BUT IM HERE!”

Jungkook’s eyes searched for you, his loud voice had grabbed attention of people in the classroom as he walked through the students and their parents.

“DADDY!” Jungkook felt a pair of small arms wrap around his legs, stopping him in his tracks when his eyes found you.

You were looking so beautiful.

“H-Hey champ!” Jungkook replied to his 5 year old son as he picked him up, “Why’re you late?!” His son grabbed his face and turned it towards him, Jungkook teared his eyes from you, focusing on his son instead.

Seol pouted at his distracted dad, “ms Y/N is waiting for you!”

Jungkook smiled at that as he kissed his son on the cheeks, “really? I’m sorry for making her and you wait, my love.” He giggled with his son.

“Come.” Jungkook had his son in his arms as he sat down in front of you. Seol was sitting in his lap comfortably but Jungkook was looking at you.

“Oh Mr. Jeon you’re here!” You exclaim, focusing your attention on him, giving him the most ethereal smile ever.

His heart fluttered.

“H-Hi… I’m sorry I-I was late.” Jungkook stuttered like a little boy in front of you, “it’s alright. Let’s begin shall we?”

Jungkook could listen to you forever.

He was having the time of his life, watching you, listening to your voice, he was feeling so lucky, it felt like to him it was just you, his son and you in the large room.

It was partially true, because the room was now almost empty.

He was actually glad that he was late.

“Ummm, are you there, Mr Jeon?” He watched your eyebrows twitch and you looked at him with confusion, your features looking even more beautiful.

“Daddy?”

He felt Seol pinch his skin and he broke his trance of thoughts, you watch him with concern and he also felt his child’s eyes on him.

“Yes-Yes I’m listening, ms yn… you continue, please.”

He was sounding like the most dumbest lovesick fool ever, but he didn’t mind sounding so stupid, you made him act so weird that it was impossible for him to be normal around you.

“And please please call me Jungkook, like I asked you to last night.”

He knows he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, but oh well.

He had.

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kookslastbutton · 1 year

Text

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m)┃ch. V

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 3,342

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), jk has milk obsession, oc injured, both lonely :(, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: I've heard the requests and I think it's time to fulfill them–how did they get together?! Yes, it's here and I'm excited to finally share! Also, yes this took up whole chapter so a tiny break from present-day stuff but we'll be back at it next chapter. 💞

<< ch. IV ༓ ch. Vl >> | series masterlist

Before marrying you, Jungkook had the same routine. He got up, showered, brushed his teeth, put work clothes on, grabbed breakfast, and ran out the door with twenty minutes to spare. Trying to find a parking spot at 7 a.m. at the university was no joke and he had to leave early or some college kid would take the last spot and not think twice.

His night routine was similar. Jungkook finished the day between 5 and 6 pm, slowly regretting he ever agreed to teach evening classes. He’d kick off his shoes, eat dinner, grade some of his student’s papers if needed, brush his teeth again, and went to bed.

It was a constant cycle and with no one around, not even a pet, Jungkook’s life was fairly quiet and systematic. Sometimes his buddies would come over on the weekend for a couple of hours and that surely rocked his world.

But that wouldn’t happen often during the school season due to his ridiculously packed teaching schedule. The most recent person he’d hang around during those months was Taehyung and if he wasn’t free, Jungkook would spend his time at the grocery store–stocking up on milk.

4 years ago

“That was two weeks ago man,” Jungkook says, pushing a cart with five-gallon jugs of milk to his car. He’s on the phone with Taehyung who's reminiscing about the grand opening of the new art exhibit and how “lovely” it was to meet you there.

Jungkook doesn’t need reminding though.

He clearly remembers seeing you there and Taehyung happily making a complete fool of him once he found out who you were. Thankfully you hadn’t seemed to mind too much since you and Taehyung soon moved on to discuss various art theories, masterpieces, and underrepresented artists.

“You didn't have to stay y'know.” If Jungkook didn't know any better he'd think Taehyung was salty. "You could've left at 8 pm like you planned. __ and I would have been fine."

Jungkook winces hearing the man's argument. He did think about going home at 8, but it unsettled him to leave you alone with Taehyung. His colleague was enjoying himself a little too much that night and there’s no telling what he’d do or say when he’s overly comfortable.

Jungkook had to stay until you left.

"Are you kidding me? Leaving you unsupervised would've been the worst idea after all your endless blubbering." Jungkook pops the trunk of his car, stuffing the jugs of milk inside. "God knows what you'd scar __ with."

On the other line, Taehyung smirks through the speaker. "No, that's not it......you weren't going to leave me alone with a woman, an attractive one at that."

Jungkook grabs the last jug of milk, slamming it on the floorboard. "Student, and stop talking about her like that. She's my stu—"

"Say student one more time and I'm going to take all your milk and give it to Yoongi hyung's cats."

"I swear to god, Taehyung, if you touch my milk I'm never going to another art museum or wine tasting with you again." Jungkook is very protective of his dairy products.

"That's okay. I don't need you when __ says she'll be happy to go with me sometime." Smug bastard, Jungkook thinks. There's no way you said that.

"That's bull Taehy—"

"Look she's in her masters and is literally eight years younger than you. It's not that serious so stop acting like she's fresh out of high school. Besides, you said it yourself, she's not a child."

Jungkook grunts, shoving the cart into the others. "She's a young lady who happens to be enrolled in the school. As faculty, we have no business thinking or talking about her outside those terms."

"For fucksake, Kook. You always make things so complicated!" Taehyung's baritone voice cracks through the speaker. "I'm just trying to get you to admit that you're into her some way or another. How many other students have I stayed to talk to and you couldn't give a—"

Just then a loud, high-pitch screech interrupts the call. Jungkook whips his head around immediately. He doesn't spot anything at first but a string of profanities remains audible in the distance.

"Jungkook, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but someones screaming and I can't tell where it's coming from." Jungkook walks around the grocery parking lot, eyes darting left and right. "Oh shit!"

There, near the bus stop, you lay on your side with your right leg stretched out and blood running from your temple. You try getting up but you fall right back down, cursing sharply.

"Taehyung I gotta go, it's __. I don't know what happened but she's laying by the bus stop and I think she needs help!" Jungkook shuts his phone and races to where you lay. He kneels next to you with sheer horror on his face. "__, what happened? What can I do?"

"Damn college boys, Dr. Jeon," you spit, dragging your leg up as far as you can. You reach for your bag which had flung about a foot away when you crashed. "So fucking eager to get off the bus and—oh damn that hurts like a bitch!"

"What hurts?" Jungkook lunges forward to catch your torso from slamming on the hard concrete. "Stay still okay? We need to get you to the hospital."

"I'm all set, but thanks. It'll likely heal in a day."

Jungkook shakes his head and wraps an arm under your back and legs. "Can you put your arms around my neck?"

"Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but I don't want to go to the hospital. Please."

You're serious. No trace of bluffing or even simply trying to act tough. You really don't want to go.

"You need to be checked by a doctor sweetheart," Jungkook insists. "Whatever happened has made it so you can't walk. C'mon, my car is nearby and I'll drive you over."

"No, wait!" He feels you push against his chest.

"__. I'm not leaving you without making sure you didn't break a bone or something. I don't want to make things worse but you don't look so hot right now. So please, let me take you." Jungkook lifts you up when you give a barely consenting yes.

"You sprained your ankle pretty bad hun." Dr. Kim Seokjin draws your attention to the X-ray scan. "Second degree." He points to the visual of your partially torn ligament. "There's going to be a lot of swelling so you're gonna need to stay off your foot for at least 4 weeks."

"Do I have to stay here?" is your first question.

"For the first couple of weeks, we strongly advise—yes." Dr. Kim moves on to the next X-ray scan. "You also cracked a rib which will also take about 4 weeks to heal, or more. Of course you're head has suffered a mild concussion as well but it's very mild thankfully." Dr. Kim catches sight of Jungkook next to you, staring at the scans. "You're wife's going to be okay," he says mid-diagnoses.

"We're not—" you start to say but Dr. Kim continues talking.

"Wife, girlfriend, lover, what have you. The point is, much of what we have here will recover with a month of rest, ice, and elevation." He takes a pen from his pocket and starts jotting down something on paper. "I recommend two weeks here for moderation purposes. If things look good, you finish the healing at home. Still, be careful though, no funny business."

The blank looks on both your faces tell Dr. Kim he wasn't clear enough. "Yah, my filters going to die with you two doe-eyed deer. No funny business means no sex!"

"Oh god!" You outburst, mortified by the thought. Jungkook whips his head to your slack-jawed expression. "Dr. Kim, it's not like that between us."

The older man suddenly zeros in on your professor, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's the matter son? Having trouble getting it up?"

Jungkook jolts in his seat, startled by the crass response. "I—no, what? There's nothing wrong with my—"

"We're not together!" You shout before Jungkook's sentence finishes. "We're friends." Saying that your professor brought you here sounded a little odd for some reason, especially when Dr. Kim was already convinced you two were a thing.

"Mhm sure, heard the same thing from my wife before we went off and eloped." Dr. Kim treads to the door. If he has a dime for how many times he's heard that "we're friends" bs he'd be...well, he's already rich so never mind. "Let's move on to something more productive now, like getting __ settled in a room. The sooner she starts the healing process, the sooner she can be good as new again."

"Thank you Dr. Kim," Jungkook says, slowly standing up to stroll you and your wheelchair out of the room. You didn't like it but the nurses insisted you be in one to keep pressure off your muscles.

"Yeah yeah." Dr. Kim waves him off. "Just remember what I said, no funny business. Especially here at the hospital. You don't know how many times I've heard the nurses catching their patients on top of one another at 2 am in the morning. That better not be you two, whoever you are to each other."

"Yes, doctor." You both reply, thankful of the fact that neither of you are in any position to be looking at each other.

"Is there any way I can be here for less than two weeks?" Jungkook watches as you plead with the nurse. It worries him that you're still anxious to avoid medical attention.

"I'm afraid not," the nurse says simply. "If you need anything, press the call button and I'll be in as soon as I can."

Once the nurse leaves, Jungkook pulls up a chair next to your bed. "Stupid question but how are you feeling?"

"I'm in an ankle brace, my rib burns, and my head is still dizzy. I'm trapped in the hospital for two weeks and all because a bunch of nineteen-year-old boys couldn't wait to hit up some frat party," you groan, not bearing in mind your tongue. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this Dr. Jeon."

"You didn't drag me into anything __. I'm glad I was there when this happened and I'm even more glad that you're here, getting help." Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. "Even if it isn't ideal for you."

