#Can't a girl go inactive
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would you ever deactivate? i never see you on here anymore and i wondered if you were gone
Sensing you want me to delete
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hi!! for people coming from twitter, can you rec some active exo blogs 🥺 doesn't have to be ccs
hi there! i apologize for taking so long, i saw this earlier and forgot until now 😓 but i wanted to be on my computer so i could check out the blogs i follow and send as much recs as posible 💛 so yeah, not all are exo-centric but i've seen them posting exo and also do remember to reblog the content from the ones who make! 💞 (ps. some might be inactive but i'm adding them as well <3)
@byunvoyage - @sefuns - @jonmyoen - @kaibility - @exo-stentialism - @zyx - @yixing-zhang - @dazzlingkai - @x-exo - @jaennie - @iyeolie - @taeminnomuyeppeo - @sehunlyone - @kaiternity - @kiauraly - @oh-niceskirt - @xunqi - @dokyunqsoo - @adorkableejit - @softxingdae - @seshun - @my1ady - @elyxion - @theboytatu - @subaek - @baekwin - @whenxoxosmilesunshines - @jonginnation - @delhyun - @amaranth - @dayafterdae - @suuho - @user-jongdae - @untouchabyeolman - @young-jae - @highwaytoheaven - @yxxna - @wabisaba - @baekonbaek - @pinkbyun - @defloey - @tipannies - @digitalgirls - @oshzt - @lisanamjoon - @dandaelions - @kazbrckker - @neoexo - @byunbaekhyunie - @xingmyeons - @binsuns
#i know i must be missing people but </3#im just a girl i can't do much#aksdjkasjd#either way you can always check out the blogs other people reblog exo stuff from to!!#i had to add some inactive ones bc i cant read and also i have trouble letting go so#exo#answered
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an: a continuation of these perv!nanami headcanons. im a journalist for my work and i had so many deadlines this past week. sorry for slight inactivity !!!
synopsis: nanami knew he was in trouble when you mentioned you were a virgin. he's been obsessed with bedding you ever since then
cw: perv!nanami, creampie, overstimulation, slight power imbalance, virgin afab! reader
nanami felt his own heart pounding when he opened the his apartment door for you. you looked so sweet, so delicate in the mini soft pink sundress you wore. your lips upturned into that shy flirty smile of yours that always drove him crazy. you looked good enough for him to eat whole.
he wondered if his intentions had been clear enough when he invited you over for the first time. unknowingly or not, you teased him relentless for weeks and weeks, from batting your doe eyes at him to slowly, day by day, showing up to his office at work in a much more revealing outfit than yesterday. you made him mad with lust.
and now he has you squirming on his couch, panties soaked and pulled aside with his thick fingers sliding in and out of you, thumb rubbing on top of your clit.
"that's it princess. you're doing so good," he says softy into your thigh, digging his fingers even deeper inside you. "need to stretch you out first."
"p-please i can't..." you mewl out. "it feels too g-good!"
"i know, i know. don't fight it, stay with me love." he reassures. determined to give you your first orgasm, he took out his digits and fully removed your pretty pink panties, diving into your wet heat, savoring and licking up all your deliciousness. the deep heat you felt down inside blossomed into a bright, mind numbing feeling that took over your whole being, as if you were floating on a cloud.
"good?" he asked.
you nodded, your head in a haze. never in your life have you felt this good, and you didn't want him to stop.
"im going to fuck you now. okay?"
"o-okay..." you watch him strip down to boxers, wondering how much trouble you would be in taking his girthy length.
"just relax," he whispers hovering on top of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders.
you felt his tat tip rubbing at your slick entrance, feeling every inch of him slide into you until he was fulling seated. it felt like he was slowly ripping you apart.
"kento, it hurts..." you whine.
"shh..ill go slow."
your pussy was intoxicating, so tight and snug around his cock, like a fitted glove. the fact that he was even fucking your little virgin pussy made him want to cum instantly, but he refrained, fucking deep long stokes into you.
"so fucking good," he moaned. "like you were made for me."
your eyes started to roll into the back of your head with pleasure as each stroke of his fat cock filled your pussy up. the living room filled with your soft whimpers and moans that made nanami's cock impossibly harder.
"i want to cum in your sweet little pussy. will you let me?"
too much of a daze, you nodded your head yes. loads and loads of his warm cum filled deep inside your womb. nanami pulled out, leaving the rest of the sticky substance to drip on to your inner thighs.
you didnt realize how tight you were gripping nanami's shoulders until he pulled off you, red finger marks rippled along his collarbones.
still fucked out, you rolled into his arms, where he holds you so dearly as if you were a piece of fine china he was scared to drop.
