#i already cross referenced what more do you want from me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mc-i-r · 10 months

Text

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Part Two is here! Robin is finally coming in and giving us some new perspectives and answers, Steve accepts some things about himself, and Robin wants to invoke her best friend rights to protect Steve. Hope you enjoy!

Tw: internalized biphobia, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced suicidal thoughts

———

Robin grunts, hopping off her bike and ripping the helmet off her head. Three cars almost hit her today. Three! She groans.

“Stupid fucking bike—“ she kicks the back wheel, making it fall against the brick exterior wall of Family Video. She had to ride it to work today because someone—ahem, Steve—has decided to adopt half of the rising sophomore class, which means he’s off today since his favorite little nerd is off to Utah for the weekend. So now, she’s late for her shift and all gross and sweaty. Great.

Robin tucks her helmet under her arm, raking a hand through her hair in a weak attempt to fix it, and begins the short walk to the front doors when something catches her eye.

A burgundy BMW. Correction, Steve’s burgundy BMW.

She slows her steps and walks up to it, cautious as if it’ll attack her, and peeks inside. There’s nothing out of the ordinary save for a green duffle bag and an old beaten up shoebox. She frowns and looks towards the front doors as if the transparent surface will answer all of her questions.

She walks inside to find Steve. Steve, who is propped up on the counter with his eyes closed, head dipping down, and at work. The place he is decidedly not supposed to be right now.

“Dingus!” She shouts and slaps her hand on the counter, startling Steve awake. He reaches behind him, frowns when his hand comes up empty, and looks around with hazy eyes. There’s a distance behind those irises that she’s never seen before, like he’s not all there. As if he doesn’t know where he is.

Robin wasn’t concerned, but now she is.

“Steve?”

He finally looks up at her, sitting up straighter as if he didn’t know she was there, and puts on a smile she obviously knows is fake.

“Oh, hey, Robs,” he greets, his voice perfectly exemplifying that of model customer service personnel. Robin scrunches up her eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, shifting her weight and putting her hands on her hips. She stares at Steve expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He only blinks at her.

“Uh… working? I have a shift today, Robs, why wouldn’t I be here?” He answers, eyebrows furrowing and head tilting slightly. Robin has a fleeting thought that he looks like a confused puppy, then she realizes that’s not too far off. She meets his confused gaze with one of her own.

“Dustin leaves for his trip to Utah today, Steve. In like,“—she checks the clock behind him—“an hour. Shouldn’t you be there to, ya know, say goodbye and all that?”

She waits for realization to dawn on his face, for that wrinkle between his brows to disappear and panic to settle in. It doesn’t. If anything, he looks even more confused now.

“… What trip to Utah?” He asks hesitantly, like he doesn’t know. Does… does he not know?

“Are you messing with me right now? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, this isn’t funny,” she huffs a nervous laugh. He shakes his head.

Shit.

Steve, she realizes, hasn’t talked about the kids in… a while. A week at least. But he would have told her, right? He would have mentioned something, would have asked her what’s going on.

But then again… would he?

“Fuck,” she curses, and briskly walks over to the front door. She locks it, flips the sign to ‘Closed!’, and ignores Steve’s petulant protest of “Robbie, c’mon.” She drags Steve out from behind the counter and pulls him in an aisle of tapes before crossing her arms over her chest.

“The movie nights… Those weren’t migraine days, were they?” She asks, already half expecting the head shake she gets in response but it hurts all the same.

See, Steve gets debilitating migraines sometimes, so bad he stays in bed for days at a time. She had bought him blackout curtains a few months ago after he said the dark helped his head, and ever since then he’s taken it upon himself to get through them alone. She would ask if he needed help, tell him to call her so she could come over, but he never did. She just assumed that he didn’t show up because he couldn’t, not… whatever this is.

Robin grabs him by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing over his collarbones as she looks in his eyes.

“What happened?”

Steve sighs, face falling as he looks to the floor.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. His hand finds the hair tie on his wrist and he starts fiddling with it, snapping it against his skin and twisting it around his fingers. It makes Robin's heart clench. She shakes his shoulders to get him to look at her, and doesn't speak until he does.

“Steve, tell me what happened,” she insists, looking into his sad brown eyes that droop with the weight of her request. His shoulders rise beneath her hands as he takes in a deep breath. Then, he speaks.

“They haven’t talked to me in three weeks, Rob,” he confesses, eyes trained just over her shoulder to avoid eye contact. She knows he means the kids, and that makes this so, so much worse.

“Steve—“

“It’s okay,” he interrupts. His face slowly forms a small, wavering smile as he finally looks at her. “It means they’re growing up, expanding their horizons. Finding… finding better people to be around.”

Her stomach drops.

“Steve, what… what do you mean by that?” Her voice is shaky, filled with fear and the horrible dawning of what he's implying. Steve huffs and turns to look in the direction of the front windows, eyes distant.

“It’s good that they’re not talking to me. Why… Why should they?” He looks back at her, determination shining in his eyes. Robin realizes, with frightening clarity, that he’s confident in it. That he believes it. She swallows the forming lump in her throat.

“What do I do for them other than free rides or snacks? Nothing,” he laughs, a wet, hollow thing devoid of its usual happiness. “They haven’t asked me for anything in three weeks, Rob. Not once. Every time I ask they shut me down or… or tell me Eddie already offered. It’s… fuck, it hurts so bad but what else can I do but respect their decision to leave me?”

He rubs a hand harshly over his face, his skin turning pink from the pressure and force, before pushing his hair back. He looks away, murmuring, “it’s for the best, anyway” that Robin is sure she’s not supposed to hear but does anyhow.

She pushes him back, holding him out at arms length and ignoring the look she gets in return, and looks him up and down. His normally crisp polo is rumpled under his work vest and half tucked in his jeans. Dirt stains the once-white laces of his Nikes, and mud is caked on the side of his soles. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists, as if trying to stop the shaking, before resigning to tap an unsteady rhythm against his thighs.

She looks up at his face, notices the tenseness in his jaw as it stays sealed shut. How his hair lays flat and greasy on his head as if he spends his days running his fingers through it. His eyes flicker around, as if unable to stay in one spot for too long. As if they’re looking for something. Watching. Waiting.

Most importantly, she notices a sadness in his eyes she’s never seen before. Not when he would talk about Nancy or his parents or his past. It shows in the lifelessness that’s found its way behind his pupils, in the flatness of his gaze. It shows in the deep bags under his eyes and the crease between his brows. That earlier thought about how he resembles a puppy returns, however instead of a confused puppy, it’s one that’s been kicked too many times to count and just wants someone to rub its little head.

It’s those sad eyes that make her realize that he’s used to this, to people leaving. All those times they spent together, curled against each other in the comfort of his big plush mattress after Starcourt and whispering secrets into the night, come back to her.

How he told her his parents left him with nannies and babysitters when they would go on trips until he was ten and his father decided he was old enough to fend for himself in their absence. How he had to call the police just so someone would tell him how to work the stove. How they missed his first birthday at thirteen, then Thanksgiving the following year, then his sixteenth birthday—which they tried making up for by buying him a car—then both Thanksgiving and Christmas the next year until it was a surprise they showed up for anything at all. How they missed his high school graduation.

How he cried through telling her he handed his heart to Nancy, giving her everything he could to make her happy, only for it to be left bleeding on the bathroom floor. How she cheated on him with Jonathan without giving an explanation for why or when or how, only a silent understanding of ‘yeah, I’m with him now. We’re over’ during the end of the world. How she never even said sorry.

It was one instance, when Robin woke up to Steve thrashing in his checkered sheets as his throat screamed out into the darkness of his room, that she’ll always remember. She had to sit on his chest to keep him from moving and accidentally hurting himself in the process. She did her best to stay clear of any still-sore wounds while holding his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks as she waited for him to calm down.

Eventually, those tired eyes opened, glistening with tears yet to be shed and Robin’s heart ached for him. She did her best to smile, to bring some comfort to his panicked mind.

“Hey, dingus, it’s me,” she soothed. “It’s Robin.”

“... Robin?” He muttered, voice fragile and raw from screaming. She nodded, even if he couldn’t quite see her yet.

“Yeah, that’s me. We’re in your room right now, in your bed,” she informed, and Robin could see the shame rising to his face in real time. “You had a nightmare.”

“Fuck, Robs, I’m so sorry,” Steve apologized, moving to try and get up but she shook her head, refusing to budge even an inch. Despite him being twice her size and having the ability to easily move her if needed, he relented and went slack underneath her, almost completely boneless save for the ever-present tenseness that never quite goes away.

“None of that, Steve,” she admonished. “Nightmares are normal, especially for us. You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve looked away and shook his head. Robin nodded, accepting his refusal, and climbed off to flop down beside him, bouncing a little on the expensive mattress. She propped her head up on her hand, looking down at him as he fiddled with the edge of the sheet. Robin quickly learned that his fiddling meant he had something on his mind, so she nudged him and gave him an expectant look. He stayed quiet, and just when she thought he wasn’t going to speak, he did.

“You know, sometimes I think the world would be better off without me,” he murmured, and Robin looked at him absolutely horrified.

“Steve, you can’t actually believe that—“

“No, Robbie,” he interrupted and paused to shake his head as tears filled his eyes. “I do, ‘cause what am I good for other than nice eye candy for the elderly ladies at the local grocery store and a stand-up athlete for asshole dads to compare their sons to?”

Steve shook his head and clenched his eyes closed.

“No one stays. No one. It’s just been me for eighteen years and I… I’m sick of it, Robin. I’m just… I’m so tired.”

When he looked at her again, she could see it. That tiredness was etched onto his face, found in the creases around his eyes, the tenseness of his mouth, and the deep purple bags beneath his brown irises.

“I know,” Robin reassured, even though she didn’t. Not really. “We’ll get through it, okay?”

“‘We’?” Steve questioned, and Robin gave him a smile.

“Yeah, ‘we’. You’re never getting rid of me, dingus,” she claimed. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Oh no,” he said sarcastically, giving her a small grin that let her know he was grateful, either for the change in subject or the fact that Robin was there for him. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out, hm?” It was a silent question, one asking him, ‘will you stay around long enough to find out? Will I be enough for you until you do?’

Steve smiled and pulled her down to rest on his chest, both of their arms finding their way to wrap around each other.

“Guess we will,” he whispered into her hair, and it sounded a lot like, ‘for you, I will. For you, always.’

She never forgot that conversation, and the sad way his voice quivered has plagued her mind ever since then.

Now, the kids are joining the devastatingly long list of people that have left. The kids who he has quite literally sacrificed himself for time and time again. The kids he has given countless rides to, given his time and money and sanity to just to make them happy. The kids he cares for with his whole being. The kids he loves.

That lump returns, causing pressure to form behind her eyes as she looks at her best friend. Her platonic with a capital P soulmate. The only man she’ll ever love. Tears well in her eyes, clouding her vision and making her face contort. She’s always been an ugly crier but she thinks this is justified.

“Robs? What’s wr—”

She cuts him off by wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him into a harsh hug. She knows he doesn’t like sudden touch—as proven by him stiffening under her—but she gives herself a pass on this one.

“Robin?”

She buries her face in his chest, silently crying for him, and only begins to calm down once hesitant arms wrap around her.

“Shh… Robbie, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He promises, and his earnest tone makes her almost cry harder because yeah, he’s there for her, but who is there for him?

She sniffs and pulls away, hands coming up to wipe away her snot and tears, and hopes he doesn’t mind the wet patch on the front of his shirt. Steve’s hands drop down to her waist, squeezing and rubbing her hips with his thumbs, as her hands raise to hold his face between them.

“We’re going to fix this, Steve. You don’t deserve all this—this shit that’s been thrown at you,” she vows, squeezing his cheeks to emphasize her point.

“It’s… It’s fine, Robs. You don’t have to do anything, it’s okay,” he tries to protest but it only furthers her determination. She shakes his head in her hands.

“If I have to throttle your head to make you realize that I love you then I will do it, dingus,” she promises, shaking his head again to prove her point. “Screw all your concussions.” She smiles at him, something small and filled with love for the man before him.

Steve breaks.

His face contorts much like Robins had earlier; eyebrows scrunched together, eyes clenched shut, nose wrinkling, and mouth a flat, wavering line. Ugly, heart-wrenching sobs claw their way out his throat, echoing off the metal shelves that surround them, and she knows that this was a long time coming. All of his sadness, his sorrow, is coming out through the tears that drip down his cheeks and onto the filthy carpet, the snot clogging his nose, and the small, breathy whimpers that pass through his lips.

His head drops to her shoulder, making his back arch forward in a way that cannot possibly be comfortable but he doesn’t seem to mind. She wraps her arms over his shoulders and his hands tighten their grip on her waist before resolving to squeezing her middle. Robin lets him cry it out, knowing firsthand that sometimes it’s all you need. Soon, his breaths get choppy and sporadic, so she begins rubbing her hands up and down his back in long, slow strokes in an attempt to ease the panic.

“Match your breathing to my hands, okay? Up for in and down for out,” she instructs, demonstrating by moving her hands up and down while breathing in with her movements.

“I-I don’t—“ his voice breaks.

“Yes, you can. C’mon, let's give it a try. Ready? In—" she moves her hands up. Steve struggles through a breath, only getting halfway before a sob rips through his throat and he’s forced to exhale.

“That’s good! Try again for me, babe, you can do it. Take it slow. Now, in—“ she rubs her hands up again and, this time, he follows through. “Good, good. Now out—“ her hands drop slowly down his back as he breathes out, shaky but it’s there.

“You got it! Let’s keep doing that, okay? Just focus on my hands, there you go,” she instructs, keeping her hands at a steady, calm pace. Steve does his best to follow, getting off track when a harsh sob cuts off his breathing, but he quickly calms down. He sniffs and pulls away, a mirror image of what she did just a few minutes earlier, and gives her a small but genuine smile.

“Thanks, Robin. I’m sorry you had to see that—“ Steve tries to apologize but Robin firmly shakes her head.

“Nope! None of that crap, okay? You’re allowed to cry, Steve, especially over something like this,” she insists. Steve wipes his face and, in all honesty, he looks like shit. But it's marginally better than what he looked like before so she’ll take it.

“Now, what kind of pizza do you want?”

“Wh… what?” Steve asks, confused. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Pizza! What kind of pizza do you want, Steve?”

“Robs, it’s like nine in the morning—“

“Not for right now, dingus!” She exclaims. Honestly, this guy. “For our movie night tonight!”

“But we didn’t have one set up for tonight… Right?”

“No, but I’m initiating one! We need some decompress time and a longer conversation than the one we just had about all this,” she informs. Steve rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You don’t have to, Robbie, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do—“

“Nothing is more important to me right now than comforting my best friend, Steve,” she insists, leaving no room for question. Steve holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, okay, just making sure,” he defends. A small smile graces his face. “And uh… can we get pepperoni?”

Robin softens and pats his cheeks.

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the shift was spent in comfortable silence. Steve seemed to be in a very non-talkative mood and she respected that. He mostly spaced out, staring out the front windows or at a random spot on the wall while mindlessly fidgeting with something. Robin took one for the team and helped all the customers, giving him some much needed space. After that morning, it felt cruel to subject him to customer service.

When their long, boring shift was over, Steve insisted she put her bike in his trunk. When she tried to protest that she could just bike over there, he rolled his eyes and gave her the bitchiest look possible.

“Robin, I love you, but I’m not waiting for half an hour while you and your giraffe legs hit every pothole on the way over to my house when I could just drive you.”

Needless to say that after ten minutes of two fully grown adults struggling to get her bike in the trunk after a long shift at work, they were exhausted. Well, Steve was exhausted since he did most of the grunt work while she complained about how long it was taking but it was a team effort, she thinks.

They pull into his drive, the house lit up on the inside from nearly every room despite it being empty. Robin knows it’s because he hates the dark, hates the feeling of being alone. She doesn’t comment on it. Never has.

She rushes to the phone once they get inside, dialing the pizza place from memory and recites their order. She hears Steve huff from the living room followed by a soft thump, presumably him flopping on the couch. Hanging up the phone, she shrugs off her shoes and work vest before standing next to him and bouncing on her feet.

“Can I help you?” He looks up at her expectantly, tired eyes finding hers but looking infinitely more at peace. She grins.

“Let’s make a pillow fort!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand and tugging him off the couch. Steve groans.

“C’mon, Robs, that’s totally not necessary,” he complains despite having a smile on his face. She tugs harder, pulling him towards the hall closet where the spare sheets and pillows are stored, and ignores him. Throwing open the door with her free hand, she turns to face him.

“Suck it up and help me carry these, dingus.”

She throws a stack of sheets at his face, snickering when they mess up his hair, and grabs a few pillows. Haul successful, she heads back to the living room, Steve giving her an over dramatic eye roll for the trouble.

“We can just sit on the couch, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She questions before gesturing to the coffee table. “Now move that out of the way so we can get this thing started!”

Steve grumbles but does as he’s told. After a few minutes, they have a completed pillow fort. It’s a little wonky, just big enough for two people if they scrunch together, but it’s perfect. It’s angled directly at the TV, the seats of the chairs holding up the roof acting as personal trays for their drinks.

As soon as the last pillow is in place, the doorbell rings. Before Steve can move, Robin jumps up, rushing over to her vest and grabbing a ten out of the inside pocket. She ignores Steve's protests and opens the door, all but throwing the money at the delivery guy before grabbing the pizza and telling him to keep the change. Pizza acquired, she bounds back to the fort and flops down, placing the warm box between the two of them. In her absence, Steve has keyed up Pretty in Pink, their go-to feel-better movie.

Over the course of the movie, they eat their pizza while critiquing the characters and relationships, plot holes and bad acting, and make up their own responses to dialogue until both of them can barely breathe through their laughter. Steve returns to himself a little bit, somewhere around the first hour mark, and Robin feels accomplished that she got some of her friend back.

Once the movie is over and the pizza is gone, they lay in the dark under the protection of the fort. The blue screen from the TV reflects off the white sheets, turning their skin pale and glowing. Steve is on his back, one arm behind his head and the other resting lazily on his stomach. He looks soft, face lax and eyes a little droopy as if he’s already half asleep. Robin turns on her side to face him, one hand propping her head up while the other raises to carefully pick up Steve’s. He turns his head to look at her, and she knows he knows it’s time to talk. Really talk.

A beat of silence, then, “Why didn’t you tell me, Steve?”

He sighs and she can feel the movement under their joined hands on his stomach. He’s silent for a moment, and Robin watches as hesitation clouds his eyes.

“I thought it wasn’t important enough for you to know,” he murmurs. He’s not looking at her, instead focusing on running his fingers along hers. She stays quiet.

“I… I thought I deserved it, still do. There’s just so many feelings in here,“ he pauses to tap his heart with a sad smile, “and I don’t know what to do with them.”

“So tell me about them. What’s the biggest one right now?” Steve huffs.

“It… it sounds stupid but there's this intense misery all up here,” he gestures to his head, "paired right up there with this bitter… resentment,” a dry laugh falls from his lips and he shakes his head. “God, that sounds pathetic.”

Robin pinches his arm and diligently ignores his offended “ow!”.

“You’re not pathetic, dingus,” she corrects. She taps his heart. “Tell me about them.”

Steve sighs, eyes closing. He takes a deep breath.

“I… I have this—this sadness that just doesn’t go away. It’s like… like it knows when I’m happy and just sucks it all up.”

Robin nods and holds his hand, squeezes it to provide some comfort for him. She knows this isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. She hesitates on the next question.

“…How long have you felt like this?” Steve chews on his lip for a moment.

“As long as I can remember.”

Fuck.

Distantly, memories from a time after the Mall come flooding back.

‘Yeah,’ she thinks, remembering what he confessed that night. ‘Fuck indeed.’

“Even when I’m with people I love, it’s always there. It’s…” Steve pauses, furrows his eyebrows. “It’s like this… this dark cloud constantly floating above me that always looks like it’s going to rain, but you never know for sure if it will or not. I’m…”

Steve trails off, sucks in a harsh breath, and looks at her. His voice comes out just above a whisper, a weak thing that if she wasn’t right in front of him, Robin wouldn’t hear.

“I’m scared I’m not gonna feel happy again, Robs.”

That… That’s what brings Robin close to tears again. The quiet way he admits it, like he doesn’t want to say it too loud in fear the universe will make it come true, is enough for her eyes to sting.

“Steve…”

“I know,” he chuckles wetly, hand coming up to run through his hair as he looks away. “I know how it sounds, Robbie. Trust me, I do. If I could fix it, I would, but I don’t know how—“

“You don’t have to fix it, Steve,” she interrupts. “You’re not broken, this… this is just another part of you. One that you are just now letting yourself show. You don’t have to be the perfect, put-together, level-headed person all the time, and no one expects that of you.”

She pauses to look him properly in the eyes, trying to drive her point home. “You’re allowed to be sad, Steve. You’re allowed to feel, you know that, right?”

Steve looks at her, tears falling steadily down his cheeks as he shakes his head. He didn’t know. Robin feels her heart breaking for him, a deep pang in her chest as her soulmate cries in front of her. She wipes his tears away with her thumb, noting how his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

“Keep going,” she gently commands. She runs her hand through his hair, scratching a little at his scalp when he leans into it. He huffs, air fanning across her face.

“It’s really more of a frustration but I… I don’t understand why this keeps happening to me. Why the people I love keep fucking leaving me. I mean… I’m the common factor, right? So I’m the problem,” Steve ventures. “Always have been.”

The last part is added under his breath but Robin hears it. He’s always had a bit of a self-deprecating streak but this is something else. Something deeper, more real.

She gives a small tug at his hair to signal him to keep going.

“All I wanted was for my parents to be proud of me. I worked myself to death just trying to get an ounce of affection, of love, but it was useless. I was never good enough.”

A pause. He sniffs.

“Then Nancy came along and I thought, ‘yeah, I can love her and she can love me back,’” a small, fond smile graces his face, one he always gets when he talks about his past with Nancy. One that means he’s remembering the good times before everything went downhill. There’s no longing there, not anymore.

“I thought that I could finally show someone all these feelings kept inside of me and get some in return,” Steve quietly confesses, then pauses again. That fond look sours, and his mouth forms a stern line. “Guess that was bullshit, huh?”

He spits out ‘bullshit’ like it's laced with poison, followed by a hollow laugh. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and keeps going.

“I thought she was it for me but she… She wanted Jonathan. She wanted someone better, and who am I to blame her for that? I’d want someone better if I was her, too.”

“You did everything right with the situation you were given, Steve. It’s perfectly okay to want some normalcy after what you saw, what you went through. You and Nancy just don’t deal with trauma the same way, and that’s okay too,” Robin reassures. She lets some bitterness seep into her voice, because yes, she is mad at Nancy on Steve’s behalf. “What’s not okay is the fact that she cheated on you, and you’re allowed to be hurt by that.”

He pats her hand, a silent understanding. She nods. “Keep going.”

“After that, I tried to become a better person. A better influence for the kids to be around. I wanted to be someone they could go to, a figure they could always trust and lean on for anything. Someone I wish I had as a kid,” there’s a sadness in his voice as he says that, a tone he always gets when he talks about his childhood. Robin taps her fingers against his scalp to get him to look at her. She smiles at him, and he gives a small one in return. He keeps talking.

“They need to feel safe in this shitty town that decides losers and freaks should be shunned, that they’re bad for being a little different,” his voice is filled with anger as he grinds the words out, words she has a suspicion are directed at the people who pay the bills for the very house they’re laying in.

“But none of it ever mattered because they found someone else to do that for them, to be that for them.” Robin gives him a confused look.

“Who?”

“Eddie,” Steve reveals, face forming a small smile as the name slips through his lips. He looks… fond, in a sad way.

It only confuses Robin further.

“I don’t blame him for any of this, by the way,” he clarifies. “I doubt he even realizes it. And they… They’re just kids, I can’t blame them for choosing the better option.

“Eddie shares their interests in their little nerd game, something I can’t even begin to comprehend. He’s funny and charming and outgoing, and he's so, so good with the kids,” he smiles once he rambles about Eddie, a small thing that Robin realizes is similar to the one he wears when he talks about his past with Nancy. Except this one… this one is bigger. Better. Real.

As if realizing he’s rambling, his face loses that bit of brightness as he looks away.

“I’m mostly just angry at myself,” he admits. “I just want my family back. Even though they’ve made it very clear they don’t want me in return… I still want them.”

He looks up at her then, face contorted with resentment she can tell is only directed towards himself. “Isn’t that fucked up? Isn’t that just perfectly fucking tragic?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one she doesn’t need to answer. She can’t say anything to help, anyway. Steve wipes a hand harshly over his eyes, irritating the skin and making it red. He lets out an emotionless huff, sniffing a bit through his nose. He looks… exhausted.