You ignore the subtle pry for information. "Please, Dr. Jeon. You don't have to stay any longer. It's the weekend and I'm sure you have plans."

Jungkook gives a faint smile. "So, you're saying this is none of my business?"

"No, not—not at all. I mean if you want to stay then I guess you can but I don't want you to feel obligated or anything."

"I want to be here," Jungkook says simply. "But you know that's not what I meant. I'd like to know why it bothers you when anyone tries to help you...if I may."

"Just habit," you mumble quickly, averting eye-contact. It's not your professor's job to bear the weight of your problems.

Jungkook nods in reply, pretending you gave a satisfactory explanation. He wishes you'd tell him but if you didn't want to share more then that was your choice —he wasn't going to force you. "I understand." He grabs his phone from his pocket and rests his elbows on his knees. "Are you hungry?"

"Huh?" You look back at him, his question going right over your head.

"I asked if you're hungry. It's about dinner time so I can get you something if you want. I also have a bunch of milk in my trunk that needs to get to a fridge. But I can place the order now and pick it up in my way back here."

"Milk in your trunk?" Is the only words you repeat, dumbfounded. "Like chocolate milk or...?"

"Nah, Whole Milk." Jungkook grins at your scrunched up face. You try to hide it but not very well. "Don't look so disgusted. Milk is good for you."

"Yeah when you're ten years old."

"On the contrary!" You flinch when his voice rises, along with his eyebrows. "Milk has a lot of health benefits as adults. It has thirteen essential nutrients and helps maintain muscle and bone strength. I drink at least two full glasses a day, if not more."

"I'm sorry but that's nasty." You shudder at the thought of drinking milk in your twenties let alone your thirties. "You really enjoy it? The taste?"

"Yup, always have since a baby! Loved it so much that my mother-" You raise an eyebrow to which he abruptly switches topics. "Anyway, do you want me to pick you up something or no?"

You giggle, a little uncomfortable with whatever he was about to disclose to you.

"That's okay, no thanks."

"You sure? Otherwise I'm gonna be eating in front of you." Jungkook knows how this sounds — he's trying to force you to eat. But the truth is, he just doesn't want to eat by himself tonight. He also doesn't want to leave you alone this early, especially when you obviously detest being here, for whatever reason.

"I'm sure," you say. "But...if you want to come back you can. Not like I have anything to do anyway."

"Good then." Pleased, Jungkook opens up his phone contacts. "Give me you're number in case you change your mind while I'm out."

Over the next couple of weeks, Jungkook continues to stay by your side. He leaves to teach his classes of course and to go home late at night, but he stops by every day—hours at a time.

You keep insisting that he not come so much but he always makes the same excuses. "I just brought food" or "You're on my way home from the university". Sometimes he brings in class notes too.

Due to your current predicament, you're missing a lot of content so Jungkook thinks it best to go over key principles with you and takeaways from his lectures. He says it's his duty as a professor–never minding the fact that many of his other students are in a predicament of their own yet he’s not bothering to do jack for them.

"Look Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but you really don't have to. I'll be perfectly alright to catch myself up from the textbook and study guides. You don't have to keep stopping by." You try again but Jungkook keeps his wall just as strong as yours.

"I know I don't have to __. I know that I could leave right now, take all these lecture notes home with me, and not feel guilty about a thing. But I told you I was going to be here and I'm going to keep to that no matter how many times you urge me to leave. I also want you to call me Jungkook outside class but have you allowed for any of those to happen?" Jungkook tosses the folder of notes in his sachel, a loud thump following. "A simple thank you would suffice."

"I am grateful, I really am. But I never asked to be given so much of your time. I feel bad because maybe you're just one of those overly nice people who feel it's their duty to stick around or what not when someone's in trouble. I don't need to be pitied over! Also, you said I could keep calling you the usual, so Dr. Jeon it will remain!" Why you're raising your voice, you don't know but it's happening either way.

"Yeah I did," Jungkook quips, matching your tone. "But after the last, nearly two weeks I think we ought to be on a first-name basis! And I'm in no way pitying you okay? I'm here because I care dammit! I don't want you to be alone and I don't want you to be behind in getting your Masters. So I' try to be be here every day for at least fifteen minutes if not more!"

You don't fully process what he says so you reply to what you remember most. "Why? Why can't I call you Dr. Jeon? It's been that way from the start, twice every week. So why do I need to call you Jungkook all a sudden?!"

"Because it makes me feel younger, you insulted my milk after I first took you to the hospital, we've been eating dinner almost every night since your injury, you told me about your childhood cat named Mr. Muttonbottom, and you just called me by my first name so there are no take backs! Now, if you're done making a fit, do you want bibimbap or jajangmyeon for dinner tonight?!"

What the actual hell? You cease your arguing at once, hearing your professor, or excuse you, Jungkook, all fluffed up. Obviously, you're not the only one high-strung over being stuck in the same routine day in, day out.

"Jajangmyeon...please," you mutter.

"Thank fuck," he swears. Yeah that's new too.

"Sorry for getting mad earlier." You mumble the words as soon as Jungkook returns with the food. "It just feels odd that you've been here all the time...you're my professor."

Jungkook mauls over your choice of words, stiffening ever so slightly. "Well, I'd like to think we're sorta friends now but alright. Does this actually bother you __? I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, you know that." He places the bag of take-out on the small desk near your bed.

"No, it's doesn't bother me." you just don't know how to react or what to say besides a measly thank you. More so, you don't want to make someone feel responsible for you...you should take care of your own shit without bringing others with you. It's not the best mindset, you're aware, but its the one you have.

"Okay good because to be completely transparent, I'm sorta here for me too. I live my myself, eat by myself, talk to myself....I do most things alone so it's nice having someone else to be around." He's not sure where to set his eyes, so he looks downward, fumbling with the napkins in front of him. "I'm making this awkward, sorry."

Feeling the strange need to offer comfort, you stretch a hand over Jungkook's arm. "I get it. It's nice having someone around too."

You and Jungkook hold each other's gaze for a few seconds more, letting the brief silence do the rest of the talking. Maybe you've been looking at this a little too one-sided.

"How are you feeling today? Any better?" Jungkook cracks open the bowl of Jajangmyeon, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks.

You take the steamy food and gesture to your ankle which has swollen down a good amount. "Still more healing to be done but it's better."

Jungkook hums in approval. "That's comforting to hear. Dr. Kim going to discharge you soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. A few more days and he said I should be able to rest up at home."

"Really?" He chews on his bottom lip. "Well great, uhm , do you have stuff going on when you get back?"

You think a moment, trying to recollect if you made plans with Na-Rae. "Maybe some but not much. I don't have a ton of people around me right now either...down here I mean."

"Well, do you wanna go out to dinner then?" Jungkook pops the question more causal than expected. It's almost like he planned this or at least has been thinking about it for a bit. "We've been eating together for a while now and I think it might be a nice celebratory thing."

"Are you asking me on a date...Jungkook?" Because it defiantly sounds like he is, as indirect as it may be.

His reply is barely audible but you hear it and for the first time, your professor sounds truly timid. "Uh, well...let's go with "hang out", like friends do."

A/N: so yeah, thats how they got together 👀😅 anyone surprised? Thinking about a drabble for thier first date now haha. Anyway, next chapter we get back to present day stuff where more drama goes down. Also, adding a chapter bc this flashback took the whole chapter lol. Lmk your thoughts 💞

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#bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

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pugh-bug · 2 months

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A summerhouse au!, where both art and readers family's rent or own the same house (or diff- cause honestly they can) and get together every year just for them to bond over (that's the only time they physically see each other)

Imagine unlimited piggybacks wherever and whenever you want- even to the shortest of distance

Honestly just melts my heart thinking about it🫠😍

-🍃

Peachy Promises

Art Donaldson x reader

I’m sorry this is later than I wanted but I loved your request and may have got carried away with it! I hope you enjoy this summerhouse fic 🌻🫶🏻

——————————————————————

Gentle tapping of leaves against the car window woke you from your nap. Your Mum was driving the poor car a little too close to the bushes that lined the twisted paths to the Summerhouse. It had been a family tradition since you were thirteen - or twelve you couldn’t remember - to go there every July and stay for a month.

‘Excited to see Art again honey?’

The Donaldson’s officially owned the property and had for generations and their son, Art, had been your favourite aspect of Summer for years. You only saw him once a year.

‘Yeah,’ you mumbled, face cramped in-between your flat pillow and the car window. The gentle thunk of hedgerow branches hitting the car would have sent you back to sleep if you weren’t so elated to see Art again. When the two of you first met all those years before he’d mistaken you for his friend Alice and asked for you.

‘Alice? Come here, I need to show you this!’

You looked at the short, freckled blonde before you and took in his confused expression with curiosity and glee.

‘You’re not Alice…’ you were indeed not Alice but you did intrigue the boy. His parents were strict about girls - too strict. The gender had become almost entirely fantastical to him, except for Alice who was more like a sister or an annoying cousin than anything else.

‘Go on. Show me what you wanted to show her.’

The boy lead you to the gardens beyond the Summerhouse your parents were so diligently unpacking in. It was beautiful, full of sunflowers and violets but the most incredible sight was the marble statue that depicted two kissing mermaids. It was no shorter than 8 feet tall and towered over the two of you, with you being almost a foot shorter than the strange boy.

‘So pretty…’ you sighed, taking in the sight whilst the boy took in you. After a moment he outstretched his hand ‘Hey, I’m Art.’

The car incessantly moaned for more fuel until you reached the car park and stopped. No one announced ‘We’re here’ because the three of you all knew. You wiped the sleep from your eyes and reached for your beaten up suitcase, the same one you’d used all of those years ago, and looked for Art. Just like the last year and the year before that and the year before that, Art was waiting impatiently by the peach tree. It never stopped growing, in fact it had grown so unruly and proud that it obstructed the Summerhouse mailbox entirely. The fresh scent was worth it.

‘Y/N!’ Art grinned as you left the car, dropping your case as you ran towards each other. Your parents knew the drill. It was the same every Summer. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ He mumbled into your shoulder, as your parents retreated to their wing of the house. You inhaled Art’s shampoo as his soft curls tickled your cheek, he always smelt of pure Summer in a bottle. It was a hot day.

‘I’ve missed you too!’ Before you could get your case Art was grabbing you, pulling you onto his back. ‘Come on, I’ll carry you.’ Piggybacks were also apart of the yearly drill. You’d both expected him to stop years ago but he never did, Art revelled in carrying you around. It made him feel childish and gleeful, like the two of you had been at 12 - like he hoped the two of you could still be around each other.