"good girl," he mumbled into your hair. "taking my cock so perfectly."
next time he would fuck you even harder, faster. he wanted to absolutely drunk on his cock, like it was only thing you knew. and since he was so blessed to be the one to take your virginity, he wouldn't let anyone else inside you.
#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen nanami#nanami smut#nanami kento smut#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami x y/n#kento nanami#nanami x fem!reader
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🫂 inside! — p.sh
oral (m), p in v (p), pet names, smut 18+
virgin!sunghoon who begs you, his bestfriend to fuck him. at first, you refuse, giggling and telling him there's no rush to lose his virginity. however, he's so persistent that you give in — when sunghoon's black-out drunk, he can't even stand up on his own, yet he's babbling and begging you to 'help him out.' so, you promise him that if he can remember this when he wakes up in the morning— you'll think about it.
lucky for him, he does. after getting over his terrible hangover you're the first person he calls, "y/n-ah!" you can hear his cheeky smile through the phone. "guess what?"
"what is it, 'hoon?" your voice is hoarse as you lay in bed. "i remember... you have to fuck me and you can't say no!" the excitement in his voice makes you irresistibly happy — you're more than content to assist him. a small chuckle escapes your lips, "okay, hoonie. whatever you want."
virgin!sunghoon who makes the cutest facial expressions, watching you suck him off. he throws his head back, eyes beginning to water, "f-fuck!" sunghoon huffs, you swirl your tongue around his pretty pink tip before shoving his full length down your throat once again. one of your hands gently cups his balls, softly squeezing while the other strokes the base of his shaft. the poor baby doesn't know what to do with himself — where to put his hands. "oh, shit... y/n, y/n, y/n..." he chants your name again and again. just as his hips up into your mouth you pull yourself up and off of his cock. leaving him shaking and whining.
you thought about it for a while, explaining to sunghoon that you wouldn't just fuck him. instead, you wanted him to fuck you — after all, that's the only way he'd learn.
virgin!sunghoon who asks you to close your eyes as he aligns the head of his dick with your sticky cunt. "p-please close y-your eyes... d-don't watch me..." when you ask him why, he tells you he might cum just from the eye contact — so you do. you can feel him stretching you out with every inch, he's only halfway , whimpering and moaning wildly. incoherent 'thank yous' and swears leave his lips, agape and drooling.
"shit, shit y/n's so tight , warm, i can't do it..." he's only just bottomed out, he's not even moving, yet sunghoon's cock's throbbing and twitching — on the verge of spilling inside of you. "it's okay, hoonie. just move a little for me, baby." he nods feverishly, slowly dragging his sensitive dick in between your tight, gummy walls that clench around him so well. the knot in his stomach quickly winds and unwinds itself, he snaps his hips into your heat, hot-ooey cum filling the condom he wore. however, he doesn't stop thrusting. "w-what are you doing? you already came, sungie."
"i-i know but... 'wont stop until you... ah! until you cum..."
virgin!sunghoon who overstimulates himself, fucking you with a swollen dick and a full condom until you cum. "ah... sunghoon, fuck! i'm cumming, wait — oh, damn! yeah..."
(no longer) virgin!sunghoon who's proud to say he lost his virginity to you, his pretty best friend. he's also very proud to say he made a beautiful girl cum undone on his cock.
guidelines and disclaimers! | sorry for my inactivity ! i've been sort of busy, but i go on break very soon 😋
#lil-ma-shae#fem!reader#fanfiction#enhypen hard hours#enha smut#enha hard hours#enhypen smut#enhypen#enha#enhypen x reader#enha x reader#park sunghoon#sunghoon smut#sunghoon x reader#enha hyung line#park sunghoon smut#poc!reader
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶
NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use
chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 11: In the Beginning...
——Then——
In the beginning…
It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.
No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.
“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”
Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.
Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”
Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.
After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.
The phone rang.
He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.
“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.
“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.
He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”
Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.
“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”
————
In the beginning…
It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.
It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.
Following the Munson name.
————
In the beginning…
It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.
The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—
That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.
Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.
Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”
“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.
There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.
Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”
“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”
“You know why.”
The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.
“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.
Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.
Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..
“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.
“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”
The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.
That was the final straw.
She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”
Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.
“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”
Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.
The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.
Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..
Embarrassment, failure, freak..
Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.
Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..
“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.
Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”
Eddie froze.
Her.
Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.
Her.
He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.
The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”
“C’mon, Ed—”
“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”
“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”
Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”
There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.
He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..
Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.
Already, he failed.
Already, he was worthless.
Already, he was alone.
Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.
——Now——
Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.
His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.
“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.
The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.
“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.
Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”
Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.
Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.
You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.
He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”
Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”
“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.
Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.
“I wanna go,” you assured gently.
However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.
He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.
The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.
Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.
His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”
And you were pushed.
Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.
The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.
Soft music played from the radio station.
Riders on the Storm.
Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.
Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.
But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”
The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.