“Steve,” she whispers. He looks at her, and she finally asks one of the questions that’s been bugging her since this morning. “When was the last time you slept?”

He stares at her blankly, eyes darting around as if he's visualizing the math he’s doing in his head. All of the fanfare tells her he’s not sure when, and her suspicion is confirmed when he shrugs.

“I uh… don’t really remember. The days kinda all blend together, ya know?”

She nods. She does know, the days after their run-ins with the Upside Down always seem to pass by in a blur. The doctors say it’s something to do with trauma, the brain needing time to fully process everything that happened and causing the time to slip by. This time there is no Upside Down, no mortal peril or end of the world, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

She’s realized a lapse in post-nightmare phone calls from Steve recently, but just figured it was because he was getting better. They usually dwindle down to two or three a week after a few months, something they’ve all found to be relatively normal after what they went through. She never considered that it was because he wasn’t sleeping at all.

“That um… well, that kinda leads me to my next point. Uh…” Steve huffs, running a hand through his hair—something she knows he does with he’s nervous. She waits.

“I’ve not been sleeping because I’m not exactly… at home… every night.”

What?

“What?” Robin questions, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. An idea comes to her head, and she smirks internally.

“Where the hell are you going then? Are you,” she gasps, hand clutching mock pearls around her neck, "fulfilling your title as the resident man whore of Hawkins? Hooking up with the female population while living under my roof?” She waves her finger at him, giving him an overdramatic grumpy face and shaking her head in fake disappointment. “How dare you, young man!”

Steve laughs at her declaration, face a little pink from the accusation, and shakes his head.

“No, Robbie, I’m not ‘hooking up’ or whatever,” he rolls his eyes, as if finding the claim absolutely absurd. Even if it’s already half true.

“Actually, I’ve been uh… patrolling. Hawkins. Um, at night and stuff…”

Robin blinks.

“What does,” she pauses and makes sure to physically add quotation marks with her fingers, “‘and stuff’ mean exactly?”

“It means that I’m trying to be proactive, okay? Every time the Upside Down has come for us, we’ve been unprepared. Surprised. If I can prevent that from happening, give everyone a bit of a heads up, then it’ll be worth it,” he explains. “I know El–Jane? Whatever–said she closed it but we’ve thought that before and it’s come back so… better safe than sorry.”

Steve flops his head back on the pillow behind him, staring up at the sheet ceiling rather than at her. Robin doesn’t mind, as long as it gets him to talk. Kinda gross she can see his nose hairs now, though. He sighs.

“I’ve been going out at night with my bat and checking all the gates, all the spots they’ve come through before, to make sure they’re gone. Every night. Sometimes I don’t finish until early morning, sometimes it’s only a couple hours but… yeah,” he finishes ineloquently.

So, he’s a dumbass. His intentions are good, don’t get her wrong, but the execution… is not the greatest. No wonder he’s exhausted. Speaking of—

“Wait, so when do you actually sleep?”

“Only when I can’t physically stand to be awake anymore. My body kinda… shuts down,” Steve says, like it’s nothing. Like that’s not the most depressing thing she’s ever heard. Like it’s not entirely unhealthy. He huffs a laugh.

“The first time it happened, it scared the shit outta me. Thought I was dying. Turns out you’re not supposed to be awake for like… four days straight,” he recalls, face light like he’s talking about a fond memory instead of passing out from exhaustion. “On the bright side, I don’t have as many nightmares now. Don’t think my brain can keep up with all that.”

His version of a ‘bright side’ is decidedly equivalent to the darkest depths of the Mariana Trench because what the actual fuck—

“Steve…” she trails off, voice wobbly with fear for her best friend. She begs to know why he’s doing this, why he’s risking his life and sanity again, why he always seems to play the self-sacrificial card even when it’s not necessary. Even when no one asks him to. “Why?”

She expects him to crumble again, to fall apart at the realization that he’s tearing himself apart on his own volition. She expects him to cry out apologies, to scream and rant and hit things just to let all his emotions out. She expects her platonic soulmate, who carries the weight of too-heavy emotions on his shoulders and in his heart, to show his cards and let it all out.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he closes his eyes. He, at this moment, looks peaceful. Content. Like his world isn’t crumbling down around him. Like he—

Like he’s accepted it.

Accepted the anger and hate and rejection from the people he loves. Accepted the endless nights of walking and hunting and searching just in case. Accepted keeping all of this—his thoughts, his emotions, his vulnerability, his love—to himself.

Accepted that his love will never be returned, so why even try to live for it anymore?

The last shards of her heart shatter completely.

“Even though they don’t want me anymore, I have to keep them safe. It’s my job. It’s what I’m meant—what I’m expected to do,” he insists. His voice is an even, calm tone. No waver, no hesitation. “I’m so scared that it’ll come back and I’ll—we’ll be too late.”

She doesn’t miss his corrections, but doesn’t point them out either.

“You know it’s not all up to you, right? There’s other people—me for one, Joyce and Hop, Wayne and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan, and… fuck it, probably that Murray guy too—that are willing to help. That can help,” she suggests gently. “You don’t have to fight all your battles alone, ya know. Sometimes you need a little help, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Steve has his eyes open now and is looking at her. Not in a sad way, or ashamed or angry or anything of the sort. He’s just… looking. Looking just to look.

“I… I think somewhere deep down I know that, that you’re all here, but it’s just so hard to accept. It’s hard to believe it, Robs,” he confesses. “I’m sorry.”

Robin smiles at him, a soft thing that feels like melted butter on pancakes or a warm summer morning. She pats his cheek a couple times.

“Stop saying sorry, dingus, or I really will follow through with that promise of throttling you into another concussion.”

Steve laughs, short and sweet as if it took him by surprise, and shakes his head a little.

“Sorry, it’s just a habit.”

“You just said it again!”

“Fuck, sorry—"

“Steve!“

“Sorry—“

“Steve!“

“Sor—“ Robin cuts him off by pinching his lips together with her fingers, making him look like a deformed baby duckling. The imagery has her snorting and Steve follows soon after, only laughing because she is, until they’re both clutching their sides and gasping for breath.

He looks younger like this, when he’s laughing. Like the Upside Down never happened. Like his father never happened. Like he’s just a kid.

She has the striking realization that he is just a kid. He’s only nineteen, barely even a legal adult, yet he’s seen enough shit for a lifetime. Really, he’s been an adult for far longer than two years, far longer than anyone should have been at his age. He barely had time to just be a kid but now, here, when he’s laughing with her, so carefree and innocent… she thinks he might finally be letting himself feel like one again.

To think that earlier in the day, she was mad at his dumb ass for not driving her to work. Funny how a few hours can change someone’s whole perspective, huh?

Speaking of…

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the duffle and box in your car?”

Steve’s face falls, and that light he held from earlier has all but vanished. He huffs a small laugh.

“I don’t even know why that’s still in there, to be honest with you,” he confesses. Clear that he isn’t going to continue, Robin nudges him with her hand. He sighs.

“Sometimes when I go out at night, I don’t really uh… remember everything,” he starts. “I kinda zone out a bit? Like my head isn’t screwed all the way to my body and the connection’s all wonky.”

“Babe, it sounds like you’re dissociating,” she offers. At his confused face, she elaborates. “It’s when you kinda disconnect from yourself, and a lot of times you can’t really remember what happens.”

He nods. “So I guess I do,” he gestures to her, “that sometimes. Or, well—every time, really…” he trails off, then flicks his eyes to meet hers.

“One night, I just… I guess I needed to get out. Out of the house, out of Hawkins, who knows,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I grabbed everything I needed—or thought I needed, I guess, and shoved them in my car. I don’t remember how I got there, only that I came back in my head at the edge of town with my car pulled off on the side of the road just in front of the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign.

“I just sat there in my car and thought that I could just… keep going. Kept thinking that I could just follow the road, see where it takes me. Go around the curve and disappear into the trees. Leave everyone behind. Not like they’d care, anyway.”

“Hey,” she smacks his arm. “I would care, dingus. I don’t know what I’d do if you just disappeared on me.”

She doesn’t like thinking about it, about the fact that he could leave. Part of her knows it would be good for him to get out of town, to not let it hold him back from doing whatever he wanted with his life. Another part of her—the more selfish part—wants him to stay. Wants him to be with her for everything. Wants him to be there when she gets her first girlfriend, when she gets married, when she has kids. Wants him to be her other half for the rest of their lives.

The thought of him just disappearing, though… that’s one she hasn’t even considered being an option. He’s a constant in her life, always there when she needs him, and sometimes even when she doesn’t. He’s her rock, just like she’s his. Life without him… it’s something she can’t really comprehend.

“I know you would, Robs,” he begins, voice as soft as the smile on his face. “You’re one of the reasons I turned the car around that night.”

Fuck, she’s gonna cry.

“Jesus, how can you just say stuff like that?” She sniffles, not really crying but her eyes are definitely stinging. “Fuck, that’s like… the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Steve laughs and reaches up to ruffle her hair. “Don’t take it too seriously, you’re only one of the reasons.”

“I still count though!”

“Yeah, Robbie, you still count.”

Robin collects herself before flopping on Steve’s chest, right ear next to his heart. She likes listening to it, to the deep thu-thump that proves he’s alive. It always seems to calm her down.

One of Steve’s hands comes up to play with her hair and she smiles. She traces little shapes on his chest while she tries to figure out how to ask her next question. However, her thinking face must be obvious because Steve tugs her hair a little and dramatically sighs.

“Just spit it out, Robs.”

“I’m getting there! Just…” she hesitates. “What’s in the shoebox? Like… your favorite pair of shoes or something?”

She couldn’t fathom why in the hell he would bring shoes of all things with him out of town, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings if that was the case. But, judging by the incredulous look on his face, shoes are definitely not an essential item for his escape.

“Have I… never shown you the shoebox?”

“Um…” she pauses. “No? I’m pretty sure I would remember that, Steve.”

“Huh,” he huffs. “Thought I did… ”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Back to the point.”

“Right, yeah,” he takes a breath. “It’s everything the kids have ever given me. Polaroids, notes, letters, stickers, trinkets. You name it, it's probably in there. Pretty sure there's some arcade coins somewhere in there too.”

“Aw, Steve,” she starts. “That’s so sweet.”

Steve smiles a little, then—for some weird reason—blushes.

“That’s not.. all that’s in the box,” he begins. “There’s stuff from you, obviously, like our friendship bracelets and your little notes reminding me to eat or sleep or shower. Plus tons of pictures from your disposable camera you had a while back—“

“Wait, you kept those?” She interrupts. He nods. “Huh… I thought you just threw them all away.”

“Why the hell would I do that? They’re from you, Robs, I would never throw them away.”

“I mean, some of them were really bad. Like… I’m pretty sure they were all blurry in some way and I’m almost positive there’s a picture of just my thumb in there.”

Steve smiles. “There is. It’s my favorite one.”

She hits him. “Yeah, yeah, asshole.”

“No really, it is! You wanna know why?”

“Sure, why?”

“Cause in the bottom right corner you can see your smile. You were trying to take a picture of yourself, I think, but your thumb got in the way of the lens,” he grins and looks down at her. “Sometimes I take it out when I’m feeling sad just to remind myself what your smile looks like.”

God fucking damnit there he goes again.

“You know, I think you’re just trying to make me cry at this point,” she starts. Steve rolls his eyes at her.

“Just being honest, Robbie.”

“I know, shithead, that’s what’s making me cry,” she rubs her eyes, willing the stinging to go away. “What else is in there?”

“There’s still stuff from Nancy, I think. There’s one of her flashcards, a ticket stub from our first date to the movies, and there's a ribbon in there that I’m pretty sure she used to wear in her hair. But… I don’t look at them nearly as much as I do yours or… or Eddie’s.”

“Eddie’s?” She questions, because what the fuck?

“Mhm… you know how he likes giving out little trinkets to people?”

She nods. She does know, her dresser is full of them; shiny soda tabs hooked together in a little chain, bouncy balls from the little restaurant machines, and rocks that Eddie claimed were “so cool, Birdie, just look!”. There’s a little sailor figurine that’s her current favorite, given to her by Eddie shortly after her and Steve recounted their Scoops experience.

“Well, they’re all in that box. Every last one of them. All the bottle caps, buttons, D&D figurines, drawings, notes, everything,” a smile finds its way to his face, a small thing she isn’t sure he knows he’s doing. “I almost need another box just for everything he’s given me.”

“But…” she begins, hesitating. “Why put them in a box?”

“In case they come home,” Steve answers, plain and simple. She knows he’s talking about his parents, about how if they found even one little weakness of his, he’s done for.

She remembers one morning in the winter when she had woken up in Steve’s bed to the sound of distant yelling. The spot Steve normally would have been in was cold, and when she sat up she could tell that the voice was one she didn’t recognize.

She shrugged on one of Steve’s sweatshirts to fight the chill, the fabric draping her frame as she snuck down the hallway. Robin froze when she heard a sharp ‘smack’, followed by a thud. Her stomach sank and she couldn’t move. It was like her brain had disconnected from her body, leaving her limbs rooted to the spot until it came back online. The voice was still yelling, but Robin was too out of it to make sense of it in her head.

Only when she heard the slam of the front door and an engine start up did she begin to move. Thundering down the stairs, she ran down the hallway and froze at the entrance to the kitchen.

Steve was sitting on the floor, knees pressed up against his chest with his arms draped loosely over them as a bright pink whelp formed on his cheek. He was still in his pajamas and his hair was draped messily over his face, half of it pushed back as if he attempted to make it look presentable.

Robin took in a shaky breath.

“Steve…”

At the sound of her voice, Steve’s head shot up and his eyes blew wide. He immediately covered the red mark with his hand as he got to his feet.

“Robs, this isn’t what it looks like,” he stated, but Robin could tell by the waver in his voice that yes, it was.

She took a slow step towards him, holding her arms out as if he was a wild rabbit she was trying to catch and he was at risk of running away any minute. By the tense line of his shoulders and the way his eyes were flitting over her face and around the room, he was very much prepared to do just that.

“I know,” she tried to reassure, and after another step closer she could tell it was working. She stopped moving and just held out her arms, waiting. Steve collapsed into them not a moment later, chest hitching with cut-off breaths as his mind panicked. She rubbed soothing hands up and down his back.

After he had calmed down some, and his breathing was closer to normal, she broke the silence.

“Who did this, Steve?”

He gripped the back of her sweatshirt in his hands so tight, she feared he would rip the fabric. His voice came out quiet, as if saying it out loud would change everything. In a way, maybe it did.

“My… my dad,” he confessed. “I-It’s not bad, though. I knew he was in a bad mood but I pushed it anyways and he—"

“Woah, woah, slow down before you launch yourself into another panic attack,” Robin interrupted. “Steve, is this the first time it’s happened?”

“Him yelling at me? No, that’s kinda all he—“

“No, Steve,” she cut him off. “Is that the first time he’s hit you?”

Silence. Then, a small shake of his head.

Robin clenched her eyes closed as they began to sting and wondered just how long he’s been going through this, then wondered if he was doing so alone.

“Steve… does anyone know?” Robin asked, and Steve only shook his head again.

“I think Hop suspected something when I was younger, he used to come around a lot after they would come home and leave, but… he stopped coming around when I got older. Guess he thought I outgrew it,” Steve explained, and Robin’s heart ached for him.

“How long?”

“… as long as I can remember,” came his shaky whisper, and Robin only squeezed him tighter in response.

“You don’t deserve this, Steve,” she insisted. Steve immediately began to shake his head.

“No, I… I do, Robin, I was asking for it this time. He was just doing what he needed to in order to get his point across. It was my fault for trying to talk back,” Steve defended. Robin furrowed her eyebrows.

“Steve, what was he yelling about?”

“That’s… that’s not important—“

“Just answer the question, dingus,” she insisted. Steve sighed.

“He was mad that I didn’t decorate for the holidays, said that we had a reputation in this neighborhood and I was ruining it. He said he expected me to do better or else next year, I wouldn’t even have a house to decorate.”

“Steve… you realize that’s wrong , right?” She asked, but Steve just looked at her blankly.

“No, it’s a pretty simple concept. I knew I needed to decorate but between the gatherings and parties and taking the kids shopping, I didn’t have time. I should’ve made time, but I didn’t and that’s on me,” Steve explained, and Robin wanted to throttle him.

“Steve, you shouldn’t be expected to do any of that. If your parents wanted the house decorated that badly they should have called someone to come and do it or—god forbid—actually do it themselves,” she countered.

“But-“

“No ‘but’s, Steve. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it until you believe me; you don’t deserve this,” Robin stated. “Can you repeat that for me?”

“I… I don’t deserve this,” Steve muttered hesitantly.

“Good, again.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he repeated, more confident but not as strong as she’d like.

“One more time.”

“I don’t… holy shit, I don’t deserve this, Robbie,” he finished with a whisper as the words registered in his mind, taking root in the folds of his brain.

“Damn right you don’t,” she pulled back to grab his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “We’re going to get through this.”

Steve nodded. “We’re going to get through this.”

They smiled at each other, and Robin knew that they both meant it.

“… Robin?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“I… I love you.”

“I love you too, dingus.”

After that night, Robin had made it her mission to get Steve out of the house as much as possible when his parents were home, even going as far as keeping him at her house for a whole weekend when they stopped by unexpectedly. But that fear never quite goes away, and some small part of him, she thinks, will always be afraid of his father.

“I can’t let them take away the last little things that make me happy. I just… I don’t think I could survive that, Robs.”

“I know.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Robin thinks he’s done talking until she sees him bite his lip—another sign he’s thinking about saying something.

“Then there’s the box," he starts. She blinks.

“There’s another box?” She questions. Jesus, how many could he need?

“Not a physical box, no, but one in here,” he taps his head. “It’s where I put all the things in my mind that's too big to think about by myself.”

“What’s in this box?” He smiles a fond little smile.

“Eddie.”

Um… the fuck?

“Eddie?” She asks, because she must have misheard him, right?

But Steve just nods his head, his smile growing. “Eddie.”

“Okay… what about him?”

“I… okay, I need to preface this by saying that uh… I think I like boys, too,” he confesses, voice quiet as if he’s waiting for some kind of retribution for his words. Robin, on the other hand, is in the middle of a spontaneous cardiac event because what the everloving fuck?

“What?!” She screeches, sitting up suddenly and causing Steve’s hand to fall from its place in her hair. He winces due to their close proximity. “Wait, wait, wait… you mean to tell me that you, Steve Harrington, are into guys?”

Steve shrinks back on himself a little at her disbelieving tone, face closing off, and she can see in real time the mask quickly sliding into place. Immediately, she backtracks.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” She rushes out, face flushing. “Obviously, it’s okay for you to like guys, I mean it would be totally hypocritical of me to say you can’t. Not that I have any say in who you can or can’t like anyway! I mean, you’re your own person after all, it’s just… very unexpected and I—"

"Robin," Steve interrupts. "You're rambling again."

"Oh," she breathes out and snaps her jaw shut, giving him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, uh… keep going."

“Well, it’s um… It’s not really that unexpected on my end,” Steve reveals, and Robin’s mind blows a little bit further. “When I was younger, I never really understood why being gay was frowned upon by some people because I just… I felt that way about guys sometimes too.”

And that was… what?

“Tommy was the first guy who really stood out in my head. We became friends in grade school and he just… he was always there. I remember looking at him sometimes and wanting to count his freckles or hold hands when we walked. I never did, of course, ‘cause he made his opinions about queer people very clear.

“Outside of the whole asshole thing, he was actually pretty nice. Well, when he wanted to be, anyway,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Steve glances at her and looks away, cheeks flushing a little.

“Then it was uh… Billy Hargrove.”

Now that… that threw her for a fucking loop.

“Hold up, Billy?!” She shrieks. “Like… the same Billy that broke a plate over your head? Who beat you unconscious and left you with a concussion?”

Steve nods, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Robin groans, burying her face in his chest. Of course he’s going to have the worst possible taste in men.

“Okay, it was before he beat me unconscious, but still! I didn’t like Billy as a person, obviously, just appreciated his general… you know… sex appeal,” he clarifies. She groans again.

“Hey, he was hot!” He defends. He runs a hand over his face before continuing. “I didn’t want to date him or anything, but the fact that I was interested in him at all was terrifying at the time. I didn’t know what it meant, so I pushed it all to the back of my mind and locked it away.”

“Hence the box,” she confirms. He nods. There’s silence, and when Steve doesn’t continue, she prompts him.

“Then there’s Eddie.” He smiles and nods.

“Then there’s Eddie,” he repeats. His face lights back up just at the mere mention of him, and Robin can’t help but to smile as well.

“Tell me about him,” she asks, and immediately knows that’s the wrong move because if it’s one thing Steve picked up on during their friendship so far, it’s Robin’s tendency to ramble.

“Looking back on it, I think I had a crush on him in school, too. The way he would attract the attention of everyone in the room just by his presence alone was almost breathtaking, and I found myself looking over at his lunch table more times than I could count,” he admits. A blush has found its way to his cheeks, settling high on his cheekbones.

“The way he would spout nonsense about society and expectations made me realize that we were similar in that way, having a need to be different from everyone else, to get away from the normalcy of it all. I was unable to look away, to focus on anything else because he was always there and my mind was very, very weak.

“And it was fine in school, because I knew nothing would ever come from it ‘cause he made it clear he hated rich, popular jocks and… well, I fit into that category pretty well. There was no way he would ever like me, so after I graduated that infatuation kinda fizzled out.

“Then, the kids started talking about Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, and I knew that it had to be the same one because no other nerd would be willing to run a D&D club in Hawkins of all places,” he huffs a little laugh, more of a push of air through his nose, but the smile on his face is as gooey as freshly baked brownies.

“When I started picking the kids up, I’d see him across the parking lot and that infatuation came rushing back. The way he’d run out of the double doors with a flourish grand enough to rival a king yet immediately trip on the lip of the concrete was so endearing that it would never fail to make me laugh.

“Then I got to actually know him, and I think that’s when I knew,” Steve finishes, and Robin can’t hold back a grin. One thing that will never get old is hearing Steve talk about the people he cares about. Hear him talk about all the little things he notices, the little quirks and intricacies of those around him. It’s just… it’s nice to know that someone sees.

“So, what else do you like about him?” She asks, and the dopey grin that blooms on his face is enough to make her wonder if sometime during this conversation, he managed to get high without her noticing.

“He’s so sweet, Robbie! He gets all shy when you compliment him and does that thing where he hides behind his hair but it does absolutely nothing to hide his face,” he begins, hands gesturing as he talks. “Speaking of his hair, it looks so soft. I just wanna run my fingers through it and fluff it up.”

Steve groans, covering his face with his hands. It takes all of Robin's willpower not to outright cackle at how gone her best friend is. He rakes his hands down his face, stretching his skin as he fixes his eyes on the sheet ceiling above them.

“God, he’s so hot, Robs. Seriously, I think I’m going to spontaneously combust every time I see him. The whole rocker persona really does it for me.”

“I mean… it kinda sounds like you have a type.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Steve grumbles, squinting his eyes at her.

“No, I’m serious! Hot, curly hair, deceptively smart with a firecracker attitude… I mean Nancy and Eddie are practically the same person,” she ventures.

“I guess you’re right. Billy was just a physical attraction, though. Dick didn’t have any real personality to appeal to,” he mutters the end of that sentence, but she snorts anyway. Then, his eyes blow wide. “Wait, is that considered speaking ill of the dead, or whatever?”

Robin shrugs. “He deserves it.”

“Yeah, he kinda does… still miss that ass, though—ow!”

Robin cuts him off by smacking his chest, hard. “Ew, gross! I totally did not need to visualize that oh my god.”

Steve snickers underneath her, giggles bubbling out his throat. She only rolls her eyes at him before smacking him again.

“You got off track again, dingus,” Robin reminds him and he sends a sheepish smile her way. “What else about Eddie?”

“He…” Steve pauses, and his lips quirk upwards. “He always looks so soft, underneath all the denim and leather. Like… he gets this look on his face sometimes, like he’s feeling all the love in the world, and I find myself wanting to be the reason that look is there. I wanna see him early in the morning when he hasn’t had his coffee yet and he’s all sleep rumpled and soft and domestic and I wanna wake up to him like that everyday, Robs.

“I wanna watch him grumble and talk to himself and fuss over breakfast. I wanna take the kids places with him and lean against his side while we watch the gremlins run around. I wanna look into his eyes in the morning sunlight and watch how they shine amber up close.