Art carried you to your room, which had in the last three years been changed to the one next to his own, and set you down by the bed. The waft of air-con cooled your warm skin. ‘You gonna unpack?’ He gestured to your bulging suitcase but you shook your head. ‘Nah, can we do something fun? I’ve had the shittiest week.’

The Summerhouse visits had began to bring you and your parents closer but ironically, and this was entirely the blondes fault, you never spent less time together than those months. July had become a time for your parents to ‘focus on their marriage’ (whatever that means) and for you to see your best friend.

‘Wanna go swimming?’

Your eyes brightened at the suggestion, you loved swimming more than anything and the heat was palpable. ‘Your parents fixed the pool?’ Art simply nodded, while you frantically looked for the bathing suit you hoped you’d packed. You had. Forever the gentleman, Art left you alone to get dressed but the second you were back he was piggybacking you to the pool outside.

‘Cannon ball or graceful dive?’ You asked, doing your best Olympic swimmer stance. Art tried not to stare too hard at you in your red swimsuit, tried not to think too hard about how much older the two of you were but what his parents had said about your friendship being ‘too important to ruin’. He replied ‘Graceful dive.’

As the cool water enveloped your streamline body, you smiled. The oppressive heat couldn’t reach your sanctuary in the Donaldson pool, god it felt good to be back. Art jumped in after you, taking off his shirt before performing his own graceful dive. ‘Few years ago you’d have said cannon ball.’ You squeezed the excess water out of your nose to punctuate your sentence, feeling the water in your hair drip down your neck. ‘You’ve grown up.’ Art watched the droplets - fascinated for a moment before he frowned at your beaming face. He didn’t want to grow up. Art looked around, taking in the idyllic views: the freshly mowed grass, poppies and ivy coated red brick. ‘My parents are selling this place.’

Your smile dropped.

‘You’re not serious? Why?’

‘I’m going Stanford in September. They only kept this place for me.’

‘You weren’t gonna come back for Summer?’

‘Will you?’

That stung but he was right, in fact you’d been considering going as far as Boston University. Suddenly the water didn’t feel refreshing and the sky didn’t appear so blue.

‘You’ll come back right?’ Art asked, watching you shove your bags into your parents car. ‘Of course,’ You grinned. ‘My parents love it here- I love it here. Might even become a regular thing.’

The boy lit up at that, pulling you into a tight hug. He was the first boy to properly hug you. ‘I’ll be here.’ Was all he said.

‘I’m proud of you Art,’ you smiled weakly, brushing his wet hair off of his forehead as the two of you bobbed in the water. He looked his age, Art had never looked his age. ‘Stanford. It’ll be amazing.’ You meant it, he’d always been an excellent tennis player. He’d thrashed you in too many matches to count, you thought your defeats were some of his favourite moments. Tennis had always been his biggest love. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d be somebody one day, somebody worth telling your friends you knew. ‘I know Art Donaldson.’ Well…you knew Art Donaldson.

He didn’t fail to notice the defeat in your eyes, although your belief in him had always given him hope so your words were everything. Your fingers hesitated to leave his soft skin. ‘Y/N,’ you traced his features with your eyes. Remembering. ‘I need to tell you something and I - I think you might already know.’

‘I know.’

Blush coated his cheeks as Art waited with an intense stare for your next move. He didn’t know what would hurt him more, to have you for a Summer and never again or to have never had you at all.

Before he could speak your hands were cradling his face and pulling his lips to yours. He tasted like peaches. Neither of you said a word as Art’s hands ran down your waist, trying to get closer to you through the drenched swimsuit while he hummed into your kiss. You couldn’t quite explain it but you felt the mermaid statue was watching over the two of you, it too knowing that you’d always miss the boy who gifted you those Summers.

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ch0k3herwithaseaview · 7 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic | feb 29 address | words 1881

hi, so this one is so fucking long, i don’t even know how it happened. anyways, hope you’ll enjoy it :3

first part | previous part

Reg

Will you be there tonight?

James looked at the message he received almost half an hour ago and for the hundredth time deleted his response.

‘Of course I’ll be there’ sounded too eager. ‘Yeah’ was out of question with it being too dry. ‘I’ll try to make it’ was just mean, like when you have a big event at school and your parents say that exact line, and you just feel like shit. So he sat there, on his couch, contemplating how to answer the man he apparently fancies. He thought the crush went away with them going separate ways after school, but oh well. With just one dinner, all the feelings came back, making him feel like a teenager again.

He deleted another answer when Regulus texted him again.

Reg

You know I can see you typing then changing your mind over and over again, right?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was his chance to keep this from getting any weirder.

James

yeah i know sorry about that

and answering the first question yes ill be there

With that, he threw his phone as far away from himself as he could and went to have a crisis while taking a shower. And don’t get him wrong - he really wanted to be there, to see the art Regulus makes, but at the same time he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. He liked Reg, he wanted to get to know him again after all those years they haven’t talked. And yet, he was still afraid he would fuck it up somehow.

“No you won’t” he said to his reflection in the mirror. “You won’t, just pull yourself together. And don’t act weird, just… be who you are. If he doesn’t like it, back off.”

After that little motivational talk, James started to get ready properly. He did his skincare routine, tried to (and failed) tame the nest on his head, also known as hair, and went to the closet to find something suitable for the occasion. How does one even dress for opening?

Having no better option, James decided to do the most stupid thing he could do.

“What are you wearing tonight?” he asked without any greeting. On the other side he heard the most feral laughter ever and just groaned at it. “It’s not funny, I really don’t know!” the laughter became even more hysterical, so James just stood in the middle of his closet, waiting for Sirius to calm down.

“Oh god, this is too good” his best friend chuckled a little breathlessly. “Are you trying to impress my brother or what?”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone, I just… what should I wear? To not look like an idiot?” more giggles from Sirius.

“Yeah, well, me and Moony are going in our usual clothes, so maybe something in between?”

“You mean I should go as a slutty grandpa?” James grumbled. His bestie just barked another laugh at that.

“Yes, exactly! Hope I helped, gotta go, see you there” and the call ended.

It actually did help, to his surprise. He put on a maroon turtleneck, paired it with suit trousers and his favourite red converse. The entire outfit, although simple, seemed to emphasise his muscles, giving the exact result James was aiming for. He put three golden hoops in his ear and finally felt ready.

Grabbing the phone from the armchair it landed on, James check if Regulus sent any new messages - he did.

Reg

I’m glad.

Don’t overdress, it’s a casual event, nothing fancy.

Do you know where to go?

Should I send you the address?

Hello?

Are you alive?

James, it’s been more than an hour, are you alright?

James smiled at all of this, quickly replying with ‘yes everythings good the shower took longer than it should pls send the address’.

***

He arrived at a small local art gallery, where the opening took place. As soon as James got out of his car, Remus and Sirius spotted him, practically running in his direction. The shorter man, dressed in a silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and tight jeans (all black, of course), jumped into his arms, screaming excitedly, like he hasn’t seen him in a while (since yesterday). From behind, Sirius’ fiancé rolled his eyes, smirking at their antics.

“Fancy seeing you here, Prongs” Remus said cheekily, when the long-haired man came to his side. It was James’ turn to roll his eyes.

“Are we coming in or are we just gonna stand here and freeze?” Sirius asked, snuggling closer to Remus.

“You should’ve dressed accordingly to the weather. I’m feeling petty so - Moony, would you mind giving me a fag?” James chirped sweetly, batting his lashes at the taller man.

He didn’t give him the cigarette, what’s with his shivering partner, so they just walked in to the gallery.

James spotted Regulus immediately. He was wearing a dark green sweater with a white collar sticking out from under it, black trousers and low Docs. He looked innocent and hot at the same time. He could see the younger man noticing him, too, when his lips turned into a little smile.

“Hi, Little Star” Reg snorted at that, and that was all he had to do to get himself a wide grin from James.

“Hello, James. Thank you for coming” came the slightly amused answer. They scanned each other for a second. From up close Regulus looked even better, James thought.

“You look good, I mean, like, very good” Reg chuckled softly at that and the other man melted a little.

“You look good, too” younger man replied, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

Their moment was interrupted by Sirius barging in, saying how proud of his little brother he is, while ruffling Reg’s hair. Even though he didn’t like it, Regulus hasn’t voiced his displeasure. It was nice of him, really.

Not long after, some professor welcomed everyone from the middle of the room, talking about all the hard work his students put into this exhibition and how glad he was to see so many people coming to appreciate that work. Some ovations. Then they were free to admire the pieces. Most of them were paintings, but there were also sculptures and some photographs.

The theme of the exhibition was ‘love’, so the students presented how they perceived it - some in a cute way, whit elderly couples sitting on a bench or some places they loved, but there were also darker ones, presenting the topic as suffocating or painful. James felt sorry for all those people who suffered because of something that should have been beautiful.

When they finally reached Regulus’ pieces James felt something warm crawling inside his chest. He didn’t immediately understand them, since Reg created abstract art, but the longer he looked the more he could see. On the first one there were spots of paint that must’ve been two cuddled figures in the dark place, surrounded by a little light, just around them, like a halo. James thought it must represent how Regulus felt about his brother, what was confirmed as he spotted Sirius’ eyes glistening in the bright lights of the gallery.

The second one was brighter, like it was some kind of meadow maybe? There also were smudges of paint in different colours - some of them lighter others darker. Those probably were Regulus’ friends and James had an urge to comment on that one.

“That’s so cute. They must’ve loved it so much” he said, looking down at Regulus. “Where are they, by the way?”

“They will come later, when there’s not so many people so we can really discuss others works” the younger man replied simply. “We’ll probably just end up laughing at them, really” he added with a shrug.

At that James pretend to be outraged, gasping and putting a hand to his chest.

“Oh! Am I not worthy of laughing at other people’s art with you? Tell me how can I be granted this privilege, I’ll do anything!” He kept up his act, grabbing Regulus by the shoulders, bending his knees like a sufferer begging for water.

The younger of Black brother looked at him, trying real hard to not look amused, but his eyes were giving him away.

“You’re pathetic” he said, not even a little bite to it. To be honest he sounded a little like he was enjoying James’ antics.

“Yet, you like me so much you managed to rob your own brother of my number” James said it like he was plotting something. “And you wanted to rob me of my time, the audacity.”

“Please stop” the shorter man buried his face in his hands. “Don’t mention it ever again” he added, a little muffled by the hands. He had really nice hands, James noticed.

“Oh, I will not stop till the day I die.”