You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.
Now was not the time to bother him.
In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.
For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.
He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.
The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.
Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.
Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.
He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.
Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.
Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.
Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.
Lightning revealed his weary frown.
At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.
Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.
Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.
“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.
It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.
The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.
Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.
Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.
This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.
Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.
At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.
Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.
The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.
She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.
The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?
You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.
Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.
Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.
Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.
Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.
“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”
When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.
Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.
His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”
Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.
“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.
As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.
Never good enough for anyone to stay.
Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.
“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.
In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.
“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.
“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”
—Oh.
“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.
He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.
The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.
His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.
“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.
Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”
Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.
“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”
With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.
Across the Universe.
Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.
His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.
Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.
Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.
“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.
Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”
An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”
And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.
Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.
Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.
You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.
Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”
“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”
The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.
Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.
You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”
Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.
He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.
Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.
And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”
Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.
But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.
“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.” The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”
Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”
You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”
“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”
Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”
Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.
Eddie took an anticipatory breath.
The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.
“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”
A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.
Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”
His shame was only beginning to unravel.
“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”
“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.
Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.
“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all.
Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.
Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.
“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.
In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.
She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”
Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.
“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”
“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”
He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.
“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”
Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.
Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.
“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”
“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.
Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”
Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.
Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”
Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.
“That hurt,” Adrie complained.
“Ow,” you agreed.
“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.
At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”
Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”
Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.
Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.
“Are you feeling better?”
Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.
Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”
They blinked at you. You blinked back.
“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.
“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.
The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.
“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.
Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”
He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.
The night was really fucking long.
Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.
“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.
A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”
Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.
“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.
Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.
“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”
The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.
Working man arms defined your waist.
Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.
He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.
“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”
His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”
“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”
“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”
“Or, what about when—”
Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.
You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.
“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.
Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”
Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”
“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”
“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.
Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”
“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”
“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”
Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.
“Jesus Christ, woman.”
Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.
Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.
Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.
——Then——
In the beginning…
Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.
Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.
“Can I live with you?”
Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.
The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.
Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.
Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.
His uncle never took his room back.
Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.
He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.
Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”
The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.
“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.
“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”
Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.
Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.
But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.
Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”
As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.
“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”
“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.
Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.
Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.
Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.
He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.
——Now——
Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.
“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.
“I was,” he confirmed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”
Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”
Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.
Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.
—Mom.
No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.
“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.
He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.
And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.
It was unfathomably dark in his living room.
Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)
"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.
In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—
But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.
"Daddy?" she checked.
The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.
He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"
"I wish Miss Mouse was here."
Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.
"I wish she was my mom."
"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson smut#the yes policy
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❝First time❞
Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader
Warnings: Smut. +18. First time (hers). He's older (only two years, but, you know). Unprotected sex (do not do it please¡!).
Summary: You and him have a secret relationship, because he is two years older than you, and in fact, he is your brother's best friend. So, this is the first time they have had sex, basically..
The plot of this One Shot is totally mine and my imagination.
I have changed my W account, so you can find this in Spanish in my new wattpad account (delicateew)
Remember that English is not my language so it may contain several errors, please be patient with me
Don't translate this, or adapt it, or anything like that into Spanish, I'll do it, because it's my language. Thank you!
And I want to apologize for being inactive for too long, just things happened to keep me busy, so so sorry:(
(that's not my gif)
____ was in her room, Theo sitting in the desk chair, reading a book for one of his exams, and she on top of him, her face hidden in his neck.
"Fuck, I already read twenty pages and none of the information stuck in my head."
The girl closed her eyes and stroked the opposite's hair.
"You're going to get frustrated and stressed and it's going to make you sick. Relax and go back to reading them patiently.."
"I have no choice..." she let out a sigh and continued reading the book.
Minutes later, she felt his hand fall heavily on her thigh, but she said nothing.
She opened her eyes as he began to caress her thigh, it felt like tickling, but strange.
She began to hold her breath the moment he squeezed it and began to sink his fingers into it.
It felt strangely good.
Theodore gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on the book, but every time he felt her breath on his neck or her leg brushing against him, it was getting harder and harder.
He tried to ignore it but to no avail. Finally, he closed the book and set it aside, sighing deeply.
"I can't concentrate like this with you.." she murmured, bending down to stroke his cheek. Nott leaned closer, his lips barely brushing hers before he pulled back with a smile. "I really just can't resist you."
He kissed her slowly, placing his hand carefully on her neck.
He moved his hand up to her jaw, pulling her away from the kiss and ran his face to the side gently, so he could gain access and kiss her neck.
Theo gasped against her neck, running his lips along her soft skin. He tightened his fingers around her waist, letting out a choked breath when she tugged on his hair lightly.
His lips moved to her face again and kissed her.
She let out a barely audible moan as she felt his bulge grow between her legs.
Realizing it, he pulled away from her quickly.
"Fuck, I'm sorry.."
She denied, thinking about what he would answer her.