“I wanna trace his dimples with my finger, then his lips, and his jawline, and his neck, too. I wanna cuddle with him after a long shift at work and lean against him as he practices guitar and watch movies while holding hands in the dark and kiss him. Fuck, I wanna kiss him so bad. I wanna kiss him until our breath runs out and then some, ‘cause I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.”

Steve looks… Well, there's only one word for it. He looks like he’s in love. His eyes have gone soft, staring off as if he’s visualizing Eddie in front of him. His face is relaxed, a smile she now recognizes as his ‘Eddie smile’ grows.

It falls a little bit as the silence stretches, and he looks down at his hand laying idly on his chest. He starts fiddling with the fabric there, running his thumb along a fold.

“I tried to get closer to him after he got out of the hospital, and it worked for a little while. We would hang out here most of the time, watching movies or talking under the stars outside, but… I could tell he was holding me at arms length. Like he couldn’t accept that I was different. That I wanted to be there.”

He looks at her, smile turning a little sad.

“Then he stopped initiating hangouts and every time I offered, he would say no or claim he had something to do before rushing off. So I just took it as it was and stopped trying,” he sighs.

Robin thinks back to every interaction she’s seen between the two of them, how Eddie was always quick to leave and never lingered like he used to. How he almost seemed… nervous around Steve. Hesitant.

That fucking dumbass.

She starts to get up, only pausing her efforts to untangle their limbs.

“What—where are you going?” She huffs.

“To the trailer park,” she starts. Limbs finally free, she sits back on her knees and crosses her arms. “I’m going to knock some sense into that damn metalhead and probably kill him for hurting my best friend.”

Steve snorts and drags her back down on top of him.

“It’s okay, Robs, you don’t have to do anything. Promise me you won’t hurt him?”

“Ugh, fine. I promise or whatever,” she reluctantly agrees, and lays her head back down on his chest.

A beat of silence, then—

“Can I at least punch him a little?”

A pause.

“Okay, I’ll let you get away with that,” Steve amends. “But only light punching. I know you know how to throw a mean right hook and if I see Eddie with even a single bruise on his pretty face I think I’ll go into mourning.”

Robin giggles at his statement, and Steve just rolls his eyes at her before letting out a giggle of his own.

“I’m serious!” He tries to be stern, but the giddy smile on his face is a far cry from the nature of his words.

“I know, I know,” Robin says, holding back another wave of giggles. “Man, you’re really gone on him, aren’t you?”

Steve nods sadly.

“I want to tell him that I like him, Robs, but I can’t,” he confesses. “It’s.. it’s breaking me inside, to have all these feelings for someone and know you can never do anything about it.”

“Steve…”

“It’s terrifying just thinking about telling him because what if? What if he thinks I’m just fucking with him and shuts me out completely? What if he’s a homophobe or thinks that I just wanna use him as an experiment or something? Cause I don’t, not like that.”

“Steve,” she tries to interject, knowing that he’s working himself up. He ignores her.

“But as much as I hate holding all this… all this shit inside, it's still better than telling him. I don’t…I don’t think I could handle it if he rejected me,” he finishes. The ‘I don’t think I could survive it’ goes unsaid, but not unheard.

He finally looks at her, and she notes the sad acceptance in his eyes. His face threatens to crumble, as does hers, but they hold it together.

“Robbie, am I crazy for feeling like this?” He asks, voice a near whisper. “For falling for someone who hates me?”

She smiles sadly, placing a hand on his cheek and causing a tear to fall from his eye. She wipes it away with her thumb.

“You’re not crazy, Steve,” she reassures. “I know how it feels, how scary it is to like someone like that. It sucks, but it’ll only get better if you talk about it.”

He smiles a little. “I do feel a little better now, actually.”

“See? Talking helps, and I’m always here to listen,” she insists. She lays her head back down on his chest, not taking her hand away from his face, and slowly wipes away the stray tears that fall from his eyes. She vaguely registers that her thumb is acting as a mini windshield wiper for his face. The thought makes her smile.

Steve takes a deep breath, the movement causing her head to raise with it, and she knows there’s something else on his mind. She waits.

“Is…” he whispers, hesitating. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… I like boys, but I like girls too. That part hasn’t changed for me but… can I do that? Like, is that…” he trails off. “Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, Steve, that’s allowed. You can like whoever you want to, it doesn’t change who you are,” she reassures. Steve lets out a breath, like he was holding it in lieu of her answer.

“But… What am I then? I mean… I can’t be half gay and half straight, right?” He asks.

At that, Robin thinks back to a few zines she got on her and Steve’s first trip to Indy. She had been wanting to go ever since she came out to Steve on the grimy bathroom floor high on drugs, when he had accepted her with no questions asked. She had always heard things about Indianapolis, about how it was so much different than the little town of Hawkins. How there were so many more people, so many different types of people, and she just had to see it for herself.

A couple months after Starcourt, when school was just beginning to take off, Robin had asked if they could go on a day trip somewhere, just to get out before they were stuck there for the winter months and holidays. Steve had agreed, of course, and they piled in his fancy car and made short work of the two-hour trip to the city.

It was bigger than they expected, people milling about the streets and tall buildings surrounding them. Parking was a total bitch, but once they got their feet on the ground there was no stopping them. They bought shitty hot dogs off the street, popped into a bunch of little stores for the sole reason just to look, and even ventured into the fancy stores to make fun of their obscene prices.

“Robs! I want you to guess how much this shirt is.”

“Uh… like ten bucks?”

“Try seventy-five.”

“Holy shit! It’s so ugly!!”

“I know! God, rich people are weird.”

“Steve… you are rich.”

“Yeah, but I have taste. That’s different.”

“Keep telling yourself that, dingus.”

They were beginning their trek back to the car when a small, multi-colored flash caught her eye. A rainbow flag sticker was stuck to the store-front window of a small record shop, and Robin immediately grabbed Steve and pulled him in.

“Robs, what—“

“Shut up, and come with me. I might’ve found something.”

She didn’t wait for his response, only shoved open the shop door with a huff. The bell above her jingled, and a woman behind the counter nearby looked up from a magazine on the desk below her.

“Hi there, welcome to Rainbow Records!” The lady greeted them. “New releases are in this bin here,” she gestured to a bin full of records next to her, “and all other records are sorted by genre and alphabetically.”

Immediately, Robin was in love with her. She had long black hair that was shaved on the sides, the top of it pulled back into a sort of half-bun. Her ears were full of piercings, some dangling almost to her shoulders, that matched the flowy skirt she was wearing.

She felt Steve nudge her with his elbow, and that was when she realized she had been staring rather intently with her mouth hanging open like a newborn baby bird waiting for its mama to puke up worm goo for food. She snapped it closed with an audible click.

“Sorry, uh… Hi! Thank you for uh— that. I… um,” she floundered and pointed to herself. “Robin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Robin. I’m Delia,” she responded, smiling before looking her up and down.

“We also have a room in the back you might be interested in. There’s an assortment of different media back there I think you’ll enjoy,” Delia said before she winked at her, and Robin knew she was in the right place.

“Well, Robs?” Steve spoke up behind her, quiet enough to not be overheard. She had almost forgotten he was there. “You wanna go look?”

It was more than a question, it was an out. It was his way of asking if she was ready, if she wanted him to be a part of this, too. If she wanted him to be a part of this stage in her life, this self-discovery.

She looked back at her best friend, whose face was so open and earnest that it made a huge smile bloom on her face.

“Hell yeah,” she said with a grin. “Let's do this, dingus!”

She grabbed his hand and walked up to the counter, and Delia pointed her head towards a small hallway on the other side of the room that Robin only just now noticed.

“It’s back there whenever you’re ready to look,” she informed. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. Both of you.”

“Thanks, Delia,” Robin responded, blushing enough to be seen from outer space, and looked up at Steve, whose face was a similar shade of red. She rolled her eyes and dragged Steve behind her into the room.

It was dimly lit, giving it a cozy atmosphere that made her feel completely at home. Posters and colorful flags lined the walls, with pictures of queer artists and figures as well as local drag queens and advertisements for different underground clubs filling in the gaps. There were different sections for movies, books, music, and magazines, all with different subcategories depending on which sexualities they included.

Robin’s eyes began to sting. She had spent years of her life feeling like the only person in the world, knowing that she would never find anyone like her in Hawkins and trying miserably to make peace with that. Then Steve came along and accepted her with open arms and zero complaints, and it made her feel a little less lonely.

But now, looking at a room filled from wall to wall with things by people like her? By people who knew what it was like to fall for people society says you shouldn’t fall for, by people who have defied what society said and expressed themselves anyway? It was enough to bring her to tears.

“Woah, hey, Robbie,” Steve began, moving in front of her to block her view. His hands came to rest on her cheeks, wiping away her tears as they fell. “What’s wrong? Is it too much?”

Robin shook her head, clenching her eyes closed.

“Happy tears,” she laughs wetly, hand coming up to wipe away a tear that snaked its way under her chin. “They’re happy tears, promise.”

Steve pulled her into a tight hug, hands wrapping solidly around her and she instantly felt better. She melted into him and hugged him back, and the two of them stayed there until she pulled away.

“Alright, help me find some hot women, okay?”

Steve laughed that big, loud laugh of his and Robin couldn’t help but to join him. They sorted through all of it; books, movies, and magazines alike. She went home that night with two books, a handful of magazines, and more knowledge than she ever imagined having about being queer.

It was time she put it to good use.

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘bisexual’?” She asks. He shakes his head. “It means liking both, Steve.”

He goes silent, so quiet she would have thought he stopped breathing too if she wasn’t still laying on his chest. His mouth silently forms the word, before a smile breaks out on his face.

“Bisexual. I think… I think that’s me,” he confirms.

“Now tell me properly this time,” she suggests. He smiles at her, and she can’t contain a smile of her own.

“I’m bisexual, Robbie,” he says, his words full of genuine confidence.

“Thank you for telling me, Steve.”

They smile at each other, both so wide she’s surprised their faces haven’t split in half yet. She scoots up to wrap him in a hug, laughing a little when his arms immediately squeeze her back.

Turns out her best friend, her platonic with a capital P soulmate, is more like her than she thought.

———

Permanent tag list: @tea-beloved @estrellami-1 @merricatty

Disposable Heroes tag list: @madcapromantic @hannahhook7744 @h3rmitsunited @willim-billiam-byerson @stuftzombie @acowardinmordor @zerokrox-blog @my-chemical-sexuality-crisis @grimmfitzz @ladygrimheart@bestwifehaver @blanketlicker @fishinforfiish@vi-an-te @orionchildofhades @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @whackyrach@stevie-crow @missmagillicuddy @1cookieburn1@mightbeasleep @jettestar @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @imyelenasexual @yikes-a-bee @that-agender-from-pluto @sufjuringstevens @sofadofax@lolawonsstuff@rajumat @ksierra674 @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window @justforthedead89 @gregre369 @vanillatwist @actually-races-erster @background-noise-headache @warlordless@largechaos @noctxrn-e @hope-can-be-your-sword @foundintheshallows @burningoffaroad @obliosworld @lemon-astra @midnightskeeper @venteraltus @lovelyscot @juleswashere3 @child-of-cthulhu @phantomcat94 @davekat-has-consumed-me @weirdandabsurd42 @dreamlandforever @madamonsieur-silvrene @pottenloved247 @froggistain @mycatsstolemybiscuit @greatsportsprofessorathelete @m-owo-n @pickledcarrots0 @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @niko-is-d3ad @quickenedheartbeat @crazyhatlady86 @says-swag-unironically @potato-of-the-lord @piebook67 @crisisinverted17

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #disposable heroes #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin friendship #stobin stans come get yalls juice #internalized homophobia #internalized biphobia #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #disposable heroes mcir

320 notes · View notes

starlightkun · 6 months

Text

❧ word count: 3.4k ❧ warnings: cursing, drinking (reader gets a bit tips), vomiting ❧ genre: fluff, angst?, friends to lovers, fake dating at the office holiday party trope, reader is stupid (beloved) ❧ extra info: title taken from merry-go-round (christmas edition) by astro my loves ❧ author’s note: idk what it is about kun and christmas and cheesy hallmark movie premises that gets me going but i hope yall r liking all these lmao

“I’ll do it.” Kun immediately offered.

“Huh?”

“I’ll be your fake boyfriend for the night.”

“I lead a cursed existence,” you declared as soon as Kun picked up, slamming your front door closed behind you.

“Uh, why? What happened now?” Your friend’s voice was concerned.

“Jangwook wants to meet my boyfriend at the office Holiday Party this Friday.” You threw your house keys onto your kitchen table and stalked into your bedroom.

Kun knew exactly who you were talking about, your coworker who had been not-so-subtle in his advances towards you, crossing the line on more than one occasion. “I thought you reported him to HR.”

“Yeah, I did.” You kicked your shoes off and into your closet.

“And he still works there?!”

“Uh-huh,” you scoffed, putting him on speakerphone to start getting changed out of your work clothes. “That’s unfortunately usually how that goes.”

“God, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Kun’s voice was sincere. “You’re looking for another job, right?”

“I just started, do you know how bad it looks on a résumé to only work somewhere for less than six months?”

“I think quitting is pretty justified in these circumstances.”

“Well, I’m not. So now I have to find a fake boyfriend in the next two days or it’s going to get worse.”

“I’ll do it.” He immediately offered.

You stopped in your tracks as you were grabbing your pajamas from your dresser. “Huh?”

“I’ll be your fake boyfriend for the night,” Kun reiterated. “Come on, who else would you have asked? Yangyang?”

“Sicheng, maybe, if he wasn’t too busy.” You referenced another mutual friend of yours.

“He’s working.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, I’ll do it.”

“Alright, thanks, Kun,” you agreed. “I’ll owe you one.”

Two days later, you stopped Kun outside the event venue where the Holiday Party was supposed to be happening. Everything had to be perfect tonight, you two had to be convincing. In order to distract yourself from that idea, you readjusted the neckline of Kun’s turtleneck for a moment and smoothed over the lapels of his suit jacket.

“Okay, there you go,” you smiled at him nervously, then fidgeted with the hem of your outfit. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful,” he assured you, offering his hand out to you. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you sighed, lacing your fingers with his, ignoring the sparking along your skin where it touched his.

Walking into the party, you immediately wanted to leave. The venue was abuzz with chatter from all your coworkers, and Christmas music blasted from speakers somewhere. You spotted the bar in the far corner, and pulled Kun over there.

“No fucking way am I doing this sober,” you muttered to him, earning a laugh.

“Go for it,” he rubbed your back as the two of you sidled up to the bar. “I’m driving.”

After ordering your drink and Kun’s soda, you turned around to the rest of the party, eyes searching for somebody pleasant you could talk to. You finally spotted one of your work friends and led Kun over to her table.

“Hey, Sookyung,” you greeted her brightly.

“Y/N!” She threw her arms around your neck. Already tipsy. “There you are!”

“Here I am!” You chuckled, hugging her back. “How are you?”

“Great! Great!” She beamed at you as you pulled away, inquisitive eyes finding Kun next to you. “And who’s this?”

“Sookyung, this is my boyfriend, Kun.” You hoped your voice didn’t squeak too much over the word boyfriend. “Kun, this is Sookyung, we work on the same floor.”

“Nice to meet you.” He went to offer his hand for a handshake, but she just squealed and hugged him anyway as well.

He looked over at you in confusion, and you mouthed ‘drunk hugger’ to him. He made an ‘ahh’ sound, gingerly patting her back before she let go of him.

“So I get to finally meet you!” She was beaming at him. “When Y/N would talk about you and talk about her boyfriend, I always thought you were two separate people! And I felt bad for her boyfriend because I sort of thought she had a crush on this Kun guy. But you’re the same person! That makes so much more sense.”

“You’re not driving home, right?” You asked her pointedly, feeling your skin grow hot with embarrassment and needing to divert from that information as soon as possible.

“Nope!” She giggled. “My girlfriend’s here somewhere. She doesn’t drink.”

“Good, good.”

“Speaking of, there she is!” Sookyung took off into the crowd.

“And there she goes,” you shook your head, watching her disappear between other bodies.

You fortunately didn’t have very long alone with Kun to address what she had just said, as another coworker appeared at your table. Unfortunately, it was the exact person you’d hoped to avoid for as long as possible.

“Y/N,” Jangwook set his drink down, already far too close for comfort.

You instinctually backed away from him, right into Kun. Before you could apologize, though, Kun wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you even closer, letting his hand settle on your hip.

He offered his other hand out to your coworker. “Qian Kun, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Jangwook shook his hand, and you could see his face contort with pain for a brief flash before he took his hand back. “Lee Jangwook.”

“Jangwook, this is my boyfriend, Kun,” you made introductions awkwardly. “Kun, Jangwook and I are on the same team at work.”

Your coworker seemed to be sizing Kun up for a moment, appraising him and the hand he still had on you, and Kun met his gaze, unwavering. Before you could attempt to continue the tense small talk, a hand grabbed your elbow, and Sookyung was suddenly at your side again.

“Y/N! The girls are doing shots, come on!”

“Sook, I don’t want to—” You were cut off by her insistently tugging you out of Kun’s grasp.

“I’ll be fine here,” Kun reassured you with a dazzling smile, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead before fully letting you go. “Go have fun.”

“O-Okay,” you replied, your voice higher as you were a bit stunned.

Needing no further prompting, Sookyung yanked you off towards the bar. You let her talk you into doing one shot with her and some other female coworkers of yours. It was your usual after-work drinks crew minus a couple men.

You set the shot glass back down with a heavy thunk on the bartop. “Alright, that’s it for me.”

A chorus of disappointed groans came at that, but you stayed firm on your decision as they all got another round, and you watched them, sipping on your cocktail you’d gotten earlier.

“You and your boyfriend are so cute, Y/N,” another one of your coworkers gushed, squeezing your forearm. “I saw you two walk in and I was just like ‘ugh, I need to find somebody who looks at me like that!’ Where did you get him?”

“Oh, we met in college,” you explained vaguely. “Friend of a friend.”

“Then why have you never brought him before?”

She was talking about the other monthly events that your workplace puts on for the employees and their significant others to socialize. You’d gone stag to the other five.

“He’s busy. He travels for work.”

“What does he do?”

“Structural engineer. So he has to be on-site for a lot of builds and stuff. He just got a promotion last month, though, so he doesn’t have to travel as much anymore.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“So when—” Sookyung was cut off by a hiccup. “When is he going to, you know? Pop the question? If you’ve been together since college?”

You felt your skin get hot again, and looked around the room as you tried to come up with an answer. “We haven’t really talked about that. We’re fine where we are, you know?”

“Of course, of course.”

After a little while longer, you excused yourself from the women to find Kun again. He had disappeared from the table you’d been at before, and you peered around the room curiously.

“Looking for someone?” A familiar voice came from beside your ear as an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“Oh, Kun,” you breathed a sigh of relief, turning around to see his familiar smile. “There you are.”

He rubbed a hand up and down your exposed arm. “You’ve got goosebumps. Are you cold?”

“It’s a bit chilly in here,” you agreed casually, not even noticing due to the alcohol buzzing through your veins and warming you from the inside.

He slipped his suit jacket off, draping it over your shoulders before pulling you close to him again. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.” You pulled it tighter around you. “Are you having a good time?”

“I am now that I’m with you again,” he leaned in to whisper. “That guy was a real asshole.”

“Wow, shocker.” You rolled your eyes.

Kun snickered. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Just alright?”

You shrugged, leaning back against him. “Guess it’s better now that I’m with you.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s get you some food.”

Sat down at a table with Kun and a big plate of food, you happily munched away as he kept a casual hand on your thigh, and you tried not to think about his casual hand on your thigh. You were on your second drink already, taking a big gulp every time your eyes happened to stray to Kun’s hand so very casually just on your goddamn thigh.

“So what did you guys talk about?” You finally asked him. “You and the asshole?”

“Oh, you know, what I do for work, education, where we met, how long we’ve been together, that kind of stuff,” Kun shrugged.

You felt your eyes widen immediately. “Do you think he knows?”

“No, baby,” he chuckled, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “He doesn’t know shit.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He felt the need to warn me about the late nights you two do at he office sometimes. He was testing me, like he was going to pull a gotcha on me.”

“We only have to stay that late because he sucks at his job, and as the new person, I’m first on the chopping block for staying late!” You ranted. “And I swear, he does it on purpose just to try to get me alone!”

“Yeah, he tried to make it sound very… scandalous,” Kun shook his head, lip curling with disgust. “I was just really casual and said you make sure to tell me when you stay late so I don’t get worried about you coming home safe. Oh yeah, we live together and we’ve been together since college. That work?”

“Y-Yeah, that’s fine.”

“And I made him promise not to tell you, but—” He had a mischievous grin on his face as he added lowly, “I’m thinking about proposing.”

You almost spit out the bite of food in your mouth as both you and Kun burst into laughter, you slapping his arm with your breathless laughs. He squeezed your leg and rubbed your knee as he half-heartedly tried to shush you.

“Please tell me he looked fucking pissed,” you begged, grabbing his arm.

“He did,” Kun confirmed with a nod.

“Best Christmas present ever, Kun. Thank you.” You wiped at a tear in the corner of your eye, grabbing your drink and finishing it off in one go. “Ahh, I think I want another one, actually.”

“How are you so good at this?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

Kun had loaded a rather tipsy-you back into his car later in the night, and was now taking you back to your apartment.

“What? Driving?” He chuckled. “Been doing it a few years. They gave me a license and everything.”

“No, being my fake boyfriend.” You asked the one thing that had been nagging at the back of your mind the whole time. “You don’t feel weird or anything? Because we’re friends?”

He side-eyed you. “You’re too drunk for this conversation.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“You’re not sober enough for this conversation,” he corrected himself.

“Is it because you like me?”

“Y/N, let’s just focus on getting you home, okay?”

“Because Minji said you looked at me like… you know…”

“And Sookyung said she thought you had a crush on ‘that Kun guy,’” he retorted. “Like I said, let’s save this conversation for when you’re stone cold sober, Y/N.”

“So you don’t like me…” You mumbled dejectedly.

“That’s not what I said.”

You looked out the window, feeling the heavy pout on your face. “But you want me to be sober when you let me down easy so I don’t cry or something.”

“Y/N...” He sighed, looking over at you as he pulled to a stop in front of your apartment. “Oh, jeez, are you crying right now?”

“No…” You sniffed, wiping at a tear.

“Yes, you are, you liar,” Kun said gently.

“Okay, maybe I am.”

“Y/N, I’m not going to let you down easy.”

“You’re going to be mean when you reject me?!” You looked over at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“No, no, what? I’m not going to reject you,” he promised, offering his hand out to you. You cautiously put yours atop it, and he gently squeezed your hand between both of his. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m in love with you. And I wanted you to be sober and not crying when I told you that, but there goes that plan.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ll even let you in on a secret.” He shifted forward conspiratorially. “Sicheng didn’t have to work tonight, I just couldn’t stand the thought of anybody else being your fake boyfriend.”

You sloppily wiped at your wet cheeks with your free hand, whispering back, “Here’s my secret: I was only going to ask him because I knew you would’ve said yes and I thought you didn’t like me like that, and it would’ve sucked to be your fake girlfriend for one night when I wanted you to be my real boyfriend forever.”

“Forever?” He repeated with a giddy grin on his lips.

“Or something, I don’t know, I’m drunk, Kun, remember?” You pointed to yourself zealously.

“I thought you weren’t drunk? You were very insistent—”

“No, I’m sooo drunk, actually. And sleepy! You should cuddle me to sleep.”

“I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep,” he promised.

“But aren’t we for real dating now?” You tilted your head, pouting again.

“We’re going to have this conversation again when you’re sober, okay? Then we can decide if we’re for real anything.”

“You are mean.”

“The meanest, for sure,” he agreed placidly, giving your hand a final pat before reaching over to turn the car off.

Kun helped you up to your apartment, get everything ready for bed, and stepped out of the bedroom while you changed into your pajamas—you had just enough body coordination left to do that on your own. He made you drink some water and take a few pills before finally letting you crawl into bed. As promised, he sat up at the head of your bed next to you as you curled up under the covers.

“Kun?” You sniffled, looking up at him as he rested a gentle hand on your hair.

“Yes?” He looked down at you tenderly.

“Do you really like me?”

“More than.” He patted your head.

“For how long?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Months, years, who’s to say?”

“Oh. I’m sorry...”

“Why?”

“That I didn’t—” you let out a loud yawn, struggling to keep your eyes open. “That I didn’t see it sooner. I just thought you were a really nice guy.”

“I am. I’m a really nice guy who’s in love with you.”