They moved to the third piece and- oh. James might not be the brightest person alive, but he knew what was on the last painting. It was similar to the other two they saw earlier, smudges of paint in different shades creating two figures. The figures were hugging, not like the first ones, but more like lovers trying to become one. One person was rather pale, contrasting with the other who looked tanned. Their hair was black and deep brown, respectively.

James looked at it with awe, felt the butterflies waking up in his stomach and flying freely all over his body. He looked at Regulus, but the other man hasn’t met his eyes, staring straight ahead at his work. James noticed he turned a pretty shade of reddish pink on every bit of his face. His own lips turned into a big fucking grin. He wanted to reach out, touch Regulus, hug him, anything really.

Unfortunately, from behind him came Sirius’ gasp and then excited “Oh my god, Reggie, you painted me and Moony? Oh, that is so lovely, can I have it later?”

James, Remus and Regulus looked at the man at the same time, each one with a deep frown, not believing how delusional Sirius is. As if they shared a brain cell, all three of them nodded in agreement to not lead him astray.

Regulus cleared his throat, and turning to his brother he said “Yes, that’s you and Remus, and no, you cannot take it.”

As the older turned to stare daggers at the younger, they just started bickering about who should have the painting, Remus and James looking at them with amusement.

After some time Regulus’ friends came and the three older man ushered to exit so the younger guys could have fun together. Just before they left, James approached Regulus one last time, cheeky smile on his lips.

“Sirius and Moony, huh?” it earned him an eye roll and a sheepish ‘shut up’. He just smiled wider and leaned down to whisper in Reg’s ear, feeling the black-haired man’s breath hitching “Text me when you get home.”

With that he walked backwards in the general direction of the exit, still looking at Regulus who looked positively stunned. James winked at him and Reg, after waking from the haze, flipped him off. James just chuckled at that loudly, turning to the door.

#jegulus #starchaser #dead gay wizards #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #marauders #the marauders #modern au #artis regulus

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featherandferns · 4 months

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It’s my birthday today!!!

Literally can not decide how jj would act about birthdays, what do you think?

-🍓

first of all - HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you have had, or are having, the best day! <3

(everyone wish 🍓 anon happy birthday right now or else no more JJ fics)

hmmm. I think JJ would definitely try his best with birthdays. Even if he doesn't quite hit the mark, he'd get brownie points for giving it his best shot.

His dad didn't ever care about his birthday. At the most, he'd get a rough pat on the shoulder and a grunted happy birthday, kid, or even a can of larger if his dad was feeling extra affectionate and perky. At the least, it would go unnoticed. Thankfully, the Pogues made up for the lack. They'd supply him with drinks and weed and cake, and would spend the day doing JJ-approved things. Those typically involved starting the day with a blunt and a beer, surfing at the break, fishing in the evening and wrestling around the campfire. Money being tight and all, gifts were few and far between. Instead it was more company. That was plenty for JJ. Just the acknowledgement that he was turning another year older was enough.

Besides, his birthday brought a looming sense of dread. He'd try and push it down, distracting himself with festivities, but every year that passed, he wondered what his future might look like. A prison cell like his dad, or casual alcoholism? A scrimping-and-scraping lifestyle, alone and isolated? Or a simple but cheerful life with his friends, perhaps even rich with gold gathered from John B and Pope's countless adventures?

That final premonition became stronger after JJ met you. Once you were around, the festivities altered slightly. Instead of a blunt first-thing, it was sleepy morning sex, with you doting on JJ like he were the first born king, and then a sedated smoke straight after. The joys didn't end at the bonfire: instead, it extended into the night, with you practically worshipping JJ in the bedroom. You also splurged out to get him a gift. Usually it was something handy, like a lighter or pocketknife, but JJ treasured every bargain buy like it was a Rolex.

Because JJ knew what it felt like to go without on birthdays, whenever it was yours, he tried his best to make it special. He woke you up with his head between your thighs. He attempted to bake you breakfast in bed (often consisting of burnt pancakes and luke-warm coffee). He'd be the first in line to offer to take photos of you for your Instagram, working overtime to get the perfect angles and lighting. Had to at least try and push his luck, sneaking a shot up your skirt, earning him a smack upside the head. Same as you, he scraped together enough money to get you a gift. Some jewellery or make-up that you'd been eyeing, unable to justify the price tag. If money was too tight, he fell back on his acts of service. Fixed the creaky door. Pimped out your board. Cleaned your busted-up car. You fucking loved it.

Whilst some things became birthday traditions, one very quickly did not. The first time you celebrated a birthday with JJ, he tried to bake you a cake. Note the word 'tried'. It was undercooked, to start. When he took it out of the cake-pan, raw batter leaked everywhere. He salvaged the baked sponge and made some horrendous contemporary art out of it. The icing was just as bad. Isn't it strange how similar salt looks to sugar? In wonky, wobbling hand-writing, JJ piped happy bithday, joyfully oblivious to the spelling mistake. And whilst the cake was completely inedible (like truly diabolical), you marked that as the moment you fell in love with JJ. Hell, when a guy bakes you a cake, you sort of don't have a choice.

So, JJ tried his best with birthdays, and you appreciated every tiny effort :)

#replies #happy birthday!#drabbles #jj #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #obx #outer banks #outerbanks

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loveharlow · 1 year

Text

SINEMIES

PAIRING‧₊˚ Rafe Cameron x Kook!Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [2.8k] Returing to Kildare after years away, your mentality may have changed but you still have some old habits...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mild p*rn without plot but the plot was fun to write, smut

A/N‧₊˚ part of my angstober event!

˗ˏˋ rafe masterlist ˎˊ˗

A COMPACT MIRROR WAS HELD UP TO YOUR LIPS AS YOU TOUCHED UP YOUR LIPS, blotting them together before clamping the small object shut. You could feel the car finally come to a halt before the driver turned to face you.

“We’ve arrived, miss.” He announced, tone chipper and bright as always. You pulled a neatly folded one-hundred dollar bill from your bra and held it out to him, watching as he took the bill as humbly as possible.

“Thank you, Martin.” You thanked your personal driver, the man who had fathered you possibly more than your own, who was always gone on 'business'. Business being running around sleeping with women who were half his age and sipping Martini’s in a hot tub on a skyscraper rooftop 500 miles away.

“My pleasure. You stay safe now.” He insisted, raising a brow as you offered a smile and reached for the handle.

“Will do. Have a nice night.” You bid farewell as you swung the door of the sleek, black vehicle open, taking extra care to make sure your legs were never too far apart as you stepped out. The dress you picked out was just brushing what was considered ‘business casual’. You held your matching clutch close to your side and tried your best to ignore the way your heels made the arches of your feet ache.

Wiggling your fingers at the man behind the wheel, you shut the door and watched as the car drove away. Turning your attention to the house you hadn’t seen in years and honestly hoped to never see again. The Cameron Residence was practically a historical landmark in Kildare. The house hadn’t aged in the years you’d been gone — walking out of it as a heartbroken eighteen year old girl and walking the path up to the door as a refined twenty-two year old woman.

You could hear the low, classical music playing and the faint chatter of the guests inside. Shadows passing by as silhouettes in front of the curtains, the only lights that were on being on the first level of the home.

You wasted no time, even in your careful observing, in taking strides towards the front door which would undoubtedly be unlocked, walking carefully as to not trip over your feet and make a fool of yourself.

When your hand touched the doorknob, pushing open the only structure keeping you from the rest of the party, it was like stepping into a new reality. It was a reality you’d left behind in exchange for college campus life, which was more homey. More comforting and cozy, it kept you grounded.

This reality was superficial, so superficial it nauseated you like never before. Art pieces on the white walls that cost way too much money and had no real meaning, sports trophies that were bought with wealth statuses and daddy’s money littered amongst coffee tables and mantelpieces.

But you’d only have to suffer a couple hours and get what you came here for.

“You made it!” A voice beamed close to your ear, turning to see Sarah Cameron walking speedily in a pair of heels and a cream colored silk dress. Her arms were up as she made a b-line in your direction, a genuine smile falling across your face. You adored Sarah. She was probably one of the most genuine people who ever lived on Figure Eight.

She embraced you tightly, swaying side to side as she did. “Oh, I missed you. We have so much to catch up on!” She gushed, releasing you from her grasp to grab a hold of your wrist instead. “Everyone’s in the backyard. C’mon, they’ve been waiting for you.” The ecstatic blonde girl gave you no time to greet her back or return her affections as she dragged you through the crowd of middle-aged business men and women.

Stepping into the backyard where circular tables were set up with white tablecloths, candles placed perfectly in the middle of each one. It wasn’t long before your eyes landed on them all standing around one of the set ups. And it wasn’t long before they spotted you too, waving you and Sarah both over.

When you came to a stop in front of them as Sarah released your arm, you were pulled into another embrace by Ward himself. “Oh, honey, look at you!” He cooed, giving you a tight squeeze before pulling back and letting his hands rest on your shoulders. “You look beautiful. Where’s your father? Is he going to make it?”

You gave the man a pained smile. “Thank you, Mr.Cameron. No, he won’t. He’s in the city on ‘unofficial business’.” You spoke, spite evident in your voice. “You know how that goes.”

Ward gave you a comforting smile and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly before removing his hands. “Well, give him my best when you do see him.” With the conversation ending there, you turned your attention to the rest of the people surrounding the table.

Rose perched under Ward’s arm, Wheezie leaned over the table with her elbows propped up on the surface while she fiddled with her phone, and Rafe.

He stood directly across from you, hands in the pockets of his slacks as his eyes bored shamelessly into yours.

You stared back for a moment, narrowing your eyes. After a moment, you gave him a thin-lipped smile and small nod of your head in acknowledgement of his presence. “Hi, Rafe.”

“I didn’t think you’d be coming this year.” He spoke, voice deeper and more raspy than you remember. But you had to admit, he looked better. No longer strung out on drugs, mind racing all over the place. He looked tamed.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You assured him. The tension was palpable and you’re sure the rest of the Cameron family could feel it as Rose and Ward dismissed themselves to greet guests while Sarah dragged Wheezie to go eat all the sample foods in the kitchen with her.

You and Rafe had dated practically all throughout high school. It was good until it wasn't. Rafe made you fall in love with a version of him that didn't exist and when the mask slipped there was no putting it back on. The relationship became the bane of your existence at some point during it. It couldn't even be described as toxic. Vile is probably a better word.

Once it was just the two of you, Rafe rounded the table to stand next to you as a waiter came around to hand you each a glass of champagne. You sat your clutch on the table and sipped on the beverage as he stood silently next to you, both of you facing forwards watching the party go on around you.

“Are you going to say something?” You asked flatly, tracing the rim of your glass.

“Why are you here?”