"I want to."
He looked up at the sound and suppressed a smile to look more serious.
"Are you sure...you don't have to, ____"
"Theo.. I really want to, I promise."
The Slytherin looked into her eyes, seeing that she was serious.
His lips curved into a slow smile. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and then began to unbutton her shirt, until it was off, revealing her bra.
He removed his own shirt and reconnected their lips. The hufflepuff closed her eyes, accepting his kiss. His tongue entered her mouth and ____ let herself be swept up in the moment.
Nott's hands traveled down her back, until they reached the clasp of her bra. He stood there for a few seconds until he managed to remove it, getting rid of it.
He knew she would feel embarrassed and insecure, so he preferred to continue kissing her to make her feel comfortable.
He got up from the chair, carrying her over to the bed and laid her down there.
Theo looked at ____ and slowly removed her skirt and underwear, after that, he unbuttoned her pants letting them fall down along with her boxers and moved even closer, brushing his member against her intimacy while he started to leave kisses all over her face, until he stopped at her lips.
Their lips joined in a deep kiss, with one of his hands he positioned his member at her entrance while with the other he caressed her cheek to soothe her.
Then, she parted the kiss as she felt him slowly enter, he for his part, continued to leave kisses on her cheek and neck as a way of soothing her.
Soon, he was completely inside. He was so careful and gentle that she barely felt a little sting, but it didn't hurt.
"You tell me when you're ready, my sweet." he said waiting for permission to continue or if she felt uncomfortable, to leave things just there.
"You can move now.." he whispered, trying to get used to the strange sensation.
Theo, without taking his eyes off her, slowly, began to move slightly, prioritizing that she was comfortable and felt safe.
When he saw her satisfied face, he began to increase his speed and intensity, but without allowing himself to be so rough or go at the pace he wanted, so as not to hurt her.
Still, ____ began to feel increasing pleasure.
She felt him going in and out so satisfyingly, it felt incredibly good, it was like nothing else in the world.
As it was all happening, she began to scratch his back, and somehow that turned him on more.
He with his hands fixed on her hips, spreading kisses down her neck and leaving several marks along the way.
Theo let out a moan of pleasure that was impossible to contain. His rhythm became louder and faster, feeling himself getting closer to the edge.
"Merlin, I love you so much.."
He felt her walls tighten around him and seconds later he felt her cum.
It took only a couple more thrusts to stop, withdraw from inside her and cum, dripping into her abdomen.
"Oh, Merlin..." she relaxed her body and closed her eyes completely exhausted.
"Oh, my sweet, you can't fall asleep like this, let's clean you up first." he said stroking her hair.
____ felt like sleeping a lot, she didn't know if it was just because it was the first time, but if she closed her eyes for a moment more, she wasn't going to open them for a couple of hours..
"Although I admit you look pretty all smeared with my cum." he laughed
"Theo!" she rolled her eyes smiling.
She'd had her first time.
And she was pretty sure no one could have done it better than he did.
#one shot#+18 content#harry potter#harry potter smut#theodore nott#theodore nott smut#slytherin#slytherpuff#hufflepuff#slytherin boys#slytherin boys react#harry potter oneshot#theodore nott oneshot#wattpad#lorenzo zurzolo
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You belong with me — Charles Leclerc
You're Charles best friend and a famous singer. When he announces he is going to get married soon, people start to analyze your songs.
social media au
a/n: happy ending!! I got inspired by taylor's songs, I love her so much
charles' masterlist
charles_leclerc
she said yes 💍
liked by pierregasly, landonorris, arthur_leclerc and 693.183 others
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user1 no, I can't believe this. pls tell me isn't real
user2 you should marry y/n instead
user3 i'll cry myself to sleep
user4 our girl yourusername was meant to be your wife, not her
carlossainz55 congrats mate!
user5 you're team y/n and we all know it
yourusername I'm happy for you charless ❤️
user5 I'm so sad, i hope he regrets what he's doing
landonorris 😡😡 (comment deleted)
yourusername
new song will come out tomorrow, it's a little personal <3
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 923.162 others
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user1 another song for charles??
user2 my girl need to express her feelings
user3 must be a sad song
user4 "it's a little personal" okay, that means this song will break my heart forever
landonorris I'm not ready for this
carlossainz55 either am I
charles_leclerc ❤️
user5 DON'T GET MARRIED
NEWS! famous singer, Y/N, is in love with Charles Leclerc?
In her latest song You're losing me the singer and songwriter reveals some important details about her love-life.
read more...
You can also read!