“I don’t know if really nice people go around saying they’re really nice all the time...”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Y/N. I didn’t tell you.”

“I know, but—”

“You should go to sleep, Y/N.”

“But where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch. I’m staying with you until you fall asleep, though. Remember?”

“Okay...” You yawned again. “If you... If you get cold out there, you can come in here, you know?”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind,” he agreed, humor in his voice.

“Because it gets really cold in my apartment at night, you know? Sometimes… Sometimes I’d imagine you were with me on really cold nights, cuddling me to sleep.”

“Really?” He questioned, intrigued now.

“Or… other stuff…”

He burst into laughter, stroking your forehead. “You definitely should go to sleep, Y/N, before you say stuff that you’ll have to kill me for knowing.”

“Mmm, okay.” You rolled over, finally letting your eyes flutter shut. “Goodnight, Kun.”

You were asleep before you could even hear his response.

When you woke up for the first time, it was still dark out. Your head hurt, and you chugged the rest of the water on your nightstand before grabbing the cup and shuffling out to the kitchen to get more. As promised, Kun was asleep on your couch, features illuminated softly in the moonlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. You refilled your cup of water, chugged it again, refilled it again, and shuffled over to the living room.

Standing over Kun, you pushed on his shoulder gently. He stirred, opening one eye to look up at you in confusion.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” He murmured, his voice thick and foggy with sleep.

“I’m sober,” you deadpanned. “My bed’s cold.”

He blearily scooted over to make room on your tiny couch, pressing himself into the back cushions. You crammed yourself on mostly on top of him, burying your face in his neck as his arms encircled you. Neither of you said another word as you both drifted back off to sleep.

“You’re in love with me?!” You repeated for probably the fourth time that morning, as Kun held your hair back and you clung to the bowl of your toilet.

“I don’t know how else to phrase this to make you believe me,” Kun sighed as you leaned forward to retch again. “You didn’t hallucinate last night in a drunken stupor, I really do have feelings for you, you also said you have feelings for me, I put you to bed alone and went to sleep on the couch by myself, then in the middle of the night you said you were sober and cold and joined me on the couch.”

You wiped your mouth with a wad of toilet paper he handed you, more memories of last night coming back to you. “Did… Did I say anything else?”

“Like…?”

“About it being cold?” You winced.

“Yeah, you warned me that your apartment gets cold.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And that sometimes when it gets cold you imagine me—”

“Ah! Stop it!” You shoved him away from you as he burst into maniacal laughter. “You’re the worst! You’re mean and I hate you!”

“But what if I told you that I also imagined holding you on cold nights sometimes?” He scooted back over next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear as he added, “Or… other stuff?”

The bile that rose to your throat was completely coincidental, but certainly not a good look as you apparently hurled at the idea. Kun continued dutifully holding your hair and rubbing your back as you puked.

After flushing for the umpteenth time that morning, you turned back to him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Is there something about me that gives off the vibe that I’d lie about this?” He rebuffed.

“Well, no—” You stopped to spit into the toilet. “But I feel like there’s plenty about me that would be conducive to that hypothesis.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Kun, we’re having this conversation while I puke my brains out, for one.”

“And what about me would make you think I’m that judgmental?” He snorted. “You do remember the night I successfully defended my thesis, right? Because I don’t.”

“You weren’t that bad.”

“And you weren’t that bad last night either,” Kun brushed a piece of hair from your face, his gaze tender as he looked at you. “Nor are you that bad now either. And even if you were— I’d still love you.”

You felt your eyes water, and not from the burning in your esophagus this time. “Okay…”

“Okay?” He confirmed.

“Okay,” you nodded, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Thank god, I feel like I just defended my thesis again,” he joked, kissing the top of your head.

“You’re so mean to me…” You whined, burying your face in his shirt. “I don’t know why I ever thought you were a nice guy.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he retorted. “You’re just too hungover to notice.”

“So are we like… for real dating now?” You mumbled.

“Yeah, probably.”

You let out a choked laugh at that. “Good to know.”

⤷ 2023 hallmark movie marathon | blog masterlist

229 notes · View notes

emelinstriker · 7 months

Text

{Eternal Servants AU} MK ♡ Devotion

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

Some more insight on the champions/servants' side of things. The pic isn't referencing anything from this one-shot by the way.

[TL;DR] MK has a question on his mind... Actually more.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Focus."

Slam.

"Imagine it like an enemy of the palace."

Slam.

"Imagine it insulted our gift."

Slam.

"Imagine... it hurt Master-"

SMASH.

The young monkey panted as he slammed his staff down onto the practice dummy, instantly destroying it with his sudden anger spike. However, his emotions seemed to leave him as quickly as they came as he blankly stared at the destroyed dummy. Wukong came up to MK and gently pat him on the back. Despite his unbothered expression, he did care for the boy. "Good job, bud. Master shall forever be safe with us", he said as he handed the yellow champion a water bottle, which the younger monkey gladly took and took a few sips from.

While drinking from the bottle, a certain pink champion entered the training hall, seemingly there to train as well with his casual training wear on. A towel was draping off his shoulders as he went straight for another training dummy. The monkeys didn't pay him much attention though as Wukong continued trying to get MK to channel his energy properly. Instead of going over to an actually still functional dummy, Wukong and his successor remained with the broken dummy's remains.

"Now, imagine your opponent is still alive. But they were the reason our Master felt sad. What do you do?" Wukong asked. The boy continued to stare at the dummy in response, but his already void black gaze seemed to darken just slightly at the mere idea of their Master being sad.

"Crush them."

The yellow champion then raised his staff, readying himself to hit the already broken dummy again. However, he was quickly stopped by Nezha, who swiftly made his spear clash with MK's staff, stopping him and getting his attention. His dark expression also returned to his regular, emotionless state as he tilted his head in confusion. The pink champion removed his spear once he no longer felt the pressure of the boy's staff. "The dummy is already done for. If you hit it again, you'll just destroy the floor. And you know how upset Master gets when we inflict damage upon the palace."

"Oh. Right... Sorry", MK responded flatly. His mentor just silently pat his back again, right above his wound.

The celestial hummed for a moment. "Well, something else you could do instead is to spar on the roof." Nezha then grinned a bit as he leaned against his spear. "I could be your sparring partner if Wukong doesn't want to."

But before MK could respond, Wukong stepped in front of him as he crossed his arms. No words needed to be said for Nezha to get the memo. The pink champion's grin quickly turned into an annoyed frown. "Whatever. Guess no sparring today." He stretched a bit as he pushed himself off his spear before continuing. "Anyway... If you're done, I'll just take on the next one", he said as he moved back over towards the other, still in-tact training dummy. Wukong uncrossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at his successor. The young boy tilted his head a bit and blinked in response, curious about what he's got planned for him now. But then he turned to watch Nezha train by himself.

Something he noticed was how Nezha put some force into his hits as well. The training dummies may have been made out of a special material provided by the Archivist, but even this material was quickly torn apart by the champions when enraged. And judging by how Nezha's dummy already looked like a few hits in, he was clearly trying to get rid of some steam. The way he hit the target with his spear in a rather uncalculated tantrum-like way wasn't his usual training style.

"...Nezha is upset", he pointed out to his mentor, who silently sighed in response.

"Probably because of my brother again. Or Mink. It's best if we leave him alone for now. Take a break." Wukong then walked off, out the training hall and into the palace's corridors, leaving MK alone with the celestial. Unsure how long this "break" would be, MK decided to stay in the training hall and wait there. And since he didn't have many options to keep him busy, he decided to watch the pink champion use his own anger on the dummy.

....But he didn't understand.

He couldn't understand.

Why was he unable to feel emotions consistently?

It wasn't like he could barely feel any like Wukong. And he did feel a lot of heightened anger when he did feel angry.

However, he couldn't even remember how anger felt like only five minutes later.

He knew he was angry at the idea of his Master being disrespected just a moment ago. But... why? Why couldn't he keep feeling that way for longer like Nezha? Or barely feel at all like Wukong? While he kept thinking about his emotional instability, he stared blankly at Nezha with little to no movement in his body or expression.

The celestial noticed him staring and raised an annoyed eyebrow at him, pausing his weapon swings. "Do you need anything, boy?"

"No. I'm just curious." The pink champion seemed more confused at the younger servant's wording.

"...Curious about me training?" He questioned.

MK blankly tilted his head at him in response before adding, "No. Curious about your emotions."

Nezha blinked at him.

"What?"

"How do you feel the same emotion for a long time?" The monkey elaborated.

The celestial simply shrugged in return, swinging his spear at the dummy once more. "I don't know. I just do. Wukong should be the one to ask about it, to be honest. Doesn't he struggle with feeling emotions as well? He might be able to tell you about his side of things."

"Yes. But his reactions are mild and stay consistent. Mine come and go as they please. It switches between mild things he feels to strong things you feel."

Nezha hummed in thought, leaning slightly against his spear. "True... I've seen you dig out a guy's organs with your bare hands before forgetting why you had blood all over you. Your sudden rage spike and memory is a real gamble."

MK looked genuinely surprised. "I did that? I don't remember ever doing that..." The pink champion then grumbled out an annoyed 'Of course you don't'.

The yellow bean of a champion frowned as a grim thought hit him.

"...Was I like this before becoming a servant for our beloved Master? Forgetful?"

Nezha then sighed, stabbing the dummy in front of him, keeping his spear's tip inside it as he turned towards MK. "Just embrace your new life. Whatever life we all had before meeting our Master, it's all behind us now. It no longer matters. While I am curious as well and would love to remember my past, I'm sure there is a good reason why we can't remember... Maybe even why we shouldn't..."

There was a bit of an awkward silence between them as Nezha's spear started to set the insides of the training dummy ablaze.

"...Is Master awake yet?" The yellow champion suddenly asked him.

Nezha hummed in confirmation as he pulled out his spear, watching as the training dummy burned from the inside out, giving him a sense of Nostalgia from his first task as a servant. MK then silently walked off. If he still had his break, might as well spend it on you, his Master. As he entered the throne room, he immediately noticed his mentor's head lying on your lap, being pet as his eyes were shut contently, his tail swaying slowly behind him.

Ah. So that's where he went. Of course.

It didn't take long for you to notice your yellow champion approaching. As you smiled a bit and greeted him, he stopped and bowed. "Master. I request pets as well", he says flatly. You nodded at him before beckoning him to your throne. MK didn't waste any time joining his mentor for a petting session. You had two hands, might as well use both for your good boys, right?

After a couple of minutes, you asked Wukong where his brother was since you haven't seen him all day. He didn't know either. Worried, you tasked him with finding Macaque and make sure he's safe, as usual. The monkey in blue got some last pets and kisses before he bowed and left to find his sworn brother. Whether or not he got into another situation would reveal itself later. At least now you could use two hands to pet your remaining monkey servant.

During the petting session, MK asked something you didn't have an answer to...

"Master? What was my life like before I woke up as your servant? Was I always your servant? Macaque told me how I was a noodle delivery boy when Wukong found me, but my memory is blurry..." He admitted, his tone sounded surprisingly... emotional towards the end. Even if just a bit more than usual.

You pursed your lips as now even your blue champion stared up at you expectantly. He already knew about how MK was before. But he didn't want to say anything. He wanted to hear your voice instead. You simply continued to pet them.

"I'm sorry, but... I don't know what your life was like before you were taken to the palace..."

MK nodded, clearly masking his confusion. Your yellow champion snuggled into one of your thighs. You let out a rather sad sigh. How were you supposed to be a good ruler when you couldn't even help your servants remember their life before meeting you?

However, MK seemed to feel your self-doubt and reached up his hand, making it lie on top of your own hand which was petting him. He then gave you a longing look with those void black eyes of his... It was odd. Any other creature with those eyes seemed to be considered evil or malicious... Why were all your servants so docile? You've been questioning that ever since you became their Master. But you didn't dare ask in case it offended your servants- Maybe it was a sensitive topic. After all, the topic of how they became your servants in the first place proved that they have major memory issues. They only explained to you how they found you, as well as your previous lives. But they barely remembered anything from their own pasts, if anything at all.

The only one who seemed to remember, but got extremely uncomfortable with any questions regarding the past of your champions, was Mink. And while he was a bit of a smug bastard, you didn't want to put such pressure on him. It had to feel horrible being the only one to remember everything vividly.

You smiled softly, just a little bit sad at the thought as you leaned down to gently kiss MK's cheek. His breath hitched as the simian leaned more into your affection, blushing as he closed his eyes contently while you continued to pet him. Your yellow champion's tail was gently swaying behind him, indicating his happiness despite his lack of expressions.

As you continued to pet your servant, your black champion decided to show himself as the scroll next to you started to drip with ink. A copy of MK made out of ink formed in the spot where Wukong was resting on your lap before, chuckling as the curse's own tail swayed behind him. "I'm bored. Might as well join in on some free petting, yeah?" He commented as he nuzzled into your thigh. MK looked just very slightly annoyed at Mink's sudden appearance and taking one hand away again... But only very slightly and it vanished almost immediately. He knew Mink was just there to annoy him and take away your attention.

You blinked at him in surprise before petting him as well, sighing. "Mink, you're literally a lot longer around me in general than the others. You could get pets whenever the others are busy", you pointed out. To which the curse chuckled, grinning at you in a rather cheeky way.

"But what would be the fun in that? You know I prefer getting a... reaction." He said as he slowly turned his gaze towards MK, who seemed to faintly glare at him in return. Rolling your eyes, you decided to just give in and continue petting both of your servants. Maybe you could finally have some peace and quiet for even just this moment. After all, things things have been quiet around due to Macaque being away- Actually, when was the last time you saw Macaque? Of course you haven't seen him that day, but you started to realize that he also wasn't there last night... And despite him usually ending up doing extra things for your approval, he usually wouldn't take this long unless he told you prior. Which he didn't this time.

Getting a bit worried about him due to his tendency to get hurt, and knowing you didn't send him out on a mission yourself, you booped MK's nose to get his attention. The monkey's nose scrunched up a bit as it twitched a bit before he looked up at you curiously.

"MK, was Macaque in the training hall today? Or yesterday?" You asked him. However, your yellow champion shook his head. You hummed in thought for a moment before deciding on your next command. "Then I want you to look around the palace and see if you can find Macaque. Assist Wukong in this. If neither or him, or even Nezha can find him, I want you to at least figure out where he is and tell me. And help him if need be. Bring him back safely if he's struggling with anything..."

The monkey in yellow nodded again as he rubbed his cheek against your thigh one last time before removing himself from the petting session to help his mentor find the purple champion. Mink seemed to grin in his direction as you continued to pet the ink curse.

MK's Master had given him a mission, and he won't fail.

[ Masterlist ]

#lmk esau #eternal servants au #esau x reader #esau mk #lmk mk x reader #lmk x reader #mk x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk au #lego monkie kid au #esau wukong #esau nezha #lmk fanart #lego monkie kid fanart #lmk mk fanart #fluff #art

269 notes · View notes

penny-for-thots · 8 days

Note

Babe I'm gonna be honest this is gonna be a spicy req and I hope you're okey with it (but if you're not then it's okey too! I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable :''<)

So I've been listening to Obsessed by Mariah Carey. And I had a thought where fem!reader got pissed off with Suo coz he let another girl touch him (to make our reader jealous) or vice versa 😉 maybe a lil nsfw Owo sjfjksjdkskxj

Thank you!

[!] I SUCCEEDED.

ⓘ BOTH YOU AND SUO KNOW HE'S NOT SLICK. f!reader — spicy. teasing, jealous!reader, dom!reader, suo being himself, kissing, clothed grinding, light cursing, ear licking, referenced or almost hand job lmao, + lmk if i missed any.

girl- pls don't apologize cuz i fucking love suo and topics like this. (got a lil excited w/this one, had to stop myself). im 100% cool with spicy requests! they don't make me uncomfy at all <3

i need more of them actually, but im going to settle and get the ones out of my inbox first. the ear-licking part was inspired by 'just like putty' by @brainrot-of-a-thot ; hope you don't mind :]

should i do this prompt but reverse? thinking abt revenge pt 2 rn...

suo is an asshole.

sometimes.

however, he's a huge one right now and he fucking knows it. that stupid, sweet- kinda- sorta- hot, charmer.

it wasn't rare for him to tease you or others, it was in fact, extremely common. it seems his antics have increased since the two of you have started dating. he never crosses the already set boundaries, but he does tend to step on the line.

he's a 2-year-old, he purposefully stares at you while he's doing something bad, daring you to come get him.

suo makes sure to apologize afterwards, buy you something, give you kisses, whatever you wish. its normally harmless things, but today suo just decided to strike a nerve. talking to that bitch.

of course, he's a gentleman, but he's actively avoided her for quite a while now. he has a girlfriend, and she's strangely obsessed with him. ever since that day he saved her from some thugs and handed her groceries back to her, she's been hooked. she is around your age, so she has a chance, which only pisses you off further.

regardless, the both of you are confident in your relationship, trusting eachother wholly when it came down to it.

you still do! though there's some irritation seeing her touching him.

like usual, bofurin saved the day! suo was walking back with sakura and the rest when he got stopped. he pondered if he should shut the conversation down, or should he indulge. then he remembered that you'd be doing your weekly grocery shopping right about now.

he smirked to himself and indulged in the girl's completely dreadful talking until he caught a glimpse of you in the corner of his eye.

he wonders what you act like when your truly jealous. what exactly would you say? do to him? suo nods like he's listening indulgently, letting the woman squeeze his arm, even hug it for a bit before he moves to push her off. then again, you were already doing that.

suo's eye watches you shove her off of him. "number one, back off bitch," you glare at the woman before turning to suo.

"number two, hayato suo."

suo swallows, having to prevent himself from smirking. that's the voice you always used when angry at him, and fuck- it's sexy. especially, with you're bossy demeanor, ugh.

"you might want to tell sakura and the others that you're coming to spend time with me tonight," you speak, staring up at him with a frown, your voice turning stern, "we have to talk." suo nods, swallowing his saliva as he watches you walk off with your groceries.

"yes, ma'am ... "

he chuckles to himself, whistling. his friends look at him weird. he hums with a smile. "it seems i've gotten myself in trouble with my pretty lady. im afraid i can't join you today!" suo winks.

sakura blushes, blinking in 2nd hand embarrassment at the thought of dating, though he wonders what suo meant.

nirei whispers in sakura's ear, albiet loudly. suo could almost see the steam leaving his ears. "nirei, i'd appreciate it if you wouldn't describe it to him that way," suo smiles, "regardless, i'll see the two of you later."

suo leaves with a wave, wondering what exactly you could have planned. it couldn't be that bad. it's not as if you have some secret sadistic side, at least that he's observed. then again, he's also never seen your cheeks that puffy. nor that strange look in your eyes. he shrugs, walking calmly to your apartment, making assumptions.

and whatever assumptions he made were wrong.

"letting her hang on you, really hayato?" you whisper in his ear, blowing on the already reddend skin.

your plump lips kiss everwhere but his lips. his cheek, his chin, right below and beside his lips. you just wouldn't kiss him on the lips. suo chuckles both from annoyance and amusement. "aw, come on, i was just teasing," his eye follows your movements.

a grunt leaves his chest when you sit down, rubbing your lower half on his lap as if to sement it there. "really?"

normally, he'd have no problem. however, his cock is out, a pink ribbon tied at the base of it. you feel it twitch beneath you. feigning ignorance, you tilt your head, "really' what? im not understanding, hayato?"

he chuckles with a nod, "alright, payback. i get it." his hands are squeezing your hips, he's lucky you allowed him touch, had you not, he'd be insane by now. "what? you feigned such ignorance when you let that bitch hang on your arm. you know i don't like her." suo smiles, "i just wanted to see what you'd do. i wanted to make you jealous."

he leans up a bit, "and i succeeded."

"mm, i guess. well- you're certainly going to see what im going to do," you smile. "i mean, im even willing to help with- this."

his eye watches your manicured nails ghost along the length of his leaking and twitching cock. "you need help don't you," you whisper, your lips centimeters from his, "hm?"

suo nods, his eye fluttering. "yes- " your eyes are staring into his as you feel his legs twitch, your hands cupping his balls to trailing up the length. "yeah?" you smirk, your painted lips smacking, dragging on his skin to meet his ear. you lick a stripe up his ear that has him shuddering, his grip haltering.

you smile as his lashes flutter, the tip of your tongue exploring inside and out of his ear. a breathy moan leaves him as the tip of your tongue swipes along the piercing. "swe- sweetheart," he gulps, near whimpering when you nibble on the skin. "please- "

"hm?" you lean back, admiring your work. his blushy red face, shuddering breaths, and angry red cock.

"i am going to help you because i am a gracious girlfriend ... " you sit down on his lap, hand wrapping around his length. "in return, i better not see her touch you like that, ever again."

#⋆𐙚 ₊ jani writes.#hayato suo #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker #hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #suo hayato #wind breaker x reader #x female reader #fem reader

46 notes · View notes

superlarva · 10 months

Text

Teen Hardcase with what I think of as the quintessential teen haircut.

Here's Chapter 6 - Shopping of Raising Dominoes! I had fun writing this one. Well, I have fun writing all of them :)

Prologue: 00 Previous Chapter: 05 Next Chapter: 07

Summary: Rex, Hardcase, and Fives go shopping.

CW: Implied/referenced child abuse (not really in this specific chapter, but just to be safe)

Chapter 6 - Shopping

After dropping Cody off at his car, Rex swung back around to his apartment building to pick up Hardcase. He had to admit, it would be helpful to have the teen around at the mall. An extra set of eyes to watch Fives and an extra set of arms to help carry things would not hurt.

That being said, Rex could not help the feeling of anxiety that settled in his gut as he knocked on the apartment door across the hall from his own. Hardcase could be a handful. He was a good kid, but he was loud and energetic to the point where it gave Rex a headache. He just hoped this was not going to turn into him babysitting the teen.

No one came to the door immediately and Fives began to fidget, “Maybe no one’s home.”

Rex frowned and knocked louder, “Well, Kix and Jesse are at work and Dogma and Tup are at school, but Hardcase should be here.”

“The half adult, half kid?”

Rex smirked, “Yeah, the teenager.”

At that the door swung open, revealing Hardcase, headphones dangling around his neck and mouth gaping a bit at the sight of Rex at his door.

“Uh, hey,” Hardcase fumbled with his headphones to pause his music before grinning up at Rex. He gestured to the headphones a little sheepishly, “Sorry, I guess I had it on a little too loud.”

“It’s fine.” Rex shrugged then motioned towards Fives, “This is Fives. He’s my, uh, he’s my son.”

Rex cringed at how uncomfortable he felt introducing Fives as his kid. Fives was his son and he already loved him more than he ever knew he could love anyone, but at the same time, he did not really feel like he knew the boy. And he sure as hell was not confident he deserved to be the kid’s dad.

Neither boy acknowledged Rex’s awkwardness and Hardcase gave Fives a silly salute, causing the boy to giggle and mimic the salute back, “Hiya Fives! I’m Hardcase.”

Fives giggled again, “Hardcase is a funny name.”

Hardcase grinned, “Fives is kinda a funny name too.”

Fives’s eyes glazed over, and the smile dropped from his face, mouth hanging slightly ajar. Rex jumped in quickly and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder to try and bring him back from whatever thought had just crossed his mind, “We’re going to go to the mall to get some lunch and some things for the kids if you want to join us.”

Hardcase hesitated, looking between Rex, Fives, and the empty apartment behind him, “Am I allowed?”

Rex’s brows raised, he never knew Hardcase to be this cautious, “I wouldn’t be asking if you weren’t.”

Hardcase narrowed his eyes at Rex before something clicked and he grinned, “Okay.” He raced back into the apartment to grab his things.

As Hardcase disappeared, Rex crouched down next to Fives, “Hey, you okay?”

After a beat Fives shifted his gaze to meet Rex’s, the fog lifting from his eyes. He nodded.

“Hardcase is a good kid,” Rex explained, worried that something about the teen had freaked Fives out. He smiled fondly after Hardcase, “Sometimes he just gets into a little trouble because he’s too… energetic. That’s why he’s not at school today.”

“Do I go to school too?”

“You will,” Rex said, gaging the boy’s reaction. He seemed completely fine now. It was… puzzling.

Rex heard Hardcase footsteps approaching and straightened back up before smiling down at Fives, “Soon. But don’t worry about that right now.”

Hardcase reappeared and shut the door, locking it behind him, “Thanks so much, Rex. I was bored outa my mind.”

Rex smirked, “Don’t mention it. You’re only here to help me carry the heavy stuff.”