“Was I not invited?”

“You only ever come because your father asks you to just so he and my father can talk about property and money. But your father isn’t here. So why are you?” He pointed out.

You chuckled smally to yourself, finally turning your head to look at him as he did the same. “If you think I’m here for you, don’t flatter yourself.” You poked, leaning your weight on the table. “I’m surprised Ward didn’t mention anything to you.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “Mention what?”

“I came here to talk to him. About his company.” You started, taking a short sip of your champagne before continuing. “I want it and if my offer is good enough, he’s going to sell it to me.”

You'd struck a nerve in him. Nostrils flaring, fists balled on the surface of the top as he tried to compose himself. He had never been good with managing his anger. It was good to see that some things never change.

“Why the fuck would my father sell our family business to you?” He spat. “It’s mine. He said it was mine.”

“Well, it seems daddy lied to you.” You shrugged, looking Rafe in the eyes. “Like father, like son.”

Rafe’s eyes were running wild, his cheeks a deep shade of red. He took a step closer to you, placing his lips next to your ear as he spoke. “You’re bluffing. You've always been a bad bluff so, just say you missed me so we can fuck and you can go home.”

“I didn’t travel over two-hundred miles for you, Rafe.” You shot back, voice at his level now. “You never fucked me good enough for that type of commitment.”

“That’s funny. Considering all the screaming you were doing the night before you left for your fancy little Ivy-League School.”

“You mean the night you begged me to come over? Crying about how you needed me-” You were cut off when Rafe abruptly gripped your upper arm, swiftly dragging you through the huddles of guests, into the house, and into the first open bathroom. He practically used your arm to throw you into the vacant area, closing the door behind himself.

His hands were trailing your thighs and underneath your dress before you could speak, his face only inches from yours. You didn’t think you’d ever miss his touch. It was always so rushed and rough. But now it was deliberately gentle and borderline seductive.

“I will never forget the easiest way to get you to shut up. You're still the same.”

You snarled at him, mumbling an insult under your breath.

You hadn’t taken notice of the way your hands balled up your dress at the sides in your annoyance, making it easier for his hands to maneuver its way to the front of your panties, pressing the lightest of pressure to your clit.

Your words had died in your throat, all insults and jabs getting swallowed down as you eyed him up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. Your lips were parted with small breaths leaving your lips every few seconds, refusing to give him complete satisfaction. “This doesn’t change anything.”

A smirk edged on his face before his head dipped down, using his nose to tip your chin up to gain access to your neck. You put up minimal struggle — you knew this wasn’t what you planned to do once you got here. You were here to rub the deal in his face, not fuck him in the downstairs bathroom of his mansion. But that plan became increasingly harder to carry out while he was sucking and licking your neck in all the right places that made you bite down on your tongue to keep quiet while his fingers moved your panties to the side, making contact with your bundle of nerves. One of your own hands released your dress to grab the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The tips of his calloused fingers gilded easily through your dripping folds. He sighed into your neck at the contact and you could feel him smile against your skin, his fingers tracing your core leisurely. “You don’t hate me nearly as much you think you do.”

His words made your blood boil and your legs go weak all at the same time. If he was going to fuck you, then he needed to do just that and shut up while he was at it.

Your free hand ran its up his clothed back, cupping the back of his neck as he resumed his assault on yours. You had to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from making noise that any guest within ten feet of the door would hear as he eagerly pushed two of his fingers inside of you. You were never the quietest.

Your grip on his neck grew tighter, nails digging into the skin as his thick fingers curled and pumped between your legs. You’d been with other guys since Rafe but he knew you too well, which gave him an advantage that you hated. “Oh, fuck…” You muttered when you could no longer hold your profanities in your chest.

Releasing the hand that remained on your dress, you grabbed his wrist in a desperate attempt to shove his digits deeper into your core.

He must’ve taken this as a sign that you wanted much more than he was offering because it wasn’t long before his fingers went from carefully massaging your g-spot to ramming into you callously. Your mouth fell open, the hand grabbing his wrist now gripping his forearm, feeling the veins on his biceps through his shirt.

His head retreated from your neck to crash his lips against yours. His kisses no longer tasted like coke how they used to —- chemical and bitter. The only thing you could taste was the fruity-sweet undertones of the expensive champagne. It made your heart clench in the slightest of ways, knowing that just maybe he wasn’t the same person he was when you left.

But you knew he also wasn’t someone you could ever be with.

You were just about to reach your climax when he pulled his fingers back, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. You didn’t even have a second to complain before he was dropping you to the floor, feet landing on the hardwood floor just in time to catch yourself.

Rafe hiked up your dress above your hips, pulling your panties down like a man starved and turning you to face the wall before using a hand on your back to bend you over. One of your own hands came up to slap itself against the painted surface, keeping you steady.

You could hear him unbutton his pants before letting them drop down his thighs, hearing his shoes shuffle closer behind you before you felt the warm head of his cock, smearing precum over your heat.

He wasted little time in pushing into you, a small groan leaving his lips as both of his hands went to grip your hips, pulling you back onto him with every thrust forward. Quick breaths and low moans were leaving your lips with every slap of his hips against yours.

His pace was moderate, but he was so deep that every push back into you felt like a kick to the gut in the best way possible.

You only felt a little shame when you realized this was exactly where Rafe wanted you. But this didn’t change anything after the fact. And he didn’t know that yet.

You started to feel that knot in your abdomen wind itself tighter again, pulling and pulling until after one particularly deep, knee-trembling thrust and the unexpected feeling of his fingers rubbing circles into your clit, you snapped. Coming around him as your nails scratched against the wall and you let out a long, breathy moan.

He wasn’t far behind you, grip on your hip growing tighter as his thrusts grew more rapid and sloppy, pushing you farther up the wall as your body began to straighten itself out, trembling as his circling of your nerves hadn't let up and he rode out your own high while still fucking into you. You felt the familiar feeling of him spilling inside of you within seconds. You didn’t think you would ever forget it.

You didn’t let him bask in his post-sex haze for long, pulling your garments back on and into place after he pulled out before silently moving around him to see yourself in the mirror. You fixed your loose strands of hair and lip gloss that somehow ran down your lips and onto your chin. You could see the blur of him in the reflective surface behind you as he pulled his pants back on, hair messed and skin red.

Once you deemed yourself decent, you creaked the door open, peeking to see who was near. When you figured the coast was clear, you slipped out of the door, leaving Rafe behind.

You weaved your way through the crowd of people that had thinned out somewhat, heading for the backyard where you realized you had carelessly left your clutch on the table. Making it back to the table where Rafe had dragged you from, half-drunk glasses of champagne and your abandoned clutch on the surface, you grabbed it, ready to turn around and find Ward.

But of course, the second you turned back to the patio doors, Rafe was just inches behind you.

“You’re leaving now, right?”

You couldn’t help but scoff humorously. “What?”

“You got what you came here for so you’re leaving.” He said as if he had it all figured out. You didn’t think he seriously thought you were bluffing about the business proposal. Poor thing.

“I already told you, Rafe,” You started, shaking your head with a small grin on your face. “I’m not here for you.”

His face morphed into one of great annoyance and mild anger as your name was called, echoing outside. Your gaze shifted behind the irritated man to find Ward coming your way.

Stopping in front of you, he spoke without really noticing his son’s presence. “I’m so glad I caught you. I’ve been busy all night but-” Suddenly, he seemed to notice Rafe’s figure in front of you, hesitant eyes whipping between the both of you to carefully select his next words, not aware of the fact that his son now knew the one thing he didn’t want him to. “...I’d really still like a chance to talk about… that thing, before you go.”

You nodded, only really wanting to conceal the childish smile on your face. “That’d be great, Mr.Cameron. I’ll be sure to stick around.”

The older man gave you a grateful nod, pitifully eyeing his son before heading back inside. Your own gaze shifted back to Rafe, you could’ve sworn you saw steam rising from his ears. And though you felt a twinge of guilt, you just couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You are a lot of things Rafe,” You started, picking up your champagne glass from the table behind you before looking at him again. “But better than me is not one of them.”

General taglist; @livlaughquinn

Event Taglist; @timmytime17

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#angstober23'#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #obx rafe

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sparklingelectricblue · 10 days

Text

From the Ashes: Marvel Infinity #14

Continuing on from last week…

The comic starts with the following narration:

"Sometimes, you get a moment..."

We then see Max as a child with his father, Jakob.

The narration continues: "...when everything lines up... ...when anything is possible."

We now see Max facing a firing squad who has opened fire with Jakob's hand on his shoulder.

"When suddenly, you can make things happen."

We then see Max as child with bullets in midair.

"But other times.. Perhaps most of the time...

...you can't."

We then see blood and broken glass on the snow. We're back from where issue #13 left off and Max is waking up after being hit by a car.

Someone is calling to him off panel, "Mr. Eisenhardt..." Turns out, he's being roused by Rabbi Sagan and a bystander.

According to Google Translate, Max is saying "I... yes, Dad takes us across the Vistula. There's a famer in Radom who will hide us."

Cut off in the picture is the wreckage of the car in flames.

What might not be clear in the art is that Max is dragging his lower body to get to the car.

Narration continues: "A few months ago, Magneto could have made something happen."

"A few months ago, he could have dismantled the ruined car and spirited the child away to safety with a thought."

We now see a horrific scene of Anna in the fiery car screaming, "Somebody help us! Poppa won't wake up!"

Narration: "But now he is helpless"

Max is reaching into the car to get to her with the Rabbi reaching out behind him but Max is immediately burned.

Narration: "As helpless as he was when the jaws of the twentieth century closed on his people."

"Now, as then, he is condemned to simply bear witness."

Anna is grasping at her seatbelt, "I'm... I'm stuck!"

Max, face illuminated by the fire, is calling out to her "Then... then you must cut yourself loose! Is there anything to hand, a... a tool... something sharp?! Anything!"

Anna cuts through the seatbelt and begins clinging to her dad in the driver's seat, "I'm free! We can go now, Daddy!"

Max shouts back, "No! You have to leave him! He would want you to."

"Look! There are people here to help your father, but you have to climb!"

Anna is hesitant, "I... I..."

"DO IT!" Max shouts.

Anna starts climbing over her father as the firefighters are getting into position to hose off the car, "Daddy, I'm sorry! It's... it's too hot!"

"I've got you." - Max

Max is being attended to by a medical professional. They're wrapping up his burnt arm. Someone off panel says, "It smells like reindeer sausage in here."

Rabbi Sagan confirms that Anna is safe and well. "The father too. Concussion. Smoke inhalation, but he'll be fine."