Five songs of Y/N dedicated to Charles Leclerc.
landonorris
do something, baby, say something tagged yourusername
liked by fernandoalo_oficial, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 553.123 others
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user1 lando is us
user2 say something @/charlesleclerc
user3 three days and charles still haven't showed up. patience isn't my best quality
user4 @/charlesleclerc your best friend openly confessed in a song she's waiting for you to choose her
user5 I would marry her
landonorris me too
user6 Lando! I'm supposed to be team Charles
user5 user6 we can be team Lando too
carlossainz55 🧐🧐
maxverstappen1 I'll go and get some popcorn
pierresgasly this is good entertainment
NEWS! Leclerc and his fiancée ended their relationship?
Some sources confirmed what some fans were waiting for. Charles Leclerc is interested in his best friend, the famous singer?
Read the article.
NEWS!
A month has passed and we’re all asking the same question, What happened between Leclerc and Y/L/N? Since the singer and songwriter has released her latest song, fans haven't stopped mentioning Charles Leclerc, her best friend. Leclerc has made no statement on the matter, nor of his future marriage (have they cancelled it?). Lando Norris and other Formula One drivers seem to be aware of the events, however the protagonist of our story has been inactive in his social media.
Some days ago, fans have met the Ferrari driver at Y/N concert. Does his presence mean they are still good friends or has he finally ended his relationship with his fiancée? Is Leclerc single now?
charles_leclerc
I belong with you 🤍 tagged yourusername
liked by yourusername, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 2.983.123 others
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landonorris WAR IS OVER
carlossainz55 I KNEW IT
carlossainz55 IM NOT BLIND CHICOS
user1 THANK YOU CHARLES
user2 finally our boy realized who was there for him all the time
pierresgasly 🥹 I'm so proud of you
maxverstappen1 finally, what took you so long?
pierresgasly he was an idiot
fernandoalo_oficial I want free tickets for her show, please!
user3 the world healed
#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc story#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc#leclerc#leclerc 16#f1 one shot#f1 x you#f1 fandom#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 instagram au
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"come on baby, show me what you got."
pairings ; soft dom!bf!wooyoung x fem!reader
warnings ; pussy licking (kitten licks oh my god.), squirting, woo is a tease lol, getting called baby by woo is just,, so hot, just.. short smut because he's been wrecking these days smh..
wn ; sorry i've been so inactive lately, i got caught up with work. making those $$$ yk to buy those sweet albums waiting for me ;p (requests are open but it'll take time T_T)
"wooyoungie.." whimpers. "stop.. need you inside me right now.." whimpers. again. wooyoung, who's head buried to your wet cunt constantly leaving small giggles and heavy breathings to your core which makes you even more wet. giving you head as much, denying your orgasms for like.. two times now, going to three. "oh, baby you taste so sweet." he said as he stuffs his fingers into your tight pussy, still sucking on your clit. "ah, youngie.. please..? i need to cum, please.." you bit your lip, wanting to come on his face since he didn't want to give his dick. oh, his dick? he's grinding so hard on the mattress, though he's leaking out of his sweats right now, he can't stop sucking on your sweet little cunt.
"baby, be patient alright..? i thought you were a good girl hm? why are you forcing me to fuck you while i'm not even done with my meal?" wooyoung slid his fingers in between your folds as he listens to your soft quiet moans. "mmh, i'd love to hear those more but louder." he said, pushing his fingers deep inside you, making you moan loudly. "music to my ears, baby." he quicken his pace, eyes watching your expressions and listening to your cute moans. "don't you want this so bad, hm? come on baby, show me what you got." the squelching sounds of his wet fingers and your cunt makes you go crazy. without his big cock, you would still manage to cum, even if it means by him eye-fucking you. "youngie.. ah, wanna cum.." your moans mixing with you heavy breathings, as you grips on his hair.
"i know baby. i wanna see your pretty little pussy wet so that i can taste it." his never ending praises just makes you so high. rolling your eyes back, you released on his slender fingers, along with your squirts going up his abs to his chin. he flinched, but gave you a teasing smile and licked it off as he's satisfied that he made you feel pleasured. he licked the remaining of your cum on his fingers clean, going back down to your heated wet cunt once again. "hold on tight doll." he said, gripping on your thighs to not let you squish his head while he suck off every cum you released. you whined at the contact between his tongue and your clit, being sensitive after.
after wooyoung was done, he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, eyes still glued to you. he saw that your eyes was glistening with tears. he went to wipe them, kissing your cheeks as he whispers, "baby, we're not done yet you know that right?" well, you guessed his dick really need to be pleasured too afterall.