“Well, I only came for the free lunch,” Hardcase teased back as they headed down the stairs.

By the time they arrived at the food court, Fives and Hardcase were thick as thieves. Fives had asked what Hardcase’s headphones were, which resulted in them learning that Fives had never heard music before and Hardcase introducing him to the medium.

Fives clearly loved the sounds, his grin only growing wider as each new song was played. Rex made a mental note to show the boy Cody’s CD collection when they visited his apartment.

“Alright,” Rex said as they entered the food court. “Lunch first. What do you boys want?”

“Chicken teriyaki!” Hardcase said grinning and darting off through the throngs of people.

“Does that sound good?” Rex asked Fives as he grabbed the boy’s hand so as not to lose him in the crowd.

Fives shrugged.

Rex realized that it was possible the kid had never had chicken teriyaki before and made his way towards a man holding a platter of samples, “Here, you can get a sample from this gentleman to see if you like it.”

As they approached the man he smiled down at Fives, stuck a toothpick in a piece of chicken, and offered it to the boy. Fives looked up at Rex and Rex nodded, “Go ahead.”

The boy took the piece and popped it into his mouth.

“Yummy?”

Fives’s contemplative face devolved into a massive grin.

Rex couldn’t help but smile back, “Should we get more?”

“Can we? Please?”

“Of course,” Rex said, leading Fives towards the back of the line where Hardcase stood, fidgeting impatiently.

They got their food quickly and made their way to a table by the fountain. Rex had been worried about Fives near the crowds of people, but the boy seemed fine. He had even ordered his meal by himself, copying what Hardcase had said just before him.

Rex watched both boys begin to inhale their food and had to remind them to drink some water between bites. After Hardcase shoved the last bite of Fives’s unfinished chicken into his mouth, he turned to Rex, “So, what are we getting first?”

“I was thinking we’d start with the furniture, then move on to clothes and, uh, other things,” Rex said, starting to wish Cody was with him, making a list of everything the boys would need.

“Cool, so Ikea first.”

Rex nodded and began gathering up their trash. Fives and Hardcase started helping him and they were off to the furniture store before Rex knew it.

Rex himself was overwhelmed with the vast selection of children’s furniture at the department store and could tell Fives was as well. The boy never strayed out of arm’s length of Rex and was staring at the displays with wide eyes.

Hardcase, on the other hand, was pushing the cart excitedly and pointing to various different items he thought looked “cool” and asking Fives if he liked them.

Eventually, Rex picked out a couple bedroom sets that fit within what he assumed was his budget and asked Fives which one he wanted. The boy almost shyly pointed to the dark stained wooden set. Rex grinned, that was the one he would have picked. Hardcase seemed a little disappointed that Fives wouldn’t be getting a bed shaped like a rocket ship.

“What about Echo?” Fives asked, tugging Rex’s sleeve.

Rex frowned, he wished he knew more about the other twin, “Do you think he wants the same kind, or a different one?”

Fives shrugged, “I don’t think he’d care.”

“We’ll just get him the same one then,” Rex said, pulling out a pad and writing down the name of the bedroom set. They still needed two twin mattresses and sheets. Rex knelt down to Fives’s height, “Do you want to go with Hardcase to pick out some sheets for your beds?”

Fives shrugged a little reluctantly.

“I’ll just be right over there looking at the mattresses,” Rex said pointing.

Fives still didn’t look convinced, so Rex stood, pointing to the children’s section, “I don’t know about you Hardcase, but I saw a lot of fun looking sheets over there. I guess if Fives doesn’t want to go with you, you can pick out sheets for him and Echo all by yourself.”

Hardcase grinned, catching on quick, “Oh, yeah, I’ll be sure to get the best ones. Princesses and fairies and butterflies.”

Fives’s brows knit together, eyes darting between the two older men. As Hardcase turned away and began strolling over to the sheets, Fives gave in and ran towards the teen with impressive speed, “Wait! Wait, I’ll go with you!”

Rex snorted, a victorious grin plastered onto his face. As good as if felt to have Fives latch onto him, it was important that the boy would be able to separate himself from him, especially when it came time to send him to school.

Once the boys disappeared down an aisle, Rex turned away and headed towards the mattresses. The bed sets Rex was planning on buying for the boys contained frames for twin beds, so he picked out a twin mattress and noted the name down on his pad for later.

Rex grabbed a few pillows as he made his way back over to the sheets section to make sure the boys were still alive. Fives was standing next to the cart, arms full of what looked like sheets decorated with little colorful cartoon planets and spaceships. He looked over to Rex as he approached and held out the sheets, “For Echo?”

Rex smiled and dumped the sheets and pillows into the cart, “Where’s Hardcase?”

“I wanted the dino ones,” Fives explained, pointing up.

Hardcase was scaling the shelving unit to retrieve white dinosaur print sheets from the top shelf, about 4 meters off the ground.

“Hardcase!” Rex hissed, moving to stand under the boy in case he fell.

Hardcase looked down and shot Rex a sly grin, pressing a finger to his lips, before grabbing the sheets and tossing them down into the cart. He then motioned for Rex to move away.

“Don’t you dare,” Rex said through gritted teeth, even as he backed away towards Fives.

Hardcase sprung from the ledge and hit the ground, rolling as he did to break his fall. It made quite an impressive sound and Rex saw heads turning their way. He grabbed Hardcase by the arm and yanked him to his feet, “They have people who get paid to get things from the top shelf.”

“But that was more fun,” Hardcase smirked.

“We don’t climb inside.”

“What about at the rock gym?”

“That’s an exception. You know what I mean.” Rex sighed, turning to Fives, who was watching their back and forth with interest, “Sorry, kid, sometimes Hardcase isn’t a good example. We don’t climb on things in stores.”

Fives nodded, eyes not leaving Rex’s.

Rex shook his head, he knew Hardcase was just trying to be helpful, but he didn’t want Fives to try anything and get himself hurt, he was so small and fragile. “Okay, we got some sheets…” Rex trailed off thinking of what else they needed.

Fives pointed to a stack of quilts across the aisle, “Look! A bigger one!”

Hardcase picked up the quilt off the shelf that Fives was pointing to, “Hey, it matches.”

The navy patchwork quilt did indeed look like it belonged to the same bedding set as the sheets Fives had picked out.

“You want this quilt?” Rex asked, taking it from Hardcase and showing it to Fives.

Fives nodded and bounced a little on his toes, “Yes, please.”

“Alright, now for Echo’s.”

The trio scanned the shelves in search of a matching space quilt for Echo and found it after a few minutes, adding it to their cart.

Rex led the boys over to get lamps and nightlights next before finishing up at Ikea in the rug section.

After they paid and ordered the bed sets and mattresses to be delivered, they put everything into the trunk and wandered over to Target to get more clothes for the twins. Fives seemed to be enjoying himself and Rex was glad, he had thought the mall might overwhelm him too much and they would have to stop for the day after getting the furniture.

It was starting to get late in the afternoon, so Rex decided he would go grab some of the more “boring” essentials for the boys like socks and underwear while he let Hardcase and Fives take care of shirts and pants.

As Rex finished up, he made a quick stop in the toy section to get a few games for the kids. He didn’t really know what the boys would like, so he just picked out what he thought were the quintessential children’s toys: a box of matchbox cars, a deck of playing cards, little plastic animals, Legos, some cool action figure dudes in shiny white armor holding blasters, monopoly, dominoes, and a coloring kit. He was floundering around the kid’s aisle wondering what else he could get them when something fuzzy caught his eye.

Rex found Hardcase hard at work measuring a shirt against Fives’s body. Fives saw him first and pointed over to a cart with a few sets of clothes in it.

Hardcase, seeming to decide that the shirt would fit, flung it over his shoulder into the cart and turned to Rex, “Kix kept all of Tup’s old clothes, so we didn’t get a ton. I figured we could donate his stuff to you.”

Rex nodded, “That would be great actually. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Rex turned to Fives, “I got you a present.”

“A present?”

“Yup,” He revealed a stuffed T-rex from behind his back and presented it to the boy.

Fives’s mouth dropped open, “Is- is that a real one?”

Hardcase laughed, “No, silly.”

Fives reached out to touch it.

“It’s a stuffed animal,” Rex explained, letting the boy take the toy. “Or, I guess, a stuffed dino.”

Fives looked up from the plushie with big innocent eyes, “What do they do?”

Rex paused, looking to Hardcase, then back at Fives, “Er- wait- stuffed animals or- or dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs?”

“Yeah, dinosaurs… dinos,” Rex shut his mouth, mind racing at Fives’s blank expression. Had Fives not known what dinosaurs were from the start? Had he first seen them on the pajamas he had picked out for him that first night and then just recognized them on the sheets and wanted them?

Luckily Hardcase covered for Rex as his mind went into overdrive, “Dinosaurs are these animals from a really long time ago. They’re really cool looking. They don’t live here anymore, but they used to. Their bones are underground now, and people like to dig them up.”

“So, this is a pretend one?”

“Yup,” Hardcase said popping the p. “You sleep with it at nighttime.”

“Oh,” Fives hugged the toy close to his chest and closed his eyes. “Like this?”

“Exactly.” Suddenly, a wicked grin spread across Hardcase’s face, “Hey, you know what that dinosaur is called?”

Rex was pulled out of his thoughts and began to blush. He knew where the teen was going with this.

“What’s it called?” Fives asked, oblivious.

“A T-rex, a tyrannosaurus rex.”

Fives’s grin matched Hardcase’s and he turned to Rex, “Like you!”

“Yeah, like me, kid,” Rex sighed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Do you want to come help me pick one out for Echo?”

Fives’s face lit up, “Are there more?”

“Uh-huh,” Rex nodded, feeling a little self-conscious, “You can pick out a different one if you want too, I just thought…”

“No! I like this one the most! I just didn’t know there was another for Echo.”

“There’s plenty to choose from,” Rex said, leading the boy over to the toy aisle.

When they arrived at the shelves stocked full of plushies, Fives jaw went slack. He kept the T-rex under one arm and began riffling through the toys, trying to find the perfect one for Echo.

Hardcase and Rex stood back and watched the boy with amusement as he seemed to gravitate towards the other dinosaur stuffed animals. Eventually the boy pulled out a blue triceratops and held it out to Rex for approval.

“Think he’ll like that one?”

Fives nodded and popped it into the cart, keeping his T-rex secure under his arm.

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @tearfulsolace @rndmpeep @brokenphoenix99 @nerdy-valkyrie @xylionet @tazmbc1 @eyayah123 @the-bad-batch-baroness @sarcastic-nebula @ihaventpickedausername

#Rex kinda liked dinos as a kid #and he still kinda does #he's just embarrassed about it now #the clone wars #clone wars #tcw #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #captain rex #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #domino twins #baby dominos #tcw hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #superlarva #star wars

231 notes · View notes

fanby-fckry · 3 months

Text

Remember when I said I stayed up all night writing an entire Alastor version of Poor Unfortunate Souls?

Well, I originally intended to just switch up the lyrics, but now there are a lot more stage directions and some additional dialogue in there too.

It’s in the same format as the song lyric site I got the original lyrics from, because I did not expect to be doing all this, lol. It was just supposed to be a lyric swap.

More actions will probably be added when I translate this into my usual format, as well as better descriptions, but I swear, this was just meant to be lyrics and a little but of dialogue!

[Alastor, spoken]

The only way to get what you want is to become an angel, yourself.

[Charlie, spoken]

And you can do that? Just turn a demon into an angel?

[Alastor, spoken]

Why of course! Provided the demon in question is you.

The transformation would be impossible for a Sinner, but biologically speaking, you’re halfway there already!

[Charlie, spoken]

But… why? Why would you help me?

[Alastor, spoken]

Because, my dear – this is what I do. It’s what I live for.

Well, as much as any Sinner can live, hahaha!

[Alastor turns to Husk and Niffty, Niffty laughs with him while Husk rolls his eyes; Alastor turns his attention back to Charlie]

[Sung]

I admit that in the past I’ve been quite nasty

They weren’t kidding when they called me, well, a witch

But you’ll find that nowadays

I’ve mended all my ways

Repented, seen the light, and made a switch

[Spoken]

True?

[Husk shakes his head in the background; Alastor ignores him]

Yes.

I won’t deny my decades of terrorizing the masses, but my work became mundane, aimless… Who knew death upon death upon death could get so damn boring!

So, here I am! With a new lease on my Afterlife.

Helping unfortunate demons such as yourself in an effort to keep myself from slipping further into the bottomless pit that is boredom.

And truly, it is quite rewarding! Offering hope to those poor Souls with no one else to turn to.

[Sung]

Oh, I fortunately know a little magic

It’s a talent that I always have possessed

And here lately, for a laugh

I use it on behalf

[Alastor conjures up silhouettes representing Husk and Niffty; Husk’s silhouette is of his demon form, with a shadow that looks suspiciously like Alastor’s looming over it; meanwhile Niffty’s is human]

Of the miserable, the lonely, and depressed

[Spoken, as an aside to the real Husk and Niffty]

Pathetic

[Husk narrows his eyes and deepens his frown but says nothing; Niffty seems unbothered]

[Sung]

Poor unfortunate Souls

In pain, in need

[Referencing the silhouette of Husk]

This one needs to be a winner

[Referencing the silhouette of Niffty]

That one wants to get a man

And do I help them?

[Alastor snaps his fingers, and the silhouettes change; Husk’s is surrounded by poker chips and celebrating with other people while Alastor’s shadow lurks in the crowd; Niffty’s is in a wedding dress and veil, standing at the altar with a groom]

Yes, indeed!

Those poor unfortunate Souls

So sad, so true

They come flocking to my tower

Crying, “Spells, Alastor, please!”

And I help them!

Yes I do

Now it's happened once or twice

[Alastor gives the ‘pay up’ gesture to Husk and Niffty’s silhouettes]

Someone couldn't pay the price

[Both silhouettes both shake their heads]

And I'm afraid I had to rake them ‘cross the coals

[The poker chips, party-goers, and Niffty’s husband disappear; Niffty’s silhouette is transformed into her demon form, and both silhouettes are collared with green chains around their necks]

Yes I've had the odd complaint

[Husk flips Alastor off from just offscreen]

[Brief Alastor nun outfit appearance]

But on the whole I've been a saint!

[Alastor returns to his usual outfit]

To those poor unfortunate Souls

[Alastor, spoken]

Now, here’s the Deal. I’ll make you a potion that will turn you into an angel – wings, halo, all that jazz – for three days. Do you hear me?

[Spoken, with increased radio static]

Three days.

[Spoken, normally]

Now listen closely, my dear, because part this is important. Before the sun sets on the third day, you’ve got to get your precious angel to fall in love with you.

That is to say, she has to kiss you.

[Alastor pauses, as if trying to remember something]

That’s an appropriate measurement for romantic love, right?

[Charlie, spoken]

Uh, sort of?

[Angel Dust, spoken]

Not really.

[Husk stifles a laugh; Alastor waves his hand dismissively]

[Alastor, spoken]

Well, I’m sure you two can hash out the details later! For the sake of our Deal, you only need her to kiss you. But she needs to be the one to initiate it! No cheating!

If she does kiss you before the sun sets on the third day, you can keep the halo, permanently.

But! If she doesn’t, then you turn back into a demon, and…

[Spoken, sinisterly with increased radio static]

You belong to me.

[Angel Dust makes an aborted movement as if to grab Charlie and run, but freezes; Sir Pentious raises a hand]

[Sir Pentious, spoken hesitantly]

Um, Princessssss-

[Niffty tackles Sir Pentious; Angel Dust startles at the movement; Husk comes and sits next to Angel Dust]

[Husk, spoken to Angel Dust]

Sorry, kid. It’s up to your friend whether or not she falls for his bleeding heart bullshit.

[Alastor snaps his head 180 degrees to face Husk; his eyes briefly turn to radio dials as he flashes Husk a warning look; Alastor turns his attention back to Charlie, looking only his normal amount of creepy]

[Alastor, spoken]

So, do we have a Deal?

[Charlie, spoken]

If I become an angel… If I stay up in Heaven… I might never see my parents or my friends again.

[Alastor, spoken]

But you will have your lady love. Haha, existence is full of tough decisions, isn’t it? It looks like you’ve got one hell of a choice to make, sweetheart! Ha!

Oh, and there is one more thing.

We have yet to discuss the subject of payment. You can’t get something from nothing, you know.

[Charlie opens her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Alastor before she can get a word out]

I’m not asking much, just a token really, a trifle!

[Charlie, spoken]

You... You want my soul?

[Alastor, spoken sinisterly with increased radio static]

Your Soul?

[Alastor, spoken normally]

Heavens, no.

What I want from you, my dear, is…

[Alastor hooks his microphone under Charlie’s chin]

[Spoken darkly with almost no radio static]

Your voice.

[Charlie, spoken confused]

My voice?

[Alastor, spoken]

Yes indeedy, sweetheart!

[Alastor counts out each point on his fingers]

No talking, no singing

[Alastor boops Charlie on the nose]

Not one single peep out of you during your Heavenly courtship.

[Charlie, spoken]

But without my voice, how can I-

[Alastor, sung]

You’ll have your looks.

[Alastor pinches Charlie’s cheeks]

That charming smile!

[Spoken]

And if all else fails…

[Alastor spins Charlie around, reminiscent of the way he did in the pilot during his ‘I want to watch the scum of the Earth struggle’ speech]

You could always try interpretive dance!

[Angel Dust, spoken]

Or you could write shit down.

[Alastor, spoken]

Well, that’s a lot less fun. But sure! Why not?

Just keep in mind…

[Sung]

The folks Upstairs don’t like a lot of blabber

They think a girl who gossips is a bore!

[Alastor starts gathering ingredients for the potion]

Yes, in Heaven it’s preferred for ladies not to say a word

And after all dear, what is idle prattle for?

[Alastor starts throwing bottles over his shoulder and into the cauldron]

Haha! Angels aren’t all that impressed with conversation

[Alastor bends backwards so that his head is upside-down and facing Charlie; for a moment his deathmark is visible]

It passes right between their Holy ears

[Alastor puts himself in a more normal position and his deathmark disappears; he batts his eyes and poses, flicking his ear on the word ‘fawn’]

But they dote and swoon and fawn

[Alastor briefly turns away and rolls his eyes while Charlie can’t see]

On a lady who's withdrawn

[Alastor takes out what appears to be a human tongue and throws it into the cauldron]

It’s she who holds her tongue who perseveres.

Come on you poor unfortunate Soul

Go ahead!

Make your choice!

[Alastor conjures an illusion of Vaggie, staring lovingly at Charlie]

I'm a very busy demon and I haven't got all day

It won't cost much

[Alastor bursts through the illusion, smiling maniacally]

Just your voice!

You poor unfortunate Soul

It's sad but true

[Alastor wraps one arm around Charlie]

Nothing comes without a price, my dear

I’m sure you understand

[Alastor spins Charlie again, this time throwing her off balance and almost causing her to fall into the potion; she braces herself on the edges of the cauldron]

Take a gulp and take a breath

[Alastor offers his hand, which is glowing ominously green; his antlers are grown out]

And go ahead and take my hand

[Alastor watches Charlie’s reflection in the cauldron as she visibly steels herself to accept the Deal]

[Spoken as an aside]

Husker, Niffty, now I've got her, ha!

[Sung]

The boss is on a roll

[Charlie picks herself up, turns to Alastor, and shakes his hand]

This poor unfortunate Soul!

#fanby’s fuckery #the little demon au #fanfic snippet #fanfic sneak peek #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #alastor #charlie morningstar #chaggie #husk hazbin hotel #niffty #angel dust #sir pentious

56 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

Hi there! Could we see a touch starved!reader x The Doctor? Whichever Doctor you would want, but I admit I am biased to 11 hehe.

I really enjoyed your fic ‘Keep blessing me’, as someone who is plus size, I rarely see myself represented in media positively.

I can imagine reader being the type of person who is overlooked often, never been desired romantically and feels like she has been forgotten by the universe. She yearns to be held and feel safe but she also feels unworthy. She definitely is majorly pining for The Doctor but doesn’t allow herself to dwell much on it. Maybe he feels the same way?

[TW: negative self-talk, referenced/implied depression]

"Stone walls" - 11th Doctor x touch starved!Reader

Doctor Who-inspired playlist

Should you ask anyone who has taken part in some kind of competition at least once in their life, they will always say the same thing: the fourth place is the worst. Right under the podium, a hair's breadth away from being someone and yet they are nothing more than a mockery, the line separating memory and oblivion. Taking into account the series of unfortunate events you call your life, you were born in fourth place.

It was never anything explicit and perhaps that was the worst part. Had there been a groundbreaking revelation, a true calamity of heartache, you would have accepted it but it was that silence that sucked the life out of you. It wasn't that someone told you they hated you, it was that you were never chosen, drifting away on the waves of silence into the ocean of oblivion. Although you were born into this world, it never felt like you truly were part of it. Perhaps, all of existence was happening next to you or existence, to put it simply, refused to make you part of itself.

And then there was him - the Doctor, always scoring first place, always showered in gold medals and trophies because, truthfully, why wouldn't he? There was no way of telling how many catastrophes he had prevented, how many lives he had already saved. By his tireless service to the entire universe, it seemed as though he was born for this, to always be a winner. And the stories he told! How he had befriended so many species, how many hearts were offered to him that he had turned down. It was quite bittersweet, that you were so different and yet you were alive in the same universe.

Truthfully, you still didn't quite understand what ungodly whim made you his "partner in crime". The longer you were around him, the more you grow to understand just how not alike you were as if his brilliancy made you painfully aware of your mediocrity. Your place wasn't with him, quite obviously - he deserved someone better; someone you could never become. Maybe it would be better to leave soon, on your own, than have him grow impatient and simply throw you out. It wasn't the way you wanted to remember him, angry and annoyed, so you thought it best to relieve both of you of your underwhelming existence as soon as possible.

"You don't have to do this alone."

His voice caught you off guard. Has he been here this whole time? How long had he been staring at you, waiting for you to finally do something?

You turned around to look at him. The Doctor was leaning against the console, his arms crossed on his chest. By all accounts, it seemed that he had been standing there for quite a while, pondering whether he should speak up.

"I'm not sure what you mean," you answered with a slight shake of your head.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. His bright, green eyes stared into you as if he was waiting for something but you couldn't be sure what for exactly. After a while of silence, he left his spot to make his way towards you. His rhythmic footsteps echoed throughout the otherwise empty TARDIS.

"I'm not sure either," he spoke in a mild tone, "but I can tell something turned you sour. Whatever it is, you don't have to do this alone."

The Doctor gently wrapped his lanky arms around you, while you didn't quite know what to do. The moment he tightened his grip around you, something heavy inside your viscera pulled you towards the ground. You grabbed his tweed jacket with as much force as you could possibly muster. It felt as if the moment you let go of the coarse material, your whole body would simply fall apart. That gaping hole in your chest you tried your best to ignore suddenly felt deeper like a beast whose insatiable appetite only grows as it devours. This hunger or whatever it really was felt absolutely awful, so painful it coursed through your veins and filled your entire body with suffering. The Doctor gently shifted his body and your hands only tightened their grip on him as if there was no greater horror in this universe than him letting go of you.

"Just hold me," you whispered. "I'm lonely."

And he did just that.

Sometimes you thought about that one time you had asked the Doctor whether he slept. Truthfully, you never did see him sleep and somehow he was always full of energy. Did Time Lords not need rest? They were, after all, a very exceptional sort of aliens. In response, he only looked at you with a confused expression. "Why would I?" he asked, "It's eight more hours without you." You never did believe them but then, when the fourth place and the first place were equals for a moment, you thought that perhaps he did, in fact, mean them.

694 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

Text

Pink Scarf - PART 18.1 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sexual situations. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: OKAY Y'ALL, Part 18 is split into two parts (18.1 & 18.2), so be aware that there is a bit of a cliffhanger for this reason. This part as a whole is another monster, but in a completely different way than the action-packed Part 17, and I didn't want to torture y'all anymore by making you wait for a GIANT chapter, since I was at 13k+ with no end in sight! We're diving into uncharted territory here (which was a challenge, let me tell y'all!) and 18.1 is all in flashback because of this. The vibe is DIFFERENT for obvious reasons, which you'll understand shortly. I promise there’s a good reason for the pivot, which will become more apparent in 18.2. Thank you so much for your patience, and I really hope you enjoy this perspective change in the story!

I've set the mood with lyrics from Teresa Brewer's Till I Waltz Again With You which is the song Elvis really sang in the talent show in '53 (unfortunately there is no recording of him singing it *sob*), and I've added pictures of our boy in the different years referenced, just to really give you a mental picture and break your heart a little bit. Only because I love y'all!