Rabbi Sagan sits with Max. "... Did I tell you how my grandmother Coralie came to live here in Alaska?"

Max: "I can guess..."

Rabbi Sagan: "When she was just three years old, she was a detainee at Furs internment camp in France."

(as Rabbi Sagan speaks, we see scenes of grandmother Coralie's life illustrated)

"And she would have surely died there had Andree Salomon not rescued her and put her on a train bound for Lisbon, where the S.S. Mouzinho was waiting to take her to America.

She arrived in New York on June 21st, 1941, where she was placed with a foster family who moved to Anchorage soon afterwards.

On Purim, she'd always get maudlin drunk and tell us about her mother -- her desperate, hopeful smile as she entrusted her only daughter to a stranger and the sea.

She knew she wouldn't live to see her daughter thrive across the ocean.

She sent her anyway."

"With the coming of Moshiach and the resurrection of the righteous" the Rabbi responds. "But I think you already had one of those covered."

Back to X-Men HQ, AKA "The Factory." Later.

"Summers and the others are heading out on another mission. You should get some rest." Max says to Hank.

Hank: "Max... Respectfully.... ...You won't."

Max: "Henry, trust me..."

The end? Infinity comics will be focusing on the Alaska team for the next 2 issues so maybe we'll see more on this.

#magneto #max eisenhardt #x men #marvel #erik lehnsherr #x-men #infinity comics #beast #hank mccoy #x comics #x-comics

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simmerandwrite · 2 years

Text

Sink Into Me - 03 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Wordcount: 6.5k

Warnings: canon level violence (series), body image issues (series), smut (series)

Notes: Hey! This is coming out later than I wanted but life is busy these days so this story is taking a back seat. Thank you to everyone who has read so far - I appreciate all the interest! While I also appreciate every single ‘like’ on the chapters, a comment or reblog goes a long way to let me know how you are enjoying the story :) Trust me when I say a nice comment or reaction gif can really make a writer’s day and I would love to hear from you all! ( if you see me in the wild, i’m @simmerandcry)

----

The weeks of your life following the event at your apartment felt like a blur.

A lot of positives had unintentionally come from the whole experience. First, you had crossed into a friendship zone with Steve. If that’s what you wanted to call it. You both seemed to toe the line between friendly and flirty and you had no idea what it meant. Sometimes you simply traded thoughts sparingly during the day and other times there were almost-cheeky messages after the sun went down.

He had graciously supplied you with a new phone to replace yours and even put you in touch with a dog daycare in the neighbourhood that a friend of his operated, in case you wanted to look into it for Hercules.

Outside of all the positives though came the heavy downside to your entire experience. It felt like you barely slept anymore. Steve had very kindly returned back to your apartment the next day and even communicated with your landlord about repairing your door and window, and when a security camera was installed one day, you figured Steve had a hand in that too.

It didn’t stop you from feeling paranoid anytime you were there alone. You rushed home from work most days and crashed while the sun was still up, but once the darkness rolled in, every single noise outside made you feel nervous. Although you believed Steve when he said he would ‘take care’ of things, you couldn’t help but feel less and less secure as you grew more and more sleep deprived.

It was just another reason to break your lease and move on, but the idea of apartment shopping and moving was both a financial burden and a huge stressor added onto your life. Instead, you just powered through and hoped your fears would eventually subside, even if that felt impossible.

At least when you weren’t home, you were less anxious about everything.

“You look more exhausted everytime I see you,” Claire had nearly begged you to meet her for brunch on your day off while she was in between shifts. “Did things escalate with Steve the mobster?”

You rolled your eyes, stabbing your fork into the syrupy waffles sitting in front of you. “No, no. We talk sometimes but..” You tried to hide the excitement on your face when you saw a message come in from him. Not that you had been anxiously waiting for a reply from him or anything.

You [11:31AM]: dropped off Hercules for his trial at daycare today! Thanks again for the rec :) Steve Rogers [11:50AM]: Happy to help the little guy out, sweetheart. Kate will take good care of him, I promise Steve Rogers [11:51AM]: Let me know how it goes!

Fuck, it was those petnames that got you. It had to be flirting if he was calling you sweetheart, right?

Sweetheart, honey, baby, doll..

Not that you wanted to admit it, but it had been a long time since you had felt any kind of emotional reaction to another person like this. Your last situationship had been with a coworker months ago and it had not gone well for you when it crashed and burned. This kind of twist in your heart when you talked to Steve was scary. Almost scarier than the idea of your apartment being broken into, really. To feel wanted by another person, romantically or physically or both, was intimidating and hard to believe.

But the more you got to know Steve, the more worth it the risk seemed.

You shook your head of those thoughts and caught Claire’s cheeky smile as you put your phone away.

“Was that him now?”

“Yes, it was but-”

“Ahhh. I knew it. You have the anxious glow of someone in the early stages of crushing.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Claire, it’s not like that.”

“Are you sure? Because honestly if any man is giving you his time and communicating and making you check your phone obsessively…” She gave you a look when you checked on your buzzing phone again. “Having feelings for another person isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe it was the pull in your heart. Either way, you trusted Claire and without even meaning to, your insecurities spilled out. “Claire, he’s way out of my league. He’s a 10 and at my best I’m sure I’m not the type usually on his radar. Our lifestyles are so vastly different, I’m guessing all his kindness is to remedy the guilt he feels over my saving his life. Whatever this is..” you grabbed your phone and waved it around. “..is bound to fizzle out when he loses interest or thinks he has put in enough time. It’s just how these things work.”

You hadn’t even realized your eyes were squeezed shut but when you opened them, Claire was staring you down as if you had two heads.

“You just gave me like half a dozen reasons why you think this guy wouldn’t be into you. But has he told you otherwise?”

You paused. No, it hadn’t been explicitly clear what Steve’s intentions were. Maybe he was just kind, maybe he thought you were friends. Or maybe he was interested in more.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask, babe.” Claire took a sip of her coffee cup and her eyes widened. “You should make a move.”

“What? Like asking him out? Absolutely not.”

“Just dial up the flirtatious chatter. Send him a late night selfie, something a little bit sexy.”

“Claire. I can’t.”

“Uhm, you totally can. You told me you sent some pretty risky things to that idiot from your work last year sooooo take the leap.” She clapped her hands together before raising her fists in a mock cheer. “Leap of faith, leap of faith!”

“Okay, okay.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you tried to quiet her across the table. “I will try the photo thing. But if he rejects me and I get sad about it, you’re in charge of my emotional repair. Deal?”

“Deal.”

---

Steve tried very hard to keep a clear line between his work and personal life. When he was meeting with a client or getting his hands messy taking care of less than legal business, he was in work mode. It helped that he was an independent person, keeping his personal attachments to a minimum as best as he could.

But with you, his lines were starting to blur. It hadn’t made much of an impact yet but when your name showed up on his phone or your face crossed his mind, he tried to dismiss it until he could give you all his attention.

The ‘No Phone’ policy at Billy Russo’s poker game helped that, thankfully. The game was really less of a formality now, another opportunity to discuss business behind closed doors. And once the cards were piled up and every chip was cashed out and accounted for, that’s when the important conversations took place.

The backroom of Russo’s newest warehouse served as a perfect backdrop for them - with subtle tinted windows looking out towards the Hudson. The high ceilings echoed with their idle chatter. Sam had moved away from the table to flirt with the bartender, leaving Steve and Bucky with Russo and his own partner in crime, Frank Castle. But despite the gameplay and niceties, Steve had an agenda.

“To answer your question,” Russo set down his crystalline glass and leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised as a smirk grew on his face. “Of course Rumlow came to chat. I humoured the man but can you blame me?”

“He wants storage space,” Castle added in, answering the question before Steve or Bucky could even wonder.

Steve nodded. It wasn’t a secret that the docks, operated by Castle and Russo, had notorious clientele in the darkness of night. But Steve was their biggest partner and their working relationship had been ongoing for nearly a decade.

“Which we won’t give him, of course. I’m not an idiot. I know the rules.” Russo shrugged. “But I gotta tell you, Rogers - he’s getting pushy.”

To Steve’s left, Bucky grumbled. “If I see one of his guys out there with that new shit again, I’m finishing this. Discussion over.”

“Hey.” Steve reached his hand out to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “One step at a time.”

“Becca said she heard about another kid, you know. Hospitalized because of that new shit.”

Steve’s lips tightened into a line. His biggest rule for anyone crossing his boundaries - no targeting the high schools. And this new stuff Rumlow had introduced, some unstable, addictive upper - it had already been making a mess. Steve knew he couldn’t control the movement of drugs and hey, why would he want to? It was lucrative for him. A twenty percent cut across the board kept his bank accounts padded. But the way Rumlow had started bleeding in, against Steve’s rules, it was getting out of hand.

“At least what you did to Walker scared him off for the time being,” Castle laughed, getting up to get a refill of his whisky. “What I wouldn’t give to see that guy’s smashed up face.”

Bucky smirked. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“He made his bed, sending that driver after my property. Then showing up to scare a witness who has no connection to this? He’s a bastard. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.” Steve tilted his head. “I think we’ve been clear enough for the time being. Just let me know if you see Rumlow again. Because if there is a next time, I'll deal with it myself.”

Russo stood up as Steve did, extending a gracious hand as a thank you. “So - to the club? I’m looking for an unforgettable evening.”

Steve laughed, extending his arm over the man’s shoulder. “Oh, I can promise you one.”

“Should I call up Meredith? Let her know she can come meet us?”

Steve politely ignored Russo’s bait. It had been an ongoing thing for months now - with Billy trying desperately to arrange a relationship between his sister and Steve. Quite frankly, it was embarrassing. Sure, Meredith Russo was a beautiful girl but Steve had decided a long time ago that if he was ever going to settle down with someone, it had to be genuine and not for the long term sake of a business relationship.

As they headed towards Shield , with Rumlow and Russo driving ahead while Steve and Bucky got into their awaiting car with Katy at the wheel, Steve finally checked his phone. How could he even humor the idea of Russo’s sister when there you were, sending him a few late night messages. And when he realized you had sent a photo…

You [11:45PM]: best method to tire yourself out before bed? You [11:51PM]: I’ve tried everything. currently I’ve decided to just bake cookies instead You [11:52PM]: (IMG-6521)

“Please tell me you’re pursuing that.”

Steve rolled his eyes when he saw Bucky leaning over to look at his phone screen. “Eyes to yourself, punk.” He sent his elbow across the backseat and nudged Bucky in the ribs.