-
the daddiest amongst all, jung wooyoung i need his cock so bad man wth </3 anyways um?!?!?!? i hope you did like this one since its............ the laziest out of all. but ok !! leave some wooyoung reqs cus i'm hungry for him fr
#ateez x reader#ateez#ateez smut#jung wooyoung#wooyoung#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung smut#jung wooyoung smut#hwathinker⦮⑅⦯#ateez fic#wooyoung fic#want wooyoung so bad
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yard work - chapter 6 (regina george x reader)
fandom:
Mean Girls (all media)
pairing:
Regina George x OFC/Reader
summary:
You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.
warnings(s):
2004 was not a good time for the gays. homophobia persists. insecurity about weight and insulting oneself about it.
chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 7
You dipped into your savings and got Regina a new, fancy moisturizer. You couldn't count on her using it instead of the lard, but well. Guide a horse to water, can't make it drink, and all that.
You didn't tell her about the Homecoming prank, though. She'd been pissed about that. Not for long, because then it turned into a sort of trend at Northshore and it only boosted her popularity.
You were perhaps more upset about it. Upset you'd let it happen, upset they'd done it in the first place, upset Regina stood there with Aaron. He didn't even look like he wanted to be there.
Regina managing to turn it around for her benefit didn't stop you from feeling bad. It was the principle of the thing. You'd taken some distance from her. Everybody, actually. People just didn't feel all that great to be around. You were betraying Regina by letting her be essentially bullied by Janis, you were tolerating Regina's abusive reign over the student body, Aaron was getting on your last nerve by simply existing, and your mom's death anniversary was coming up.
You went to the Georges' less. Regina came to yours when you didn't lie about having to catch up on homework or doing a project. You did do some yard work for them since you still needed the extra cash. Just basic things like raking leaves and doing small repairs here and there. You also covered the pool with Mrs George's help.
"Whew, I forget what a chore that is every year!" She wiped at her forehead. You laid on the grass, chest heaving. You'd carried maybe seventy per cent of that thing.
"You said it, Mrs George." You managed to get out.
"How many years have I been telling you to call me Jude. Or just mom." You looked up at her. She looked so much like Regina. Or Regina looked so much like her.
She'd known your mom. Cried harder at her funeral than your dad or even yourself. You hadn't really gotten it, at that point. She'd hugged you tight and told you what an amazing woman she was, that she hadn't deserved to go yet. She sent you food for weeks after, which you appreciated because dad was too busy sorting stuff out to cook for you.
She'd been more of a mom to you than your own had ever gotten to be. Still, it felt wrong to call her anything other than Mrs George. It was weird. Word association gone all wrong. Mom meant a casket being lowered into a hole on a bleak November day, an echoing house and an empty kitchen, sad and wistful things. Mrs George meant afternoons spent running around in the backyard, eating 'till your belly was full to bursting, happiness and summer.
"Many, many years." You groaned as you got up. "Is Reggie home?"
You figured it would be weird if you didn't go say hi, at least. You didn't want to cut her out entirely. It was just hard being around her when the weight of your own actions, and inactions, weighed on your shoulders.
She smiled in a way that told you she'd noticed your deflection. "In her room."
"Great. Oh, by the way, what did you do with the apples this year?"
"I convinced Rick to donate them to the women's shelter downtown. They'll be put to good use there."
"That's awesome," You put your hands to your hips and looked around. "Anything you want me to do?"
"I'll just hose down the rose bushes, you head on inside. Avoid the living room, Rick's on a conference call." She waved you off with a smile.
You trod through the house carefully, shoes in hand. You knew the Georges were a shoes-on household, but it just never felt right for you to walk on carpeted floors with your shoes on. What if you had stepped on dogshit? What then?
"Reg?" Her door was open a crack, so you peeked in. "You decent?"
"Yes, I'm decent." You could hear the eye roll in her voice. "What do you want?"
Yikes. She wasn't happy.
You walked in and closed the door behind you. She was on her bed, reading a book on her belly. She was snacking on some candy bar.
"I just came to say hi. I put the pool cover on with your mom." You walked up to her. "What're you reading?"
"I could hear you huffing and puffing all the way up here." She turned on her side to look at you. "The Catcher in the Rye. It's boring."
"I dunno, I liked it." You climbed in hesitantly. When she didn't protest, you settled down on your side facing her, head leaned against your palm.
"You've read it?" She tossed the book on the floor next to the bed, now giving you her full attention. "Can you write my paper?"
"Depends on how much you'll pay me." You grinned and rubbed your fingers together like you were handling cash.
"Boo, you whore." She pouted. "Aren't we supposed to be beyond that?"
"I don't do charity, my friend." You flopped onto your back and crossed your arms. Shit, she had a comfy bed. So soft but just firm enough, too. You let your eyes close. You were so tired from all that physical labour.
"Get off my bed, you traitor." You opened your eyes too late. She was already on you, pushing you, and you had no time to resist until you were toppling onto the floor. You clambered down in a mess of limbs and sheets, which you'd grabbed in your desperate attempt to stay aboard.
"Reg! Your bed is actually high up! Help me!" You felt like Mufasa clinging to the face of the cliff, fingers digging into the slippery bedding. One of your legs was still on the bed, but not securely enough that you would've been able to pull yourself to safety.