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

Elvis in 1951

You'll be waiting for my arms

September 1951

Elvis meanders down the hall through the crowds between classes, quiet, blue eyes sharp and watchful. He heads towards the lunchroom, his cheap and worn guitar slung over his shoulder. His dark blonde hair is too long for the popular style, greased and pushed back, a stray lock falling into his eyes. The style of his clothes is too bright and bold for a scrawny 16-year-old white boy, gaining him stares that range from curiosity to contempt, but he doesn’t care. He is wholly himself, a separate standout from the masses, but somehow unassuming through it all.

A few weeks into junior year, he already has his head down and tries to pay attention in his classes as best he can, even though sitting still is hard. He knows he must graduate and his mama and daddy will have his hide if he doesn’t, so he sits in the back row and listens and does his work as best he can. He makes decent grades. He’s respectful to his teachers, all “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir,” just like he was raised. All the while, his fingers drum out rhythms on his legs (the desk is too loud—he learned that the hard way a long time ago), his mind whirling and spinning with melodies and harmonies and dreams for the future.

But mostly he observes. He knows he’s different. He knows most kids don’t understand what he’s about. He’s a poor, church-going kid from the projects who is so quiet that he seems a little slow, except that those piercing blues see and hear everything, constantly cataloguing, constantly adapting, constantly thinking, constantly moving. Always searching for a way to get his family off the dole and into comfort. So, he waits and watches and learns. He doesn’t care if that earns him strange looks.

The halls start to thin as underclassmen hustle to their classes and upperclassmen run to lunch, loud and hungry and antsy. Elvis is not in a hurry, though, yet not without direction.

The little, fluttering thing that rounds the corner is, however, and plows straight into him, managing to knock herself and her books to the floor. He’s not quick enough to get out of the way, but he is fast enough to catch her as she goes flying backwards.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, his hand grasping your forearm as momentum carries you in the other direction. He somehow manages to swing his guitar down gently enough that it doesn’t splinter but the strings thrumb in a dissonant chord as it hits the ground.

The move to save both the guitar and the girl throws off his center of balance, so as you wheel back, you take him with you. In your panic to stay upright, you grab at him desperately, latching onto his wrist, which damns you both, but does serve to soften the blow as you land with a gasp on your backside.

His fancy shoes have no traction on the slippery tile, and he struggles and slips this way and that before gravity wins the battle, sending him ungracefully to his knees, pinning your skirt between your legs. He manages to catch himself with his free hand at the very last moment, avoiding completely crushing you under his weight. His breath huffs out with the exertion, and that’s how he ends up sprawled on top of you in the middle of the hallway, your books scattered around like shrapnel.

Time seems to slow for a second, and he really looks at you for the first time, his face in too intimate of a proximity for comfort as he looks into your big, wide eyes and sees a pink blush grace your cheeks. Your pretty hair surrounds you like a halo in disarray. And your lips, well, they are much to close because he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. His chest heaves and then catches because you are quite beautiful, sprawled out there on the tile under him.

Then reality and propriety rushes at him like a freight train, realizing the compromising position you are both in, through no fault of your own, but compromising, nevertheless. He feels heat rush to his face at the inappropriateness of his thoughts.

“Aw, h-heck, s-sorry,” he blunders, pushing up and back off of you as fast as his lanky limbs will allow.

“No, I should be the one that’s sorry,” you bluster back, leaning on your forearms “I was too much in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going.” Your voice is light and as pretty as you are.

“Are ya o-okay?” he asks, truly concerned but also happy with the excuse to look you over as you sit upright, your hair cascading over your shoulders. Taking in your slightly disheveled state, he can’t help but feel like you’re the loveliest girl he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s not just because you’re pretty—of course you are—but more like the feeling he gets from you, like you’ve reached something inside of him that no one else ever has. He can’t explain it. It’s like he’s always known you somehow. Shaking off those strange thoughts, he kneels, gathering your scattered books off the black and white tiles.

“Aside from my bruised ego, I think I’m fine,” you sigh shakily, “and now I’m late for class, on my first day, no less.”

“O-Oh, y-you’re new?” he asks, stammering yet again. He doesn’t understand why he’s so tongue-tied. He talks to girls all the time. The boys may despise him for a multitude of reasons, but the girls…well, he likes them a lot, and they seem to like him right back, with all his sweet Southern politeness and his pretty eyes and how he strums on his guitar and warbles at night in the shadows at the Courts. He’s had girlfriends from the time he was twelve, and he seems to have some innate knowledge of what women of all ages like. It’s one of the things he’s good at—talking sweet to girls and kissing on them.

But this pretty little girl has him thrown for a loop.

You’re both kneeling now, gathering papers and books. “Yeah, we just moved here…oh, thank you,” you say as he picks up your books and stands, offering his hand to help you up. Your hand is soft and cool in his larger one, the touch of your skin on his shooting and crackling through him like lightning. Those eyes of yours catch his briefly, and he almost feels dizzy with the way they make him feel.

Lord have mercy, he thinks, what the hell’s wrong with me?

“Oh gosh, I hope I didn’t break your guitar!” you gasp, seeing it discarded on the floor, obviously mortified at the prospect. It’s the last thing on his mind, and he manages to tear his gaze from you for a second to look down at the instrument. Honestly, he’d break a hundred guitars if it meant running into you again, but by some miracle, it’s undamaged.

Elvis picks it up and strums it. “It’s fine, no harm done,” he drawls, lip curving up in a shy, boyish grin.

Relieved, you flash a little smile, and the sight nearly knocks him over. “Well, good,” you say breathlessly, taking your books back. “I really am sorry, again. I—uh—I gotta get to class.” You are obviously worried about being late, face still flushed with embarrassment. Before he can say another word, you are already rounding the corner, scurrying away, your hair bouncing in your wake.

He stands there, staring after you and blinking as if coming out of a trance. He realizes he didn’t even catch your name or get a chance to introduce himself. All he knows is that you’re a pretty little freshman that just moved here, and while this information is pertinent, it doesn’t really help him much.

Walking to lunch in a daze, all he can think about is how he can go about seeing you again.

Till I kiss you once again Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

Unfortunately, he doesn’t see you, not for a while anyway. The school isn’t that damn big, but he never seems to be able to catch you or your name. Which is a damn shame because his thoughts seem to drift towards you when he least expects it. You show up in his daydreams or when a song he’s singing strikes him a certain way. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

By the next time he finds you, he’s just about put you out of his mind. But the minute he sees you that morning, out in front of the school, giggling with your new girlfriends, it’s like you’ve plowed into him all over again. His heart thuds a little harder in his chest as he passes you, trying not to stare, but he manages to catch your eye for a split second all the same.

At first, there’s no hint of recognition, which nearly breaks his heart, but then your eyes widen with realization and a hint of a shy smile plays on your lips. He returns it in kind, unable to stop himself from the bashful and relieved way it spreads over his face. For a moment, he considers stopping and asking all the questions he’s dying to know the answers to, but the flow of the crowd pushes him onwards and into the building.

He’s near giddy the rest of the day, wondering how and why the pretty girl he barely knows has captured him so completely.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in 1953

April 1953

Standing backstage in the high school auditorium, Elvis wonders why the hell he’s agreed to do this damn talent contest. His hands are shaking and clammy and he can feel the vomit rising in his throat. He’s scared shitless because he’s really only ever sung in the dark to his neighbors at the Courts, or in church with the congregation, but something inside him knows he needs to do this, even if it’s just to show himself that he can. It’s like a part of his soul drives him forward, even though his mind thinks he’s nuts.

It's not until he sees you backstage, ahead of him in the line, that his mind switches from crippling stage fright to a sense of excitement and curiosity. Your hair is done up real pretty and you’re wearing your Sunday best, he can tell. You don’t see him right away, and he knows he’s staring, but at least it’s keeping his mind off his churning stomach. You must feel his gaze because you turn and look back, your intelligent, wide eyes locking onto his.

It sends a thrill of a different kind through him when you tiptoe back towards him, and his heart races a little more than it already is.

You look him over carefully, and he might feel more self-conscious except your eyes are kind and concerned. “You okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper, not wanting to interrupt the current act on stage.

“I-I-I-I…yeah,” he stutters, unable to get the words out. His legs are wiggling, hands shaking, and he feels like he might puke all over your shiny shoes, but sure, he’s fine.

Lord, why is it in this moment of all moments that you come to talk to me?

You smile knowingly. “Yeah, I’m real nervous, too,” you breathe, seeing right through him. When he looks at you this time, he can see it, how you wring the sheet music in your hands and your eyes keep darting to the stage. It makes him feel a little better, somehow, knowing he’s not alone in this.

You stand there with him for a moment, and it should be awkward, except it isn’t at all. That strange familiar feeling of you makes this seem natural. He can’t seem to get any words out, so he just waits and jiggles.

“It’s gonna be fine. I think we’re just supposed to imagine everyone naked, right?” you whisper a little too seriously and that sets him off, a loud chuckle erupting from his mouth. Hearing the word “naked” come from your proper, pretty little lips just tickles him in a variety of ways, and he can’t help it. Other people in the line shoot him warning looks for being too loud, so he quells his laughter as best he can.

You look over, your eyes dancing more with amusement than nervousness, and you cover the giggle that starts to come out of your mouth. He’s reminded once again by the warmth that spreads through his chest that you are the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on, and hell, you’re funny, too.

You have to stop looking at each other because you’re one small step away from setting each other off into more peals of nervous laughter, which would surely disrupt the show. He watches as you bite your pink bottom lip and thinks of how much he’d like to do the same to you, imagining how soft it would feel yielding to him. Then he tries to push that less than appropriate thought right out of his head as soon as it pops up because, damn, this isn’t the time or place for that kind of thinking.

As your laughter dies, you look down at your feet, obviously feeling a swell of fear as you play with the necklace around your neck. He can feel it coming off of you in waves, despite your attempts to comfort him.

Suddenly, he can’t stand the sight of your uncomfortableness. He has the deep urge to fix it and make you feel better. Without thinking, he nudges you with his elbow. When you look up at him in surprise, he crosses his eyes, making a googly-eyed silly face at you. It has the intended effect, sending you into a fit of giggles, earning a glare and shush from the teacher in the wings.

It’s the cutest thing, watching you laugh like this, and it sends a rush of calm and satisfaction over him to know he’s the cause. He almost forgets that he has to go out there and sing in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go, we’re on next,” you whisper.

“You’ll be great,” he says. He doesn’t even know what you’re going to be doing but it doesn’t matter. Anything you do will have his attention.

You smile shyly, as if reading his mind somehow, and he feels heat rise to his cheeks that has nothing to do with his stage fright. You nod, then skip off to the front of the line.

He watches in awe from the wings as you accompany your singing friend on the piano. Your hands fly over the keys with practiced, concentrated ease, and if he didn’t know better, he wouldn’t ever have guessed that you were nervous.

He suddenly thinks he needs to take up the piano. Maybe you could teach him and then he’d have an excuse to see you.

That thought is fleeting though, as your performance is through in the blink of an eye, and you exit the stage with a relieved smile, meaning that he’s one step closer to having to get out there himself. Now that he knows you’re okay, his nerves come rushing back. His leg vibrates uncontrollably, but he still manages to give you a thumbs up.

You slow as you pass him, placing your hand lightly on his bicep. He stills and looks at you in surprise at the contact.

“Thinking of them naked works,” you whisper with a smile, “Break a leg out there.” Then, you give him a light squeeze before being ushered away. Sparks fly through him at the echoes of your hand on his arm.

Elvis thinks his heart might explode. It’s crazy, this way you make him feel like he’s flying. It carries him out onto the stage, where he sings a rendition of Teresa Brewer’s “Till I Waltz Again With You” that somehow brings the house down and wins the talent show. They even call him out for an encore.

Thinking of them naked works, indeed.

But when he closes his eyes to sing, it’s you he thinks of. It’s you that gets him through.

The feeling he has coming off that stage is a buzzing, electric high he thinks could get used to. A dangerous, tiny thought in the back of his mind tells him to chase it like there’s no tomorrow, but the relief at the whole thing being over is too strong and pushes the thought away.

But the feeling lingers in his body like lightning in the clouds, just like your touch.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

Elvis in 1955

Winter 1955

Jack somehow convinces him with a begging phone call, on this cold-ass winter night on one of his only nights back home in Memphis in so long he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept in his own bed, that he has to help Jack get some broad at some diner across town.

And because Jack’s his best friend and he hasn’t seen him in years due to Jack’s stint in the Army and his insane touring schedule, Elvis bags off his family and Dixie (poor, lovely Dixie) and jumps in the Caddy to head to this diner across town. He figures he’s gotta eat anyway, so might as well get some time in with an old friend, and it’ll be a bonus if he can help ole’ Jacky Boy get some tail.

Absolutely exhausted from gallivanting all over the South, playing sold-out shows, and doing other things he’ll never tell his mama about, he drags himself into the diner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his big wool coat. Good old Jacky sees him coming and leaps out of the booth to give him a big, manly hug.

Elvis can both see and feel the change in Jack. There’s a bravado to him now, an air of machismo that is new. He’s broader and more muscular than the boy who enlisted right after graduation instead of waiting for the draft to get him. And Elvis gets it—Jack didn’t have much to stay for, what with his father being such a mean drunk and him having no special skills to speak of. Jack figured, why not just get it over with?

Even though Jack’s only a little over four months older than Elvis, he was a grade ahead in school, but that discrepancy never mattered much to either of them.

“Look at ya, ya sonnofabitch! Finally got some meat on those bones!” Jack says gleefully, slapping him on the back.

“And you’re as ugly as ever,” Elvis shoots back with a smile, sliding into the red booth.

“Damn, man, I’m hearin’ your songs all over the radio. Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I got home and every station I turned on was your warbling ass,” Jack teases in a congratulatory tone.

“Honestly, I’m so damn tired I could sleep for a week, but we’re back out on the road tomorrow,” he replies.

“What happened to that scrawny, shy kid who’d only play in the dark, huh? I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of all those people! Now you’re playin’ all the time…I just can’t believe it, man,” Jack shakes his head.

Elvis shrugs, “Can’t really ‘splain it. It’s like the biggest rush ya could ever have and it just overpowers the fear. The crowds are wild though—never knew chicks could be so crazy.”

“Oh, I bet you are just drowning in it, ain’t ya?” Jack says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Elvis shrugs nonchalantly but his lip curls up into a mischievous grin as he looks out the window. He was indeed taking advantage of his newfound popularity with the girls, almost to an insatiable extent. He’d done good resisting in those first few months, knowing he had Dixie waiting for him at home, wanting to be faithful to her, wanting to be a good Christian boy. But damn, the more he was on the road and the higher the highs of his performances, he just needed a way to wind down at the end of the night. And there were just so many pretty girls literally tearing themselves apart to get to him.

In the end, he hadn’t been strong enough to resist. He knew cheating on Dixie was wrong, and he felt terrible about it, having her waiting here at home for him like she was, but with every show he was learning that he wasn’t gonna be giving any of this up any time soon. No, he wanted to take this as far as he could go, and while a small part of him wanted to hang on to the idea of starting a family with Dixie, a bigger part knew that wasn’t in the cards, not anymore.

“Speakin’ of, what the hell am I doin’ here? You suddenly forget how to talk to girls while in the service?” Elvis ribs, yet truly wants to know.

Jack lowers his voice to a hush and leans in, his eyes darting up every so often to make sure he’s not overheard. “No, man, but this girl, she’s different, I’m tellin’ ya. This ain’t about gettin’ laid. I don’t know what to say, I walked in here right off the train my first day home and it was like the goddamned heavens opened. Every time I try an’ talk to her, I just get all tongue tied like an idiot. I figure, you were always good with talkin’ to girls in general, so I need your help buddy.”

“You’ve got it bad, man. She must be a real looker,” he says, shooting up an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. She’s smart…oh, shit, here she comes! Be cool,” Jack hisses, leaning back too casually, a dumb grin spreading over his face. Elvis can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his friend being so head over heels for a girl he barely knows. He leans back, taking a much more relaxed and subtle stance than his friend, one that has been well practiced these past few months, as the waitress comes up from behind him to take their orders.

If nothing else, watching Jack be a dumb shit is entertaining, he thinks.

The waitress bounces over and Elvis rolls his eyes slowly up her body, taking in every lovely curve along the way.

“Oh, hi, Jack! I see you’ve got a friend with you today.”

Elvis freezes, his eyes reaching your face just as you start speaking and look over at him.

It’s you.

Holy shit, it’s you.

His brain short-circuits. He hasn’t seen you since he graduated a year and a half ago. And damn if you don’t look prettier than ever, all grown up and filled out in all the right places, your smile brightening the room.

His lips part as his mouth drops, he can’t help it.

“Um, yeah, y/n, this, uh, this is my friend Elvis,” Jack stumbles over the introduction, looking to Elvis for help. But in this moment, Elvis feels utterly useless, every ounce of confidence he’s gained in the past year draining out of him all at once.

His heart gallops in his chest, and he sits up straighter. He can see you looking over him expectantly, eyes narrowing as if trying to place him. He knows he shouldn’t care if you remember him, but by god, if you don’t, he thinks he might be crushed. But he’s also aware he’s different, too. He’s filled out and his hair’s darker, and why in the hell would you remember him from all those years ago anyway? You’d barely spoken to each other in four years.

“Elvis…” His name drags and plays on your tongue in a way that makes his toes tingle. “Like that singer?”

Of course, that’s how you recognize him, he thinks. But at least you know of him, even if it’s not in the way he wishes. He decides to lean into being “Elvis” because maybe that’ll make him feel less like an awkward high schooler and more like a cool cat. Regardless, the shyness he’d felt for being odd in high school is now mostly gone, and his unique style is part of the reason he was garnering so much attention these days. His confidence, especially with the ladies, is ever-growing. He knows he’s getting to be hot shit in the South and now has an image to live up to. There is no space for shy Elvis Presley here in this diner, for all the reasons. So, he manages to turn up the dial on his Southern charm, forcing himself to relax in your presence.

“Well, Miss y/n, seein’ as I never met another man with that name, I suppose, yes, like that singer,” he responds with a coy smile.

“Aw, don’t let him trick ya with that modesty. This here’s the one and only Elvis Presley,” Jack kicks him under the table, the message clear: Use your fame to help me out.

Your face lights up a little at that, which has a little flutter rolling in his empty stomach. “Now, Jack, you never told me you were friends with a celebrity,” she teases, her attention divided between the two men.

Elvis has to very consciously remind himself that he is here to help Jack, not steal you out from under him, but it is taking everything in him not to reach over and play with the hem of your skirt and tell you just how much he wants to take you home to his mama, Dixie be damned.

Jack smiles almost giddily, obviously pleased with your attention. “Well, I’m not one to go showin’ off or nothin’,” he says self-deprecatingly.

Elvis rolls his eyes at that.

“Well, my sister is gonna be beside herself when I tell her who came in tonight. She’s thirteen and might be your biggest fan, Elvis,” you say cheerily. He notices you aren’t completely beside your own self over him being here, which he has some mixed feelings about. On the one hand, he desperately wants your attention and admiration, but on the other hand, it’s kinda nice that you aren’t fawning all over him. It makes you even more appealing somehow.

“So, what can I get ya?” you ask, taking out your pen and paper, looking from man to man.

“I’ll have a hamburger, well done, please, and one of your vanilla milkshakes,” Elvis says, unable to take his eyes off you.

“I’ll have the same, except the burger medium rare, like a real man,” Jack jokes, poking fun at Elvis’ picky eating habits. Thankfully, you don’t react, and Elvis can’t help but kick the shit out of Jack’s shin.

Jack winces.

“Hmm, why do I get the feeling that you two are gonna be trouble?” you smile knowingly at them, pointing at each with the top of your pen. “I’ll be back with those in a jif. Try not to kill each other before I get back.” You bounce away and both men turn to watch.

“No promises, honey,” Elvis calls after you.

“Y’see what I mean, don’tcha? Ain’t she just special somehow?” Jack whispers excitedly, totally gone over you.

Oh, Elvis knows intimately how special you are, but he can’t say it, so he settles for a, “Yeah, man, she seems great,” and tries not to feel sullen about how he’s got to be Jack’s wingman for his own dream girl.

They shoot the shit, and he does his best to get Jack talking to you when you come by, even though it’s hard because he wants you for himself. It’s painful having to keep himself so in line, his heart cinching in his chest every time you come by to check on them. That’s when Elvis knows he’s in deep trouble. He reminds himself often that he is off the market anyway, at least when here at home in Memphis.

He promised to help Jack out, and so he will, even if it kills him.

“I gotta take a leak, man,” Jack says after the food is finished, scooting out of the booth.

You sashay over to clear the plates, and Elvis can’t help but stare as you lean over the table. Your eyes dart to his and he swears he sees a hint of pink on your cheeks. Warmth spreads across his chest and he tries not to avert his eyes. Any other girl he would confidently ogle, so he tries his best to stay the course.

“Y’ know, I’m not sure how you do it,” you say, breaking some of the tension as you stand over him, hands full of dishes.

“Do what, honey?” he drawls, raising only his eyes. Now that Jack’s gone, he’s laying it on thick and can’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Not when it’s you.

You shift your weight, but otherwise ignore his advance, much to his chagrin. You’re probably used to getting hit on by customers. “Getting up in front of those big crowds, all those people, and singing like that. I could never,” you shake your head.

A split second and he decides to play his hand, mostly because he has to know, just has to, so leaning back confidently, he drawls again, “Oh, well, a pretty girl once told me you just hafta picture ‘em all naked.” A slow grin spreads across his face.

Your eyes widen as it hits you. He watches you carefully, cataloguing your expression as you remember, your eyes travelling over him quickly, trying to reconcile your memory of him with the man in front of you. Your cheeks go rosy, and he relishes in the fact that he’s the reason.

“Well, damn, I guess I give really good advice,” you finally say, a little breathless, with a shake of your head.

Elvis can’t help the loud laughter that escapes him at that. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but you surprise him with your quip. You smile back at him, proud of yourself. The smile makes him feel special somehow, like he’s the only guy in the world.

“You’re really somethin’ else, y/n,” he says, his laughter dying down and being replaced too quickly by the awe he always seems to feel in your presence.

Something flashes over your face, something he can’t quite interpret. “Right back atcha, Elvis Presley,” you respond, and there’s something in the softness of your voice and in the way your big eyes stare straight into his that sends electricity zinging down his spine.

Then, as he watches as you walk away, he knows with absolute certainty that this won’t be the last time you see him.

Till I waltz again with you Keep my love locked in your heart Darling I'll return and then We will never have to part

And it isn’t. In fact, Elvis somehow manages to stop into the diner nearly every time he is home from then on out. Sure, Jack is his best excuse, but he also rounds up the band and Sam and even Dixie once or twice to go to this great diner he “just happened to find.”

Once he knows you are more often than not going to be there because it’s your family’s place, he wants to go frequently, and Jack is thrilled because the man might be more entranced with you than he is.

It’s not long that being friendly customers turns into being friends. Even when they find out you’ve got a serious boyfriend (because of course you do), neither him nor Jack is much dissuaded by the fact. Elvis would much rather have you in his life as a friend than not at all, and Jack is somewhat delusional in thinking you’ll drop your boy for him.

And while Elvis wants more than anything in the world to have you all to himself, he knows it’s likely not in the cards, at least not now, and maybe not ever. Not with the boy you want to marry you ever so close and Jack waiting in the wings like a puppy. And certainly not when he is running himself ragged with tours and recording, with his very real dreams of stardom so near he can taste them. But, as reality shows when he and Dixie finally part ways in late spring, it is no kind of life for a successful relationship.

So, he has to be content with watching you walk away with someone else, knowing he can’t have you, even though those electric shocks go through him every single damn time he sees you.

Though it may break your heart and mine The minute when it's time to go Remember dear, each word divine That meant I love you so

Elvis in early March 1956

March 1956

Elvis’ career takes off so dramatically that he barely has time to process his good fortune. In the moments when he’s not traveling, recording, touring, or appearing on television, he relishes the somewhat normalcy of hanging out with friends and family. It’s steadily getting harder for him to go out without being bombarded by fans, but he generally enjoys the attention. He’s grateful for his fans and for his budding success, though sometimes it feels so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. There are moments when he desperately wants to be still and alone but when he finally has a moment to himself, it feels like the world is closing in on him.

It’s one of these moody, antsy nights that he finds himself at your doorstep, without anyone else in tow. The last time this happened was the night he signed his contract with RCA. You’d been the first person outside of family he wanted to share the news with and without a thought, he’d ditched everyone else and showed up at the diner in his fancy suit, uncharacteristically lifting you up in a hug and spinning you around in his exuberance.