As much as Steve knew he had to be rational before letting you further into his life, damnit - how could he think with his upstairs brain when you were sending him photos like that? Because even in the fluorescent lights of your tiny apartment kitchen, you were a sight to be reckoned with. From your casually messy hair to your revealing tank top to the way you were biting your lip… The tight feeling in his pants was another important reason to try and focus on his rational brain, the one who did things correctly to win you over.

But he wasn’t sure how much longer this type of talking was going to work for him. Sure, he wanted to get to know you better but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get his hands all over you, too. He had a feeling you and him would go together so well.

He took in a deep breath and finally formulated a reply.

S Rogers [12:29AM]: I can think of a few ways to tire you out before bed, baby S Rogers [12:29AM]: and what I’d give to taste whatever you’re making S Rogers [12:34AM]: I won’t invite myself over but when can I see you? I need to see you. are you free tomorrow?

---

You nearly threw up when Steve asked you out. And as the minutes ticked by Sunday morning before you were to meet him for lunch, your nerves were getting the best of you.

I need to see you.

That meant he was interested, right? You had left a series of frantic voice messages for Claire, praying that she’d enjoy them on her morning break and true to her nature, she had calmed you down with a few positive affirmations and some advice for the sudden date.

You could do this. He wanted to see you. What was the issue?

The issue, perhaps, was your lack of sleep and how exhaustion was slowly creeping up on you. Maybe this was all a weird dream and you’d be showing up to lunch alone.

I need to see you.

Dressed in your favourite date outfit, which toed the line between casual and trying too hard, you headed towards the little lunch spot Steve had suggested. When you found him outside waiting for you, a wave of relief settled in your chest. There he was.

God, he was handsome. The mustard yellow striped shirt he was wearing hugged his chest perfectly, accentuating his biceps - which you suddenly had an urge to squeeze. You weren’t sure anyone else could pull off such a look paired with black slacks and dress shoes, but Steve managed it. Maybe it had something to do with his confident energy.

When he noticed you down the block, the grin on his face grew.

God, he was handsome.

You remained as composed as possible while he greeted you with a hug, not before pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. With a squeeze of your hand, he led you inside and immediately the server placed you both at a small table near the window.

You thought it might be awkward - the next part. The gradual move into ‘get to know you’ type of questions, but with Steve, it felt easy. Way easier than you could have anticipated. He casually ordered for you both once he confirmed your choice and cradled your hand in his across the table as you chatted.

The details in his face were so obvious in this setting - the golden blonde in his beard, the crinkles beside his eyes when he laughed, the shine of his blue eyes. You had a hard time looking away, because you felt so captured by him. And you didn’t want to jinx it, but you had a feeling that maybe he felt the same way too.

“I don’t know.” With your lip trapped between your lips, you scanned his face and held back a smile. “I think you’re lying. I find it really hard to believe that The English Patient is your favourite movie.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve laughed, pausing to take a sip of his coffee cup as he narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“Gut feeling,” you replied with a shrug, tipping your head from side to side. “And I cannot imagine you deciding to put on a movie to relax and picking that.”

He pursed his lips for a moment then finally, his shoulders sunk down. “Okay, you caught me. My favourite movie is Singing in the Rain.”

You couldn’t help but let out an excited laugh, smile wide as you watched him. “Amazing. Unexpected, really, but somehow that feels just right.”

“What’s amazing is you saw right through me. I promise I’ll never lie to you again,” Steve crossed over his heart with his index finger before reaching his hand out again and tugging yours away from the edge of your water glass. “And now to be very honest about something - this , you and me, it somehow feels just right, too.”

You couldn’t get over his bold words but thank god he said it. What was this mysterious feeling that seemed to be sucking you both in, head first? You squeezed his hand and did everything in your power not to pinch yourself.

You could just feel it, enveloping you without hesitation - you were falling hard, already. It was a risk but you tried to remind yourself of what Claire had said: stop playing it safe, take the leap..

Steve barely humoured you when you offered to pay for the meal once the cheque arrived at the table. He spared you a quick glance over the billfold then took care of it with a swift flick of his wrist, sending the server away without another word.

Steve’s voice brought you back to the present, after momentarily losing yourself in him again. Your eyes had been fixated on the small area of skin on display above the buttons of his shirt, showing off just a hint of both chest hair and the ink of tattoos that were hiding beneath his gold chain.

With a small smile, you finally looked up and met his grin. “Sorry to stare. I was just trying to figure out your tattoos.” You watched as he swallowed hard, as if trying to contain his response.

Steve cleared his throat, motioning to the door as you both stood up. “Do you have any?” Using his closest hand, he splayed his palm against your lower back as you headed outside together.

You paused once you were back on the sidewalk, accepting the suggestion as Steve offered to walk you home. “I have one lonely tattoo.”

“And where is that hiding?”

“That is a secret.” You turned and looked at him over your shoulder as you started in the direction of your apartment.

Within a few strides, he caught up and reached for your hand. Jesus Christ, you were holding hands. How were you supposed to keep your composure?

Steve carried on, with no intention to skip over the tattoo topic. “At least tell me what the tattoo is of?”

“Just a song lyric that reminds me of my mom. I know that’s a bit silly.”

“I think that’s sweet. You’re close with her?”

“Oh yeah. She’s my best friend. I wish I could see her more but she refuses to move back to the city. She has a good circle out in Albany though so I try not to worry about her.”

“And your dad?”

“Uhm, non-existent.” You glossed over that quickly, tugging Steve along as you ventured through a crowd at the crosswalk. “What about you and nurse Sarah?”

“My ma - she’s whole heart. I almost lost her once and..” he trailed off, as if experiencing a jolt of unwelcome pain. “She’s the most important woman in my life.”

Once you got back to your apartment, you had a feeling Steve didn’t want things to come to an end yet. And truthfully, you didn’t either. Maybe inviting him in was too soon, especially in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, but he happily agreed to join you as you took Hercules for a walk.

You regaled Steve with the dramatic story about how you adopted Hercules (“He was my first attempt at fostering a dog and I immediately fell in love.”)

Steve told you about how he enlisted with Bucky and Sam after college. You traded stories about figuring your lives out in the city after your careers got started.

Before you realized it, you had looped around the block numerous times until finally, Steve remorsefully shared that he had some work things to take care of and he had to get going.

“I wish we could just keep going with whatever this is,” he insisted with a sad smile. Slowly, he reached his hand out and cradled your cheek. “Can I see you again? Dinner this week?”

“You want to see m-” You cut yourself off. Was now really the time to be filling your mind with self doubt? You were already putty in his hands, if it wasn’t obvious enough. “Yes, I’d love that.” It pained you but you knew your work week ahead was a bit intense. “Wednesday?”

Steve tipped his head back and groaned, very dramatically. “I guess I can wait until Wednesday.” He dragged his tongue across his lips, his hand travelling from your cheek towards your neck. “But in the meantime, I don’t think I’ll be able to wait until then to do this..” He met your eyes for an extra moment, waiting for your permission.

You had barely nodded your head before Steve tipped his head down and pressed his lips to yours. To describe Steve as eager would have been a disservice - but damn, the man was hungry. His lips moved in a way that seemed both calculated and feverish, leaving you catching your breath and Steve letting out a quiet growl for more.

The strap of Hercules’ leash dropped from your hand and before you realized it, Steve had caught it with his free hand, pulling away from you with a coy grin.

“Wednesday,” you whispered out the words, happily taking the leash back from Steve. “We should do more of that Wednesday.”

---

You [4:01PM]: crisis alert - Steve kissed me after our date You [4:01PM]: and it was so good. SO GOOD. Wanda [4:02PM]: !!!!! Wanda [4:03PM]: why is this a crisis? You [4:05PM]: I need to be grounded in reality Maria [4:05PM]: don’t worry, I’m always here to burst your bubble about some average man Claire [4:06PM]: let’s hope he’s above average Claire [4:07PM]: girl, get it. the real crisis is your underwear drawer, probably You [4:08PM]: wow, ouch You [4:08PM]: you’re probably right Maria [4:08PM]: booooooo

---

Steve was trying so hard to do this correctly. He could take any girl to dinner then back to his bed, but with you, he was strategizing. The extended lunch date had been step one. And leaving you with just a kiss, despite his undying desire for all of you, he was trying to establish this was important to him.

You were important to him.

Just getting to know you and seeing your smile, and God, hearing you laugh - he was done for. He hadn’t felt this way before and he didn’t want to fuck it up. It wasn’t lost on him how rare this flood of feelings were - when was the last time he anxiously paced around his office, half-assing his check-ins, delegating more than he normally would, daydreaming about you, counting down the minutes until he picked you up?

It didn’t help that you two had spent the last few nights on the phone, talking way later than either of you probably needed to be awake. But it seemed you couldn’t help yourselves.

When you messaged him about working late then picking up Hercules late and that you were running behind, he frowned.

You [5:57PM]: I’m really sorry Steve [5:57PM]: It’s okay, I had just gotten to my car You [5:58PM]: Well, if you want to head over now - if you don’t mind waiting, you can come in and hang with Herc :)

You greeted him at the door, already apologizing profusely for not being ready on time. How could he be mad when he got to see this side of you - in between outfits and still smiling so nervously?

“I pushed the reservation,” Steve assured you with a wave of his hand, resisting the urge to push you against the closest wall and pick up where you left off earlier that week. “Take your time.”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you offered him another nervous smile before turning, heading back towards your bathroom. “I’ve been taking naps after work the last few weeks but working late today has just thrown me off. I swear I’m usually not like this..”

“It's okay, you’re giving me time to befriend Hercules anyway.” Steve took a seat on your couch, happy to spend the next few minutes playing with your dog while you got ready.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about your energy seemed off. Maybe it was nerves, but after things had ended so positively following your lunch date, he hoped it was good nerves, at least. Positive energy, if possible. The connection between you had struck him so furiously, he supposed it made sense to look at it from a realistic perspective too, but he wanted you to be excited, not anxious.

As he leaned back into the cushions, he felt something poke into his back. Curious, he leaned forward again and twisted, eyebrows raising as he found a small cast iron frying pan lodged between your pillows.

Steve considered himself a very intuitive person. Once he took a half second to analyze your space, he was coming to a conclusion he hoped wasn’t true. Tipping his head to the side, he scanned the doorway. The landlord had quickly removed the broken door and replaced it with something more secure, thanks to a strongly worded phone call and thinly veiled threat from Steve. And yet, you kept a spare dining chair propped up behind it.

Behind him, the window above your couch had also been replaced - and you had left the protective plastic on the new pane, plus added an extra blanket to cover it up.

He stood up and took a few paces further into your apartment, sparing a glance into the kitchen. You had moved your knife block closer to the edge of the counter.