"Just put your leg on the floor, dumbass." She cackled, watching you panic over such a small drop.
"No, look, it's not that- close." You lowered your leg and your knee made contact with the floor. Regina fell back, gasping as she laughed. "Shut up, you teapot!"
"No! I'm not-" She tried to stifle the laughs escaping her, the real wheezing ones she didn't let out of their cage willingly, but one look at you set it off again. "Your hair!"
You lifted your hands to your head. "It's not my fault your sheets are fucking static."
By the time Mrs George came to inform you that she'd be starting on dinner, thus signifying you should probably go, Regina had stopped laughing, if just barely.
"Have you been using the moisturizer I gave you?" You tried to analyze her face. It didn't look any less flawless than usual.
"Yeah, it's really great. My old night lotion started smelling weird for some reason. Maybe it expired early or something." You just hummed in response.
"I should probably go home and make myself dinner too."
"I'll walk you down."
You walked down the stairs and to the backdoor, avoiding the living room despite the blaring of the TV. Mr George was definitely not on a call anymore.
"What're you making today?" Regina asked, standing somewhat awkwardly on the porch.
"Probably tacos. I found a great deal on some corn tortillas at the store. They're all going bad today, so. Gonna stuff myself."
"Save some for me, yeah?"
You weren't sure what she meant by that. "Sure."
You walked home and as you'd said, got started on dinner. Moving around the kitchen without Regina there in the way, chopping whatever vegetables into misshapen cubes, felt weird. She wasn't over that often, but you'd gotten used to it regardless.
It was perhaps your biggest flaw as a person, how intolerant you were to being alone. Ironic, considering how much time you had to spend alone.
If it was up to you, you would've made Birria tacos with a good cut of sirloin, but you didn't have the money for fresh cuts of beef. Besides, you hadn't even started on the stew, and that took a whole day. So, you settled on some basic ground beef filling. You had made Pico de Gallo earlier that day, so it was nice and flavourful by the time you were constructing your tacos.
Back when you'd still needed a babysitter, there had been this one Mexican lady who appeared on the roster most often. It was so long ago you couldn't remember her name. She'd made you call her Abuela. She was sweet and taught you the wonder of Latin American cuisine. From what you could understand, she'd been well-travelled and really loved food everywhere.
She stopped coming when all of your babysitters did. The last time you saw her, you hadn't known it would be the last time.
This time of year really made you a monster. A dull grey, depressing monster. You'd have to find some exciting hobby because even you were getting sick of this. Maybe cliff jumping?
A knock on your door was the last thing you expected when you were finally ready to chow down. Making such a huge amount of food took time.
"What?" You barked to whoever dared to disturb you. "Oh, shit."
"Is that how you greet all your dinner guests?" Regina asked, batting her eyelashes. She had on a deep red dress, shiny satin that licked at the curves and edges of her body just right. It reached all the way to her feet, where you could see black heels peeking out from under the hem. She stood taller than usual, but still so short you could see above her head. The dress was strapless as far as you could tell as her jacket was covering her shoulders. Sweetheart neckline and a clutch to match. She had a thin gold chain around her neck with a small R-charm on it. Gold hoop earrings, hair done up in curls.
A grin crept up onto her face as you continued to gape at her visage. "I know, right?" She posed, one hand holding the clutch at level with her thigh and one poised at her waist. "I'm so sexy."
"Yeah, uh, yes, you are." You stuttered, stunned and flustered. You wanted to touch her, feel the fabric of the dress with the tips of your fingers, grab a hold of her and press close to her. She looked so fucking good.
"Thanks, baby." She took a couple of steps forward to reach you and, nonchalant as could be, brushed her hand at your shoulder as if she were brushing off dust.
Your knees wobbled.
"I have dinner for us." You blurted out. "I, uh..." You needed to pull it together. "I'm gonna go change."
"You do that," Regina said with an indulgent smile. You shot up the stairs.
When you came back down, still tucking your shirt into your trousers and tie undone, Regina was sitting on the couch perusing a magazine. It was probably from last year or something, you didn't exactly update the stuff under the coffee table.
You coughed to get her attention. "Ready for dinner, Reggie?"
"Ugh, don't ruin the moment. Anything other than that."
"I'm Jorts and you're Reggie, that's how it's been." You reminded and gently plucked her clutch from her hands before gesturing for her to turn around. She did, looking a little confused. When you reached to take her jacket off, she recoiled.
"Um, I would like to keep it on." She said, the confidence from before diminishing.
"Oh, why?" You asked. "Are you cold?"
"No, it's just, um..." Regina George stammering. You didn't think you'd live to see the day. "I don't look like I used to before."