But the mood tonight is decidedly less enthusiastic. He’s tired but hasn’t been able to sleep in what feels like days, pressure pushing in on him from all sides. Usually he didn’t mind, taking it all in stride as part of his new life, but tonight he was worn and restless, his body vibrating with energy that has no outlet.

When he feels like this, he gets needy. He’s already the sort of guy that thrives on physical touch, but in the state he’s in, it’s a necessity rather than a preference. Normally, he might go out with a girl and fool around a bit, but the idea of having to charm and swoon and put on airs right now feels impossible. But he knows he needs a woman’s touch to soothe him and that’s how he finds himself here, alone, knocking on your door.

Your eyes widen with surprise when you open the door and then soften with concern at the state of him, near pitiful with the dark circles rimming his eyes, his body slumped against the door frame, and his pallor a sickly pale.

God, he just wants to weep at the welcome sight of you.

You quickly and quietly usher him inside. By some merciful twist of fate, you are alone. Your mother and sister are out of town visiting relatives and your father is working late at the diner.

This visit should be awkward but isn’t—it’s as though he has been dropping by your house alone and unannounced your whole lives with the way you receive him, and for this he is thankful. And perhaps this is why everything seems to hit him at once, a wave of anxiety rolling over him so strongly that he can barely speak as you lead him to the couch.

It’s suddenly all too much, this feeling of responsibility towards his family and friends and fans. He’s overworked and overtired and the panic of his rising success has him shaking before you, his heart beating too fast and his breathing too shallow, making him dizzy and lightheaded. As he hyperventilates, you hum at him softly, prompting him to put his head between his knees while rubbing circles on his back. Tears leak from his eyes, staining his cheeks and where he leans his head against his forearms on his knees. He too worked up to even be embarrassed by how completely raw and vulnerable he is before you.

With very few words, you just seem to know what’s happening. You don’t ask him to explain or to defend his feelings, you just accept them for what they are and accept him for all that he is. There are no expectations. He feels incredibly relieved by that.

As he eventually starts to calm, he falls over, exhausted, laying his head in your lap. He feels your slight hesitation, but only for a second, before your fingers begin to cart through his hair. He cannot help the small whimpering moan that escapes his lips at the tenderness of the gesture, one he so desperately needs in this moment.

You are exactly what he needs, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to deny that right now.

Perhaps that is why, once his breathing slows and he feels himself start to fade away into drowsiness that he turns in your lap and asks what he does.

“Can I stay?” he breathes, begging, looking up into your beautiful eyes. The plea is not full of lust, yet there is an open-endedness to it that he doesn’t hide, as his need for your comfort in any way you will give it to him is his prerogative. He cares for you far more that he dares to admit and cannot resist the pull of your soul to his, not tonight.

He watches your face carefully, seeing your brow furrow in the slightest and how you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. Propriety says you shouldn’t dare go there—you both know this—but at this point he’s not beyond batting his long lashes at you hopefully and a little mournfully.

“Oh, alright,” you finally concede, “but you need to be quiet as a mouse. I don’t know when Daddy will be home. And no funny business, Presley.” You point at him playfully, but there is a seriousness to your tone that makes him nod to give you reassurance. Exhaustion and moodiness cloud the way his heart wants to soar at this development of trust between you two, but he is too worn out to even muster a joke about the situation. That and he admires you too much to do anything that might jeopardize your blossoming friendship.

And with that settled, he raises from his all too comforting position in your lap. Much to his dismay, he’s unsteady on his feet, his attack having drained him of what little remaining energy he had, but you are quick to come to his side and walk him through the house to your room.

This doesn’t stop an unintentional tension from building, however, as you enter your room with him held close. He waits for you, wanting to follow your lead, wanting you to be comfortable, though he would just as soon collapse on your single bed without another thought.

You turn to him as though not exactly sure what to do next, your mouth opening then closing quickly, and he suddenly wants to kiss you so damn badly it’s painful. But it’s not the first time he’s felt that way in your presence, and probably won’t be the last, but then again, it never has been just the two of you alone in your bedroom before.

“I…I’ll be right back, I’m just going to…to go change,” you stammer, grabbing what is likely a nightgown out of your dresser. “Um, make yourself comfortable.” Then you escape into the hallway beyond, and he can’t help the little smile that plays at his lips in your wake.

He takes the moment alone to remove his coat and jacket and slip off his shoes and socks, folding them neatly at the end of the bed. He hesitates for a moment with his shirt and pants, but as emotionally wrought as he is, all he can think of is the calm feeling of being near you and ends up stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Figuring he can always put them back on if it eases your mind, he then sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It's not long before you come back, clad in a pretty white nightgown with little blue flowers all over it, your hair all brushed out and face washed pink. His heart actually skips at the sight. You look gorgeous and he has to remind himself that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for you, yes, but not in that way. Luckily, his exhaustion overrides that sort of thinking rather quickly—he’s not sure he could do much in this state, even if you wanted to. You shut the door quietly behind you, even though there is no one else home to hear.

The air in the room feels heavy with potential and he can sense your trepidation as you turn back towards him and sit near him on the edge of the bed. His body begins to drag with sleep, the comfort of your arms and your bed beckoning to him. Finally, he chooses to break the silence.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I would never do that. I promise I won’t touch you like that. I just want to—” he says softly.

“I know, Elvis,” you interrupt quietly, “It’s okay. I know.” And your eyes are so big and sweet and open to him that it nearly makes him want to start crying all over again. Part of him wishes he didn’t need you like this, that you didn’t have to see him in this moment of weakness, but part of him is glad it is you. It could only be you, really, that he would give this part of himself to, he realizes, though he’s not entirely sure why. It’s that strange, unspoken bond between you two that has lingered under the surface from the beginning. This almost unreasonable need to take care of each other even when it doesn’t always make sense.

Once you climb under the covers and invite him to join you, he falls in next to you faster than you can blink. The bed is small which doesn’t matter much since he instantly curls close into your side as you lay on your back, notching his head into your shoulder. He can smell the soap and cold cream on your skin, and he drapes his arm over your midsection as though he’s done it a million times before. You stiffen at the contact at first, but then he feels you relax, your head leaning onto his, eventually running your fingers soothingly over his arm.

Yes, this is what he needs, he thinks dreamily, feeling like he can finally breathe again. And it’s not long before he drifts off into a deep slumber, surrounded by your comforting scent and warmth.

It’s the gray early morning light peeking through your white curtains that has him stirring awake, and it takes him a good minute to figure out where he is and who he is with, a feeling he is all too used to considering how much he’s on the road. But waking in some seedy motel in the middle of Texarkana in the arms of some random chick from the night before is not anything like waking in your cozy little bed, your warm body pressed back into his.

There is a care here with you that he yearns for, positively aches for, but did not realize he wanted or needed until this very moment. He is surrounded by the sweet smell of your silky hair, the warm softness of your bare legs against his convincing him that everything about this situation is just right. In his sleepy, unthinking haze, he pulls you closer, spooning you tightly into him, thinking he could just stay here forever, blissfully unaware yet of why he shouldn’t do so.

Until his virile, 21-year-old body reminds him, that is.

Perhaps it is the drowsy little sigh that escapes your lips in the same moment you unconsciously wiggle back against him that does it. Suddenly, he is very much awake, in more ways than one.

A stupid, instinctually carnal part of him very much wants to lift the hem of your nightgown up higher than it is already bunched and slide himself right between your inviting, bare thighs and into your heat, and dear god, that thought has him unraveling himself from you quicker than lightning.

Aw, hell.

He rolls over and sits up too fast, forcing himself to think of anything and everything but how you are lying in that bed so invitingly near. He closes his eyes against the brightness of day and breathes a few deep breaths before reaching for his clothes at the end of the bed.

A lesser man might allow himself to slide back into that bed, but by god, he swore he wouldn’t touch you like that and he refuses to take advantage when you’ve been so good to him. This thought, more than anything, sobers him as he puts his clothes on.

“El…Elvis? Are you okay?”

Oh, the way your sweet little voice sounds all clouded with sleep has him biting his lip so hard he nearly draws blood.

“Yeah, baby, it’s all good. Go back to sleep, honey,” he whispers, finishing the buttons on his shirt as quick as he can.

The domesticity of this little scene coupled with the ache in his groin has every damn cell in his body wanting to get back in that bed, and maybe if it wasn’t you, he would. But it is you. And as desperately as he wants this, he respects you too much to let his hormones get the best of him.

So, before he can change his mind, he kisses the top of your head for a little too long, breathing in the scent of you one last time, then puts on his shoes, grabs his coat, and climbs out the window, escaping into the dawn.

Till I waltz again with you Just the way we are tonight I will keep my promise true For you are my guiding light

His thoughts drift to you all day. He doesn’t even want to change or shower because the smell of you still lingers on his clothes, on his skin. The unfamiliar feeling of being so well rested and content has him singing and smiling all day, prompting his mama to ask him, with a knowing eye, exactly where he was last night.

And this gets him thinking about how much he would love to wake up beside you every damn day if he could, how amazing that would feel, and about how maybe, just maybe, it’s possible that he can.

Ted is out of the picture, and it’s been long enough now that you’ve moved on through the heartbreak. You’ve even casually dated a little bit, though no one has seriously caught your eye.

But then there is Jack, who is still pining hopelessly over you, refusing to make a move. And Jack is one of his best friends. It wouldn’t be right to sweep you off your feet right out from under his nose. He knows he could do it, too, and not just because he’s cocky in his growing fame. After last night, he just knows somewhere deep in his soul that if he asked, you’d be his.

And he wouldn’t even consider it except now he’s had a taste of you, of your sweetness and your comfort and your care and goddamn it, your smell is still all over him.

Well, shit or get off the pot, Jack, he thinks, because I ain’t waitin’.

He works himself up into it, trying not to think about all the obstacles in the way, namely his career and how it’ll take him far away from you, but in this endorphin-fueled moment, none of that matters. Only you matter, that and how you make him feel like he’s on cloud nine and how now that he knows what it’s like to wake up next to you, he knows he wants that again and again for as long as possible.

In truth, if he’d stop long enough to really think on it, he’s known it for a long time.

He’ll catch you at the end of your shift tonight. He buys a bouquet of flowers and everything. Energy pulses through him all day, sending his fingers tapping and his legs bouncing so much that his mama tells him to go run it off. Junior and Gene and Red think maybe he’s lost his mind because he’s even more restless than usual.

Finally, after a full day of working himself up into a near frenzy, he jumps in the Caddy and heads to the diner, ready to make you his.

But when Elvis parks in front and looks through the window of the car and into the diner, he sees Jack has gotten there ahead of him. He sees Jack holding your hand and then kissing it, pulling you into the booth next to him. He sees the lovely way you blush and smile in response.

And then he watches as Jack pulls you into him for a long, lingering kiss on the cheek. The way your eyes flutter closed tells him all he needs to know.

Fuck.

He’s too damn late.

Jealousy roars through him as he sees his best friend touching you, touching you when it should be him, not Jack, doing so. He can’t help but feel the memory of your body pressed so perfectly against his just mere hours ago. At that, at the thought of never having that part of you ever again, Elvis’ heart breaks into little pieces. He rests his forehead against the top of the steering wheel, unable to look at the romantic little scene before him.

This is how it was always supposed to be, he tries to convince himself. It was always Jack who was pursuing you, not him. And the worst fucking part is that he knows that Jack can give you something he can’t: Jack can be there for you, stable and sure, with you in the same damn city every damn day.

He cares for you, but he knows that his career is taking him places you cannot follow. And it wouldn’t be fair of him to ask you to put your life on permanent pause for him, no matter how desperately he wants you, no matter how deeply he believes that there is something powerful drawing you two towards each other with every breath.

He cares enough for you that he realizes, at least for now, that he has to let you go.

Friendship it is, then.

My light, my light I will keep my promise true Till I waltz again with you

Elvis in 1956

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver

Reblogs, likes, tips, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

403 notes · View notes

thelaughtercafe · 5 months

Text

A Short Sulk

Tea Type: Subtly Sweet Tea (Fluff with some Hurt/Comfort)

Potential Triggers: Insecurity over being short, very quick referenced bullying

Pairing: Oikawa/F!Reader

Length:��785

Summary: You mention your insecurities to your adoring boyfriend and he offers you comfort in the best way he knows how.

“Being short is the worst. You’re so lucky being tall, Oikawa.”

You pouted as said boy looked down at you in surprise at the formality, having been reading the newest volleyball magazine.

“What brought this on all of a sudden babe? I thought you loved it when I teased you about your height!”

His words were sincere and sweet and instantly made you go bright red at said true statement and caused your pout to deepen as you fidgeted, looking at your hands.

“It’s just…I overheard some girls today talking about us. They…they said I look like a kid. That I may as well be your sister or something and that you’ll get bored of cute and want someone sexy or beautiful once you know what a real woman is.”

He frowned at that, immediately putting the magazine aside and moving to join you on the floor from his bed.

“I thought we talked about this. Those girls are jealous because I never look at them twice.”

He kept his anger down with difficulty, focusing on comforting you instead. He sat in front of you, mimicking your criss-cross-applesauce way of sitting as he reached out and gently raised your face to his with a palm on your cheek.

“You are plenty sexy, and feminine. Beautiful and adorable all in one. Sure, you’re tiny. But in my opinion that just riles me up more. Trust me babe-”

He snickered, eyes darkening in lust a moment as he scanned you.

“You’re a woman and I sure as Hell ain’t attracted to you in a familial way. I have urges I’d never have with family. I’m just going slow since I know this is your first relationship and I respect your boundaries and want to go at your pace, that’s all.”

He leaned in and you eagerly met his lips before pulling back, crawling into his lap and sighing as you snuggled into him.

“I’m so lucky. Thanks Tooru.”

He hummed into your hair, pecking the top of your head.

“Of course, starlight. It’s just the truth. And…y'know… there is one thing that being short lets me do much easier~”

You heard the teasy tone now in his voice and tensed, already blushing and hiding your face in his neck to whine.

“Tooru c'mon-”

He moved his neck away so you couldn’t hide your blushing face snickering and cooing down at you as one arm kept you against him and the other got ready to attack.

“You’re the perfect size for me to tickle senseless whenever you feel down. Let’s see where to get first~?”

He hummed in feigned thought as the long fingers holding you to his chest already began wiggling against your side and tummy, making you burst into giggles and push on his chest to try and escape as you squirmed.

“Hehehehey!! No fhahahair!!”

“I think it’s plenty fair!! I gotta make my stunning girlfriend feel better or what kind of boyfriend would I be?”

His other hand began squeezing at your other side before fluttering up to scribble at your ribs making you squeal.

“A n-nice one!!”

He smirked mischievously at that, gently guiding you to the floor to pin your wrists above your head and get more access to your other tickle spots.

“Nice? But you love when I’m mean and teasy when I tickle you, don’t you? You’re lucky I didn’t make you beg for it like usual because I’m feeling charitable tonight. But I still have to punish you somehow…hmm… ”

You bucked as he attacked your underarms with both hands, leaving you to try and catch his hands fruitlessly.

“Get on with it!”

You whined as he again pretended to think, tickling you senseless as his hands jumped every which way. He sighed dramatically.

“If you insist then…such an impatient brat I have~”

You squealed at the feeling of him lifting up your shirt already laughing and pushing at his head desperately.

“Tooru nohohoho!!”

He laughed just above your vulnerable tummy, opting to gently pin your hands down on either side of you so he could have his fun.

“Tooru yes! Don’t worry baby, think of this as the grand finale!”

You threw your head back and bucked, laughing as he began kissing, nibbling and raspberrying your stomach. He didn’t let up until you began snorting and had tears in your eyes and a giddy grin on your lips. He pulled back, satisfied with his handy work and dragged you to his bed, letting you cuddle into him and giggling himself as you nuzzled his neck in revenge. He squeezed your side in warning to make you flinch and you both dozed off giggly and content, with smiles on your faces.

#tlc: tickle fics #tlc: subtly sweet tea #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x you #tooru x you #tooru x reader #haikyuu tickle fic #haikyuu tickle #female reader #tickles #tickle fic #tickle #haikyuu #ler!oikawa #lee!reader

42 notes · View notes

waitmyturtles · 1 year

Text

Turtles Catches Up With the Essential BLs: Bad Buddy Edition

[The Reasons and Gratitude: While QL has exploded in volume over the last half-decade, I’ve been juggling a career with making and feeding babies. Now that my kids are bigger, I’m catching up on the essential QL dramas. Big ups to @absolutebl’s encyclopedic lists that I use for reference, as well as the recommendations of many dear mutuals. For the Bad Buddy recommendation, I thank my forever darling, @the-nihongo-adventure! Thank you for reading my reviews of shows you’ve already watched! REALLY LONG POST COMING: caveat emptor.]

I’ve been thinking for days on how I should start this review. Bad Buddy has waylaid me with an emotional brutality (in a good way!) that I haven’t been able to shake for weeks. Couple that with a speedy education in the ways of Aof Noppharnach through Moonlight Chicken, and well, my middle-aged heart has taken a lot.

Before I dive in, I’d like to quickly cite the amazing @emotionallychargedtowel, who referenced Murray Bowen’s family systems theory in a post about pursuer-distancer couplings. Family systems theory posits that human behavior is shaped by the structure of the family unit as a complex social system. In other words: through spoken, unspoken, assumed, and expected demands, instincts, boundaries, and pulls/pushes, humans as individuals are conditioned to interact in society vis à vis how they learned to interact with others through their familial upbringings.

Why do I bring this up in regards to Bad Buddy? I haven’t even begun to plummet the sheer depth of analysis about BBS on Tumblr (I’m deeply impressed by the volumes of analysis by my new dear mutual, @telomeke-bbs, whose posts served as wonderful references while I was watching the show), so if I’m repeating popular analysis, I apologize.

But for me, BBS was rooted first and foremost in a study of intergenerational trauma, and how our two UNBELIEVABLE protagonists, Pran and Pat, battled expected roles and boundaries from their families/family systems and friends to end up together.

I know now, through Moonlight Chicken, that Aof is an utter master at layering themes together. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.

And I want to say upfront that while I want to be an objective reviewer of this show, I absolutely cannot be. While I’m thinking about Aof’s mastery of studying intergenerational trauma through the lens of a QL drama, my heart aches, in passionate subjectivity, about how important his work is for young Asians watching it. I only can wish, as a first-generation child of immigrants from South and Southeast Asia, that I had been able to watch these shows when I was growing up. If I had seen Asians making shows about intergenerational trauma through an Asian lens, about very progressive topics like same-sex relationships in Asia -- I would have known that there was a world of support and shared experiences for the kind of intergenerational trauma that I and my friends faced, when we all were growing up, Asian in America and elsewhere.

This was a terribly long introduction to say that while many other themes percolated throughout Bad Buddy (in typical Aof fashion, as I’m now understanding), including school dynamics, Thai queer culture, unrequited love, familial acceptance of same-sex relationships, and more -- that for me, in a very biased way, I HAD to see this show through the lens of intergenerational trauma. This show helped me to have hope that generations of continental and diasporic Asians will be better able to fend off these pressures through the medium of drama art.

So. My thoughts on Bad Buddy are rooted in a lens of intergenerational trauma. But what I also picked up on, vis à vis the boundaries I mentioned earlier emanating out of families as complex social systems -- is that Aof threw in a little (actually a lot) of David Hegel’s thesis-antithesis-synthesis framework as well. This framework allows for the criss-crossing of boundaries to come to a unified resolution -- and good lord, Bad Buddy came to that conclusion so INCREDIBLY well. The Hegelian framework was the means by which, I think, Aof could explore tearing down the deep-rooted effects of intergenerational trauma on the Asian society depicted in BBS.

Throughout the entire show, Pran and Pat danced around boundaries. At least at the start of the show, they never dared to cross the line between the two garbage bins in the front of their houses. These boundaries had been CREATED by Pran’s and Pat’s parents. And the boys were taught from birth -- you cross that line, and bad things will happen. Don’t play with the boy next door. Don’t fall for the kids next door. So: don’t get caught in front of us.

But Pat and Pran crossed the boundaries BEHIND their houses, BEHIND the VERY watchful eyes of their families, starting at a young age, and keeping that boundary-breaking a secret. Pran crossed a significant boundary by saving Pa from drowning.

But then they went to the same university, and new boundaries formed, between their arch-rival faculties. Pat sees that pressure and acts within it, defending his engineering homies against Pran’s architecture friends.

We saw in the first episode that it would be Pat’s family that would be the first to begin breaking those boundaries as adults -- but it wasn’t Pat who began that work. It was Pa.

I’ve always found it interesting that it’s younger siblings who often have the “easiest” time breaking hard-set boundaries and family codes. I know, because I count in that category (and I know this is an overgeneralization, but just roll with me for a sec). Younger siblings see the shit their older counterparts -- parents, sibs, whoever -- create and deal with. And younger sibs then can develop better ways of managing the pressures that come from that shit. Myself included, I’ve often seen younger sibs be the first ones to marry in family units, to have children, to get jobs, to move away from home, etc. Younger siblings often have the ability to say NO more easily than their older family members. It’s, I think, a natural occurrence to take place in a family system of multiple siblings.

So it’s Pa who says to Pat: promise me you won’t hurt Pran. Right off the bat, she asks for a breaking of a boundary that Pat, his parents, and the engineering faculty homies want to uphold. And Pat, being devoted to his sister, agrees to the promise -- and the whole confused dance between him and Pran as adults begins.

I LOVED this. The show needed an immediate impetus to break what could have been a groaning, stereotypical Romeo-and-Romeo paradigm. This wasn’t going to end in mutual suicide -- hell no, not in a Thai BL. This drama needed to go places. As well, for me, I think Pa was set up to be an indirect foil to the pressures that Pran faces later in the series, simply by way of BEING in the form of a younger sibling.

The repeated theme during the first few episodes that I latched onto was Pran saying to Pat, “things don’t end well when I’m close to you.” In episode 1, Pat retorts -- “at least you won’t get transferred this time around.” In episode 4, Pran repeats himself, and guess what happens? He sees Pat with Ink, and experiences the repeated trauma of unintentional rejection at the hands of Pat.

So, Pran feels like he’s learning his lesson, time and time again. He’s thinking -- I like Pat, I can’t help but like Pat. But my parents might be right. Bad things happen when this dude is around. My heart gets broken.

What’s the difference between Pran and Pat here? Pat can exist more carefree, open, instinctual. He can like people more openly. He can be honest with his feelings. WHY? Because he had a family support system while he was growing up that allowed him to take risks -- because he had a sibling, because he was the eldest son -- because he knew, through his family structure, that despite his behavior, that his family would be there for him. He was simply raised differently, in part because his family was slightly bigger, and his family had LESS to lose if they potentially lost Pat to a lifetime of disapproval. Pat can take risks, because he’ll still have Pa, even if he loses his parents.

When I think about Pran, through the lens of intergenerational trauma, I go back to the family systems theory. While I was talking about younger siblings earlier, Pran’s a totally different story. He’s an only child. He IS the BRUNT of the familial pressure to conform to everything his family wants him to be. He was raised that way, and no one can help it, if the family unit is a triad. If Pran disappears from his family because of their disapproval -- not only do they NOT have a son, but Pran HIMSELF doesn’t have a family. He has far more to lose. He feels he can’t take risks.

I am sure there’s reams of analysis about how understandable Pran’s reaction to his first kiss with Pat was. But I took his walk away from Pat to be that recognition. Pran simply could not believe in a future with Pat -- no way. Pran would lose everything he knew.

Hegel’s framework? This is Pran’s thesis: while I love Pat, I can’t have Pat, because if I have Pat, I’m crossing a boundary that should never be crossed. My world will fall apart. I need to walk away and deny that that kiss ever happened.

And what’s the antithesis here? I think, at this moment in the series, the antithesis IS Pat. It’s Pat’s queer revelation, and his ABILITY to just MOVE on his feelings. In just ONE EPISODE, y’all! In episode 5! SO FAST! (Come AWN, Pat, you WINNER, LOVE YOU.) But that’s Pat for you -- Pat, the antithesis of Pran, the guy who can move, because he has less to lose.

(Let me stop for a sec, stop the analyzing. THAT KISS. THE BEST EVER. NANON! OHM! COME AWN! AAAAHHHH!!!!)