“Do you think those guys are going to show up again? At my apartment?”

Steve let out a quiet sigh, desperate to keep a rational mind as he called out your name.

“I’m almost ready!” You called back through the bathroom door, opening it slowly to find Steve’s concerned face. Your bathroom was tiny and even in the doorway, it seemed as if Steve was already inside the room with you. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded, barely. Steve sucked in a breath, dragging a hand across his jaw as he flicked his gaze down to watch you through the mirror. Fuck, he just had to ask. “I think so... But why did I just find a frying pan behind your couch cushions?”

Slowly, you brought your hand back down and rested it on the sink, meeting Steve’s eyes in the mirror. “Oh, uh.. I must have forgotten it there..”

He could see your immediate distress, the way you held your breath and gripped the edge of the countertop. “I mean, I know you have a small kitchen but if you are using your couch for storage..” Steve said your name, confidently calling your bluff as he searched for the explanation. He reached his hand out and rested it on your shoulder. “Hey, talk to me.”

You closed your eyes. “I can’t really explain..” You swallowed hard, head moving side to side in a curt shake. “I understand if you want to leave.”

His head shook slowly, one eyebrow drawing upwards in concern. “What? Why would I do that?”

“I could think of a dozen reasons why you’d want to bail now.”

“And I can think of a dozen reasons to stay.” He lifted his hand and cradled your chin, encouraging you to look in his direction. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on. Just try and explain it, please. I’m listening.”

Maybe you were tired, maybe you had nothing to lose. Taking a deep breath, everything just spilled out. “Fine. I.. I can’t sleep anymore. I’m scared here all the time and I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford to even think about looking for a new place so I’m hoping this’ll just go away and, well, I know this is a lot. Too much, probably. I’m too much - it’s okay if you don’t want to deal with it.” You choked out a laugh. “It’s not like I’d be able to attack someone if they broke in again! I mean, look at me - what kind of insane person hides wannabe weapons around her home, just in case? What am I going to do - attack some gun wielding idiot with a frying pan? I just.. it’s a dumb precaution I guess.” You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from Steve. “I’m scared. And tired, so tired.”

Steve took in a deep breath, then leaned in to press a kiss to the top of your head. With a few quiet words and his guidance, you were suddenly sitting on the closed toilet seat while he crouched in front of you.

“You’re not too much.” He rested his hands on your knees, thumbs swooping in circles against your skin. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

You shrugged, letting out a deflated laugh. “We met like five minutes ago. I don’t do this sort of thing-” You motioned between yourself and Steve, “-often and I’m worried I’m screwing it all up. Having irrational fears about living in my own home - you don’t want to deal with that.”

Steve sighed. If anyone was going to screw up, he knew it wouldn’t be you. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t do this much either.” He motioned between you both the same way. “So, let's try and deal with this ‘scared to sleep’ thing together.” He offered you a small smile. “First thing - how about a nap?” He was confident that your door and window were secure though he was determined to check on those things later, too.

“But you made reservations and-”

He waved his hand, dismissing your argument. “C’mon. Do you think you’ll sleep better if I’m watching guard from the living room?”

A frown returned to your face. “I guess. But I bet I would have the most success if you were.. in bed beside me.”

Steve laughed, brushing his tongue over his lips to focus his thoughts. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, sweetheart.”

“We’ll keep it PG..” You stifled a yawn. “I promise.”

---

You half expected Steve to be gone when you finally stirred from your sleep. Even if he had crawled into the bed beside you and draped his arm over you, with one cautious hand rubbing your back as you drifted asleep.

But when you woke up, he was still on the bed. He had shifted slightly to sit up against the headboard, typing on his phone. The glow of his screen and your bedside table lamp cast a glow across his stoic features.

When he noticed you stirring, he turned his gaze in your direction. “Hey you.”

“Hi,” you replied quietly, propping yourself up onto your elbows. “Hope I didn’t sleep too long.”

“About an hour,” Steve answered, reaching his hand over slowly and brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Seems like you needed it though. The pillow drool is evidence.”

“Nooo,” you pushed his hand away and tried to hide under the blankets. “Let’s pretend you didn’t see that. Drool is for third dates, at the earliest.”

“Wanna come somewhere with me? I know it’s not the date we had planned but I need to check out one of my buildings.” Steve reached over and tugged down the blanket. “What do you say? We can bring Hercules too.”

You could already hear your excited pup getting up from his perch on the hallway floor outside your room, excited to be included in whatever the plan was. You appreciated Steve’s ongoing inclusion of your son. “Sure. I’m sorry I turned our evening into this.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.”

You were quick to get ready again, although with a bit less attention to detail since your fancy dinner reservations had gone out the window. By the time you put yourself together and headed to Steve’s car, you couldn’t hide your loud, hungry stomach.

And instead of letting you dismiss your hunger, Steve doubled down and insisted he take you by his favourite pizza place on the way to his property. You laughed when he claimed it was a Brooklyn institution, deserving of every single pizza award in existence. You didn’t have the heart to tell him it was fine and your own preferred spot was way better. It probably wasn’t the right time to have a playful argument with him while he was greeted so warmly by the owners of the pizza shop.

One thing you appreciated immensely about Steve already was how much he seemed to care about Hercules and how he was a part of your life. Steve didn’t even hesitate to let him into his very fancy car and even mentioned that moving forward he’d try to bring a bigger vehicle to better accommodate your son.

Although you couldn’t be certain, from the way he discussed it, Steve clearly owned multiple properties of varying purposes. The building he eventually parked in front of was what looked like a refurbished apartment building. It was on a quiet street just a few blocks from Steve’s own apartment.

“Wow,” your commentary spilled out when you got out of the car, guiding Hercules along too. “You sure he can come in here?”

Steve grabbed your free hand and nodded. “Of course, this is a pet friendly building. Actually, it even has a mini dog park off the left side beyond the community room.”

You followed where he motioned beside the building, craning your neck to see a tall fence beside the far wall. “You’re kidding. Dang, a real luxury building, Herc. What a dream.”

“You have no idea,” Steve joked, pausing outside the door before someone appeared to let you in. “Thanks, Barton.” Steve turned and introduced you to the man as you walked in.

“Nice to meet you,” you said to Clint, who Steve described as a ‘jack of all trades’ property manager who helped maintain all of Steve’s buildings. “This place seems amazing.”

“You know how that phrase goes, right?” Clint threw up his elbow to nudge at Steve as you all headed to the elevator. “Jack of all trades, master of none?”

“Hey, you’re a master of a lot of stuff, I know. You should see this guy play darts,” Steve shot you a small glance and winked.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Rogers. Let me show you that newly vacated unit - third floor.”

You weren’t sure what the weird non-talking was that seemed to be going on between Steve and his friend, but you figured it wasn’t your place to ask. It seemed as if everything Clint was saying and explaining to you, he needed Steve’s approval for it.

By the time you got to your destination, Clint had gone through a thorough list of amenities about the building. You weren’t sure why he was doing that either - you figured Steve must already know about the building since he owned it but it was nice to hear about. Beyond the dog park, there was a small coffee shop being added to the lobby, plus there was a full gym and rooftop deck area for all tenants to use at their leisure. Full time doorman, co-working space, parcel delivery, basement storage, bike storage, garbage pickup.. It was beyond luxury.

Clint flipped through his keychain and let you and Steve into one of the units on the corner, then excused himself on a phone call.

“This building is amazing. Wait, I already said that. Incredible, there we go.” You took a few more steps in, taking in the bright lights and clean lines of the one bedroom apartment. “Wow.” While the bar for what you considered a decent apartment was low, this place was still impressive.

It wasn’t much bigger than your own place but the layout made way more sense and it was clearly recently renovated, with a small kitchen full of new cabinetry on the left wall that opened up into the main living room space. And god, the windows were huge - giving a nice view into the streets of Brooklyn. And shit - what was a dishwasher?

You looked back at Steve, who was watching you from his little pose leaning against the door. “Did you just need to see the unit to make sure it was all clean for the next person?” Truthfully, that didn’t make much sense but you seriously could not pinpoint why Steve had any interest in checking out the apartment.

He shook his head, a growing grin on his face as he pushed off from his pose. “Did you see the in-unit laundry?” In a few strides he pulled open a closet door to reveal a stackable washer and dryer unit. “Big closet in the bedroom too.”

You followed him into the bedroom, which shared the same view as the living room with windows that reached the ceiling. “It’s so nice. Whoever moves in next better appreciate it.” Your eyebrow raised up, curious when Steve started wringing his hands together, nervous. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes,” he hesitated, tipping his head side to side before he took a step closer to you near the window. “I’m just trying to figure out how to approach this right. This apartment.. I want to offer it to you.” He pointed his fingers out through his clasped hands, waiting for your reaction. “What do you think?”

You laughed at the idea, unable to even take him seriously. “There is no way I can afford this place, Steve. Thank you but..”

“Don’t let the price be an issue.”

You scrunched up your face, keeping a firm grip on Hercules’ leash. “You can’t just give me an apartment.”

“I’m not,” He smiled, soft and honest. “I mean, I would but.. I’ll match your current rent. No deposit, no extra fees. You’ve got to let me give you back your sense of security. It’s killing me knowing you’ve lost that.” Though your resistance was wavering, he tried to reassure you. “Just think about it, okay? I promise I don’t have any ulterior motives. I just.. your safety is important to me. And I told you - a thousand favours.”

You closed your eyes, juggling both the uncertainty and excitement of possibility in your mind. “Steve, an apartment is worth a lot of favours, I think.”

“Do you know the exact exchange rate of rental property to favours? We could start a spreadsheet maybe..” His cheeky grin was practically spilling off his face. “You deserve to feel safe in your own home, sweetheart. Hercules too.”

With a gentle poke you tapped against his chest. “Just let me think about this one?”

“Okay, okay. Whenever you decide, whatever you decide, you let me know and we’ll get things sorted with Clint.” Steve took another step closer and slowly brought his hands up to your cheeks again, nibbling his own lip as he took you in. “Now, how about a sleepover tonight? I think we have some unfinished business from our last date.”

---

< Chapter 02 - Chapter 04 >

Notes: Up next: like our queen Miss Taylor sang in Labyrinth: ‘oh no, i’m falling in loveeee’ and maybe… some smut and danger and a peek into Steve’s business side. I’d love to know what you think so far! thank you for reading :)

#steve rogers x reader #mob boss steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x plus size reader #mob boss steve rogers x you #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #mob au #simmerandcry #simmerandwrite #story: sink into me #simmer and write

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