So what does Pat do in episodes 6 and 7? He starts the first SYNTHESIS: he crosses that damn boundary and chases after his man. He goes to the zero-waste village, and -- as SO OFTEN happens in Hegelian thesis-based frameworks -- the guys go to the sea, to the water, to cross the water, to kickstart Pran’s antithesis to his life thesis, and to begin their synthesis together, their connection. (Remember Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse and crossing the river, woop woop!)

Like I said before -- not to be a huge fuckin’ nerd or anything, but whoops, too late -- I think the Hegelian framework allowed Aof to WRITE this script and leverage the familial boundary risks for the sake of the show. Because, as I wrote at length in my review of the Cherry Magic movie, taking these risks from the perspective of the Asian family unit is EEEENOOORMOUS. Legit, fam: Asian families WILL dump children. There is disowning. It happens. It’s KNOWN, in the backs of our minds, BAKED UNCONSCIOUSLY into our understanding of who we are as Asian individuals, that our families might give us up, because many of our families have overtly threatened it. Even if there isn’t active disowning, parents can passively judge you and be disappointed in you for the rest of your life, and you damn well know it.

Overgeneralization? Whatever you think. But I’ve experienced it. My friends have experienced it. Kurosawa knew it when he risks disownment to stay with Adachi in the Cherry Magic movie. I severely risked it when I, like, grew up -- when I wanted to date, to get engaged, to get married. I didn’t talk to certain family members for years. My siblings’ relationships were strained. All because I wasn’t falling in line with my family’s expectations for who I needed to be vis à vis THEIR expectations of me -- to stay home and let them dictate how to live my life (literally, not joking).

Instead of doing a typical Romeo-and-Romeo set-up, I think what Aof was doing here, by way of having Pat step out first to begin the boundary-breaking -- and we know now WHY Pat could do that, because of his family system ALLOWING him to be a person to take more risks -- is that he was demonstrating that positive change could happen, the trauma could be stopped, if the guys created family between each other. AOF IS SAYING: I’M GOING TO PROVE THAT THEY CAN STOP THE TRAUMA TOGETHER. I’m crying right now.

And before I get further, another note about Aof’s brilliance. He allowed us to see HOW COMPLICATED Pran is, before the real boundary breaking began. He allowed us to SEE that Pran COULD MAYBE BE OKAY with taking a risk -- vis à vis Pran’s love for music. God, I was SO STRUCK in the scene when Pran is writing the high school song with Pat in episode 5.

I think Pran’s not just talking about love here. I think, indirectly, he’s also talking about the risk of riling his family boundaries up.

(I want to note quickly that both Aof and Jojo Phukhaotong really leverage Nanon’s acting beautifully in these moments -- besides this music scene, there was Pran and Wai in the library talking about relationships and the school play, and in Dirty Laundry, Night meditates on music and love to a sleeping Neon. Nanon really nails this unwinding in his acting.)

I think Aof included these scenes of Pran meditating like this, because Pat couldn’t just hold Pran’s hand at the beach and sweep Pran away. That’s not how the Hegelian framework works. You gotta be ready, to be active, you gotta do the WORK, to reach enlightenment. The entire series shows Pran’s journey to acceptance about himself and about the fate he’ll have with Pat. We, as viewers, needed to see Pran be ready to do that. Sure, he has a forever crush on Pat. But we’ve now established the utterly enormous risks he faced -- more so than Pat ever needed to deal with -- if Pran’s family learned about Pran’s feelings, leanings, and ultimate decision to be with Pat.

We needed to hear, verbally, that Pran’s hesitation was real, that he was balancing in a very complicated way, all the risks he needed to consider. Maybe some people got frustrated at the high level of his complicated feelings, but I think the pace and plot made total sense. And, oh god -- the scene at the beach, where they touch hands and imagine a world where their parents aren’t fighting. Oh my god. AAAAAHHHH. Tears. Synthesis, baby, synthesis.

So then. The boundaries between the guys come down. They start getting kee-yoot. The games in episode 7, the help with the play in episode 8. It’s chef’s kiss, y’all.

But the boundaries come roaring back. The trauma resurfaces. Even while Pran contextualizes to Wai in the library -- “you can’t change the person or the time” when you fall in love -- what also doesn’t change is the world around them. The faculties still hate each other. Pat experiences familial rejection for the first time in his dad’s disappointment about the architecture play. The relationship is revealed. Wai rejects Pran. The seniors reject Pat.

(FAN BREAK: luv you, Aof, that gratuitous shirtlessness at the xylophone, LOVED IT, ::pointing to Aof::, LOVED IT.)

But. Episode 9 kicks in. Korn comes thru, MVP. (Yum, satay.) And I see something in Pran, when he approaches Pat at the bench at lunch.

I see Pran finally, truly, CROSSING HIS OWN LINE. Pran could have PANICKED at the revelation of their relationship to the school. He could have used it as an excuse to chicken out, to back away, again to cite that bad things happen when I get close to you, Pat.

But Pran didn’t do that. He holds Pat down, he steadies Pat. They hold each other down, because -- oh god, my chest is aching here, I’m tearing up -- in that moment, Pran’s recognizing that you need to be there for the family you’ve chosen and made. These are HIS NEW BOUNDARIES -- his new family system and unit. It’s his, and his alone.

Sure, we see in earlier episodes that part of Pran’s love language is nurturing, through cooking for Pat (and sometimes Pa, too, omg so cute), and that he learned that at the hands of his mother. But I saw something different in that simple scene at the lunch bench, after Pat got rejected by his seniors. I saw Pran’s confirmation that he was going to stick the landing of the synthesis, once and for all. That was when he wasn’t going to use any other excuse, ever again, to walk away from Pat, as others had begun to do to Pat.

And then we get the last three brilliant, BRILLIANT episodes of this already brilliant series. Let me set this up, because I think the way Aof did this, as yuzh, was incredible:

Episode 10: There are too many things about episode 10 to list in this already enormous post. I may have to write a separate post about how I think episode 10 was one of the greatest single episodes of a drama I’ve ever watched (the penultimate episode of Extraordinary Attorney Woo also comes to mind).

In any case, the Hegelian framework comes roaring back. We’re nearing the end of the series, and we need to remember as to why we’re here, and how we got to this point. The episode served as a major reminder of Pran’s original thesis -- we learn the reason why the families were at war. We learn that the demands of the separation came from Ming and Dissaya. The boys come out to their folks. The truth of Ming and Dissaya come out.

We learn that Ming himself is a product of MAJOR INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA, from his father, so much so that he fucked up a major opportunity for Dissaya. Trauma on trauma on trauma. (Seriously relatable for almost all Asians with pressurized parents.)

And Pran -- PRAN -- TELLS HIS MOTHER, TO HER FACE, that it was HER traumatizing HIM that led HIM to be the way he IS. At the end of this episode, before he rejoins Pat, he finally confronts his mother, and begins his holistic antithesis for the final time.

The boys come back together at the end of the episode, and weep, and embrace. And Pat says: we’re getting the fuck out of here.

(Now’s a good time to link to a meme on intergenerational trauma that my cousins in SE Asia shared with me around the end of 2021 -- interesting timing that this was floating around the WhatsApps and LINEs of that period.)

Episode 11: Leaving. Antithesis. The sea. Crossing boundaries. Living their lives together.

Oh my god, my aching heart. Pat spending most of the episode insisting that they were going to live together, forever, in the village. The antithesis to their lives in Bangkok. Pran knowing better. Pat knowing it, too.

The fact that until the very last minute, the entire episode was spent in the village, meant SO MUCH TO ME. This episode gave the guys TIME to process THEMSELVES, and their decisions. Oh lord, tears on tears.

And: what did the guys do? THEY COMMITTED TO EACH OTHER. CREATING THEIR FAMILY TOGETHER. They were going to do it THEIR WAY -- and, AND, AND -- BREAK THE CHAIN OF TRAUMA that they both faced, as assigned and influenced by their parents, by leveraging their new family unit TOGETHER.

And who helped give them that oomph, that power? Who helped them get context to see that that work was WORTH DOING -- even if it wouldn’t end up changing their families?

Uncle Tong. The boys got to see that through Uncle Tong.

They got to see that one individual, or two individuals together, can’t change the world. The boys learned, indirectly, that they can’t change the world of their parents. But they can improve THEIR OWN WORLD.

Episode 12: SYNTHESIS.

When I was perusing the BBS tags for analysis, something I read piqued my interest: that the boys had to remain closeted to their families and friends.

I wouldn’t call it closeted. Instead, I want to guess what Aof was doing here.

I truly think Aof was showing compassion to the parental generation. It’s not the parents’ faults that they themselves were products of intergenerational trauma (peep the meme from earlier).

For me -- I’m an adult now, but I still carry the scars of my childhood -- I was disappointed not to see a bigger family resolution during my first watch of episode 12. But after a careful rewatch, I think Aof was being majorly realistic in his writing. These families weren’t going to come together in a finale, let alone in a day, let alone after DECADES of fighting.

Intergenerational trauma has to stop somewhere if you’re cognizant of it, and Pran and Pat’s parents weren’t cognizant of it. But: the guys certainly were. As we saw in the shots above, Pran himself CALLED OUT his mom for it in episode 10.

So I think I understand why Aof didn’t make a sparkling, holistically accepting ending out of this, because -- it was unrealistic. Ming and Dissaya still carry THEIR scars, and THEY need time to heal, too.

Their partners -- Pran’s dad and Pat’s mom -- are more ready for that change. They’re getting slightly caught up in the winds of change. Hell, even Pat’s mom says, “We are the adults” in episode 10 to Ming. Like Pa, Pat’s mom is demonstrating a little gentle nudge towards changing HER boundaries of the situation.

And the boys stated their stance at the end:

“Just like Uncle Tong said, we can’t change the world. All we could do was adjust to it, and live happily. We might not be able to change the people around us. BUT THEY COULDN’T CHANGE THE TWO OF US, EITHER.” [emphasis mine, obv]

I want to make one very last point that deeply touched my heart, and, I feel, confirms my theory about the boys making a new family unit together, complete with the boundaries of their choosing, and refusing to carry the trauma of their pasts. @telomeke-bbs wrote a lovely post, in part, about the meaning of Pran’s liquor gift to Ming. I totally agree with the analysis, and just wanted to add some cultural flavor.

Being an in-law in an Asian family structure means you show respect to your in-law elders. It’s just an unspoken, natural part of our being (and it helps if you like your in-laws). I’m married to a Westerner, but in many ways, I treat my Western in-laws with the same kind of respect as I would if they were Asian. So that means, I cook generously (they don’t expect me to do it, don’t worry -- I just like doing it, because it makes me feel like we’re family), and I serve up fine-ass cocktails (hell yeah). It’s fun, but it also makes me feel like I’m nurturing my extended family.

Pran gave the liquor gift to Ming, because....Ming is his family. Hey, Ming? Womp womp. You’ve got a son-in-law -- because Pran is taking on that role, despite your best efforts to reject that reality. And I see you, Ming, slowly, slowly, slowly begin to imagine that reality when you took a sip.

The reality is that when the boys became family to each other, they indirectly adopted each other’s families as their own -- because that’s just what happens in a relationship. And the liquor gift confirmed that. My heart SWELLED when Pran gave the gift to Pat, and I saw the duty-free bags in Pat’s family’s living room. How many times have I seen that scene in my life, when fam came back to visit from overseas -- scores of times. It meant so much. I’m going to bring a piece of overseas back to my family, even if my family, my in-laws, reject me. Maturity, motherfuckas. My man, Pran. Best son-in-law.

Aof took SO MUCH of what Asians expect about how our lives should be lived in this show, and absolutely turned it on its head. His SCRUTINY at what keeps adults back, at how adults raise children -- and about how children can CHANGE PARADIGMS, through love and partnership -- is CRITICAL COMMENTARY for young Asians, and young people around the world.

Oh, man. Do I have any more words? I’m all written out. If you got this far, thank you. This show WILL BE required viewing for my kids when they’re older. I want them to see what intergenerational trauma means to their Asian heritage. I want them to CALL ME and my hubs OUT for it. And I want them to know how they can be so strong, like Pat and Pran, to change the trajectory of their lives for the better.

*Tagging @bengiyo by request. <3

#bad buddy #bad buddy the series #backaof noppharnach #turtles catches up with thai bls #turtles catches up with the essential BLs #nanon korapat #ohm pawat #ohmnanon #intergenerational trauma #intergenerational trauma in asian societies #intergenerational trauma in asian families #david hegel #bad buddy meta #bad buddy the series meta #patpran #pran x pat #pat x pran #pranpat #aof noppharnach

225 notes · View notes

marvelslut16 · 8 months

Text

Acquaint Yourself With The Avengers

Prompt number: 29 "That's all? Easy."

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

Rating: E(veryone)

Word count: 4.2k+

Warnings: Maybe some swearing. Slow Burn? Reality TV show hate. Bucky (and readers') self hatred. Talk of death.

A/N: Hey guys! I feel like I've been gone forever- work is killing me! But I'm back for Fictober and I'm really hoping I'll finally do the whole month. This is part 1 of 2 I think- but I'm open to writing more in this universe. Part two will be up in a few days if not tomorrow. I have never watched a reality TV show, so please bare with me for the mistakes I no doubt made.

“This has to be a joke,” you deadpan, throwing the joke of a contract onto the table in front of you. Steve murmurs in agreement on your left, and an increasingly uncomfortable Bucky shifts in his seat to Steve’s left. “Tony, reality shows are crap. What were you thinking?”

“This is coming from higher up than me,” he rubs his temples, giving away his exasperation. Over the years Tony started to slowly step out of the spotlight, no longer seeking out media coverage. “It’s directly from Fury, and the few Congress members that are still on our side. Since the Accord drama our ratings have been dipping, we need them to see that underneath it all we’re just human.”

“And if I don’t agree to it?” your voice hardens as you have a staring contest with the billionaire.

“Then you’re out.”

“So you’re telling me if I don’t exploit my life, if we all don’t exploit our lives- we’re kicked to the curb. Just like that? Years of work and helping people just flushed down the toilet?” you’re on the verge of angry tears.

Your mother had drilled into your brain since you were a young impressionable child, that reality shows were trash, that they did more harm than good. The worse things people did on these shows the more famous they got, it teaches young children that they’ll get rewarded for their bad behavior. You wonder what she would think of you now, about to agree to become that trash just so you can continue to help the people that are bound to talk shit about each and every one of your friends online.

“I agree with (Y/N/N),” Steve finally speaks up, quickly glancing at Bucky’s clenched fists. “Bucky shouldn’t be subjected to having twenty cameras shoved in his face, not so soon after rejoining society.”

It’s been a month since Bucky came to live with everyone at the newly built compound, he had spent the previous three months after the Accords in Wakanda receiving the best help Shuri could provide. You wouldn’t say that you and Bucky are friends, but you two are definitely friendlier than he is with most of the team. You’ve never pushed him to talk, you two can sit in peaceful silence, something Sam does regularly because of his experience with PTSD and the benefits of talking about it.

“You’re just worried that more people are going to start speculating that you're dating him,” Sam joins the conversation, referencing the newest gossip article published today. Some ‘news’ site wrote a fifteen paragraph article speculating on a non-existent romance between the super soldiers, stemming from one single photo of Steve standing half in front of Bucky and pushing a camera out of his face on the way into a restaurant- for a team dinner.

“On the topic of relationships, I don’t really want a bunch of cameras in mine and Clint’s,” Natasha speaks up from the other side of the table, Clint nods along.

“The last thing people need is hours of footage of Vis and me to analyze and bully us about, I already get enough judgment and hate,” Wanda adds, crossing her arms over her chest. Vis rests a comforting hand on her soldier, he’s learned enough about human emotions- especially Wanda’s- to know not to add anything.

“You guys are overreacting,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Plus this could be a good time to promote things we’re passionate about, like group therapy for Veterans.”

“It sounds fun,” Thor booms, you roll your eyes. No one will say anything about him, he’s conventionally attractive, has a sexy accent, and he’s a literal God. He has nothing but adoring fans.

“All publicity is good publicity,” Tony grimaces. “We can’t go any lower, we’re already at the bottom of the barrel.”

“Peter’s lucky he’s a minor and anonymous,” you pout, out of the corner of your eye you can see Bucky crack a small smile. With that one final comment you're signing the contract, because at the end of the day you’ll do whatever it takes to be able to help those in need. Everyone has a similar vein of thought, all signing their own contracts.

Later that night you're sitting in the living room with Bucky, the News is playing in the background, but neither of you had been paying it any mind. You’re too focused on coming up with worst case scenarios about the impending reality show. Bucky can practically hear the gears whirring in your head, he keeps glancing over at you to make sure you're okay. Not that you notice because you're too wrapped up in your own little world.

“What if they edit it to make one of us the villain?” you ask out of nowhere, this is the first time you’ve broken the peaceful silence in the months you’ve been sitting with him. “Sorry, forget I said anything, I’m gonna head to bed.”

“It’ll be me,” Bucky whispers when you stand up from the couch. “They’ll take this opportunity to show everyone what a monster I am.”

“You aren’t a monster Bucky,” you squat down in front of him when you see that he’s staring at his lap. “You can’t be blamed for what Hydra made you do. And anyway, they usually pick an unsuspecting person on one of these shows and edit it so their words and actions are all twisted. They ruin people’s characters, not make hard hitting political statements.”

“You think they’ll target you?” he asks it like it’s a question, but it’s more of a statement.

“Yeah I do,” you sigh, standing up and plopping on the couch beside Bucky for the first time. “I’m mysterious, or at least that’s what Tony and Peter keep telling me. I don’t have a big social media presence, I do my best to avoid the paparazzi when I go out, and I very rarely speak at press conferences. If they don’t make me the villain, I’m worried they’ll hyperfocus on me until I slip up and become one.”

“I think it’ll be Vision, since he’s a robot,” Bucky adds after a minute of silence, and you can’t help but smile at him.”

Before you know it, Wednesday rolls around, and the fifteen person crew shows up to invade your lives. You start to get overwhelmed by the ten cameras they are setting up, two in a confessional area, and the other three in the living room where you are all supposed to do your opening scripted talk- where Tony will explain why you guys are doing the reality show Acquaint Yourself With The Avengers. On top of those cameras, the crew are setting up hidden and security cameras to catch the action when they aren’t there filming on the main ones. Once you're all seated on the couches- your stuffed between Bucky and Sam- the PA, Alice, comes over to talk to you all.

“So filming will happen Thursday through Tuesday most weeks, unless a big event falls on an off day, crew leaves by ten PM at the latest, and the hidden cameras will go dormant after midnight. No children will be in the final product- as requested by Scott, we can evaluate on a case by case basis if any of the rest of you choose to have children down the line and want to show them. Are there any questions?” she asks, but gives a look that screams not to ask any. “Well if there aren’t any, we should get to shooting, we’re already twenty minutes behind.”

You say your two scripted lines in the beginning scene and then zone out through the rest, you’re a little worried your face will give your lack of enthusiasm away, but none of the crew says anything so you assume you're fine. Soon enough, you're dismissed, but not allowed to go far because the first interviews for all of you are about to take place in the dining room. You and Bucky both stay firmly planted on the couch while most of the others go to the kitchen to get something to drink, or lurk in the dining room to watch said interviews- Steve being the first to be interviewed.

“Just act like the camera’s aren't there,” you say unhelpfully when you notice his gaze shifting uneasily from one camera to the next. In reality you too are struggling with them watching you from every possible angle.

“That’s all? Easy,” Bucky deadpans, a laugh bursts out of your mouth and his eyes twinkle.

“Did you just make a joke,” you laugh again, this time far quieter. For the first time since the camera crew arrived you forget they’re there, too lost in this one real moment with Bucky, too lost in his gorgeous crystal blue eyes. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him let his guard down with anyone other than Steve.

“And if I did?” he asks playfully, leaning in closer to you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Then I’d say do it more often, it’s a good look on you,” you grin back at him, and you're only broken out of your trance when Alice calls for Tony.

She calls you after Tony, hair and makeup come rushing over to give tiny last minute adjustments to your appearance after you're seated in front of a ring light. You start to fidget with the hem of your shirt as the PA flips through her paper to get to her list of questions about you, the suspense just making your anxiety skyrocket.

“To start off we’re just going to ask some easy and basic questions to get you warmed up. So (Y/N), you’ve been with the Avengers since it was first formed, tell us what that’s been like, and make sure you put the question in your answer.”

“I’ve been with the Avengers since 2011, I was the second one Director Fury recruited, right after Tony. I’ve loved all of the good deeds we have been able to do for people all over the world, and I’ve made some lifelong friendships too. It’s amazing being able to do something you love with the people you love.”

“Good good,” Alice nods, looking down at her questions. “Now tell us how you feel about all of the new auditions to the team since then, and don’t hold back.”

“We’ve had some pretty great people join since the seven of us were originally put together, not only are they good, friendly people, but they are also all very skilled at what they do. I love watching the team grow, it just means that we have more skills and manpower to be able to help even more people,” Alice rolls her eyes at your response.

“For this next part we’re going to put up article headlines talking about how you’re the most private Avenger, even more so than Natasha. So just tell us why you’re so private.”

“There isn’t all that much to say, I’m just a private person,” Alice makes a keep going gesture from behind the camera. “I’ve always been pretty private and I was only thrust into the limelight when I joined the Avengers Initiative. I do my job to help people not to get recognition, that’s what my career has always been about. I never felt the need to post a lot of selfies online or make a tweet about the workout I just did. People are allowed to do those things, and there’s nothing wrong with that, I’ve just never understood why people would care what I’m doing in my day to day life.”

“Do you feel safe in the compound?” the question comes out of left field and you aren’t sure why it’s being brought up.

“Of course I feel safe! I’m in a highly secured compound with my fellow Avengers, there’s nothing safer.”

“One last question, everyone is dying to know, what’s your relationship status?” Alice even seems like she’s interested in the answer.

“Like I said before, I am a very private person, but I suppose I could answer this. For the whole two people wondering about my relationship status, I am single at the moment. I’ve just been really focusing on my job, and I’ve learned that people don’t necessarily like coming second to my job and my friends.”

“Thank you,” Alice smiles. “Can you send Bucky over next?”

You do as you’re told, search out Bucky and send him on his way to the dining room. Instead of heading to sweet freedom, your room, you loiter and watch Bucky’s intro interview. “Sergeant Barnes, what has it been like joining the Avengers and how has everyone treated you?”

“It’s been okay and mostly everyone-” Bucky gets cut off by Alice.

“Make sure you put the question in your answer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky is clearly starting to get agitated with all of the focus and cameras on him.

“Say something like joining the Avengers has been really good, it’s helping me get better with teamwork again blah blah blah. The team has welcomed me in and it’s reminiscent of my time in the Army, something like that,” Bucky gives one nod, turning back to the camera in front of him.

“Joining the Avengers has been really good, it’s helping me get better with teamwork again,” you bring your hands to your mouth to stifle your laugh at Bucky repeating you word for word. “The team has welcomed me in and it’s reminiscent of my time in the Army.”

“Okay,” Alice draws the word out at Bucky’s lack of originality. “Who would you say your best friends on the team are?”

“Steve,” Bucky responds without thinking, and Alice tells him to mention at least one other person. “Other than Steve, probably (Y/N).”

You're shocked, but flattered, by his response. Sure, he may have just said that because you were right there and staring at him, but maybe he meant it. Maybe all of those nights on the couch with him meant something to him.

“Oh really?” asks, clearly liking whatever spin she’ll eventually put on this conversation in editing.

“Yeah, she um, she was the first one to really welcome me and spend time with me,” he rubs his neck nervously.

“Just like (Y/N), you’re really private too,” you take a step forward seeing that the questioning is starting to put Bucky on edge.

“Cause it’s no one's business,” Alice, thankfully, doesn’t push.

“Are you ever worried you may do something to put your team members in danger?”

That’s enough!” your voice comes out firmer and louder than you imagined it would, drawing the attention of the rest of the Avengers. “Bucky isn’t going to sith there and take your abuse, his interview is done.”

You hold your hand out to him, and he jumps to grasp it, gripping it like it’s his lifeline. You’ve never touched Bucky before, and you keep your brain from running at how warm and nice his right hand feels in your own. You lead him out of the room, away from the prying eyes, and the now constant camera presence. You pull Bucky to your favorite room in the compound, the library. You deposit him on the comfy chaise lounge in the middle of the room while you go grab two books. You come back with Harry Potter for you, and The Hobbit for him, you had heard him talking to Steve about the movies once and learned he read it back in the day.

Little do you know, the littlest action of knowing Bucky’s favorite book on top of the way you stood up for him out there means more to Bucky than he’ll ever know how to express. It thaws his frozen heart just a little.

#fictober23 #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #kat rambles #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

108 notes · View notes