"What does that mean?" You checked her out, toes to forehead. Drop-dead gorgeous as always.
"I've gained a bunch of weight." She looked down as if she needed to be ashamed. "I barely fit into this gown. I had to suck in even with the Spanx. And I still look like a whale."
As much as you would've liked to be incredulous and loud about just how wrong she was, it didn't seem like the right course of action. She was being open and vulnerable with you.
"I don't think you look like a whale." You stepped close to her tentatively. You set the clutch on the coffee table. Then, just as tentatively, circled your arms around her. You slotted your fingers together at her lower back and pulled her to you so that your bellies touched.
"I couldn't hug a whale." You pointed out helpfully, leaning back slightly to still look her in the eyes. "I'd love to see the dress in its full glory."
Regina, hands fussing with unmade your tie, bit her lip in contemplation.
"Careful, don't mess up your lipstick." She rubbed her lips together at that, a smile threatening to break out.
"Fine. But you can't laugh or stare or anything."
"I swear." You put one hand on your heart and the other up. "Now turn around."
She did as you asked. "You're being awfully chivalrous."
"It's what you deserve, Reggie." You crooned jokingly, pulling the jacket from her shoulders. The dress was cut elegantly so that there were no straps, but bits of fabric hanging by her upper arms. Cold-shoulder. You hoped the jokes in your tone hid how nervous you were.
"What did I just say?" As if that little moment between you two hadn't even happened, she was right back to her normal self.
"Fine. But you'll always be my Reggie. I guess tonight we can pretend." You sighed. "Whatever you say, honey."
"Better." She turned and tugged at your tie. "Now, let's get you sorted."
"I had very little notice, okay?" You grumbled but bent down obediently so she'd have an easier time tying your tie. You'd used to play dress up mixed with house all the time. You'd nearly always been the dad and so, you had to wear a tie. Obviously. Mrs George had gotten tired of constantly being asked to do it, so she'd taught Regina.
Now, it felt a little different. For one, you were taller. Secondly, this wasn't a children's game. Maybe you were playing a little bit, pretending, but it didn't quite feel like that. There was something undeniably real about this.
"There." She said once she was finished, smoothing it out against your chest. "You couldn't find one matching the dress?"
"You're impossible to please." You chuckled. "I'll make sure to go tie shopping as soon as possible."
"Good." She liked to ignore your sardonic tone pretty often. "Now, what's on the menu?"
You tucked the rest of the shirt into your pants and, voila, you were done.
"Tacos, my lady." You offered up your arm half in jest. She hooked her wrist into the bend of your elbow with an incline of her head. Clearly, she was a girl that liked to be wined and dined.
You snuck a bottle from your dad's wine collection, hoping it wasn't some speciality. Looking at the label, it wasn't very old. Wine quality was assessed like that, right?
You ate your fills and then some, drinking wine all the while, then retreated to the couch to recover, and turned on the TV to watch while eating dessert. Sharing a pint of ice cream, curled up on the couch in fancy clothes, warm and away from the cold of late November, you wondered what had brought this on.
It wasn't an official date, that much you knew. Regina wasn't a lesbian like you. Maybe she was indulging you. That would mean she knew you had a crush on her. You hoped that wasn't true. Regina was an observant person, though. Fuck, that'd be humiliating.
It didn't feel like she was playing with you. It looked like she was having as much fun as you. Maybe she wanted to have a nice, romantic dinner without the pressure of having to impress or perform for her date.
It was nice she'd chosen you. Regardless of why she'd come here tonight, you were just glad she was with you. You'd had a lot of people leave, most of them never coming back. The exceptions to the rule were Regina and your dad. They were similar in that, but nothing else. When dad came back, he brought with him a never-pleased frown and a stifling presence. When Regina came back, she brought light.
She had her flaws. You had yours. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and Christmas would soon follow. You had no doubt that Janis had something nefarious planned for at least one of those events. Nothing was sure, things were undecided.
"I'm going for a smoke." You said when the episode ended.
"I'm coming with."
"You won't be getting one."
"I don't want it anyway. Cigarettes taste like shit."
You laughed and walked to the backdoor. Through it and onto the patio, you slumped onto the bench swing. Regina followed a lot more gracefully, heels chucked somewhere in the house, bundled up in the blanket she'd claimed as hers since the first time she slept over. She sat next to you and spread it over both your laps. You hummed in thanks and lit up.
Regina might've been a massive bitch. She had, and there was no denying it, done some awful things. And maybe it was fucked up for you to like one part of a person and not the whole of them, but did that count if you were sure that the undesirable part was all a facade?
"So..." You started. "Better than any of the dates Aaron took you to?" You couldn't help but ask. Veiled under a joke, you hoped your jealousy didn't show.
"Don't be cocky." She admonished, resembling her mom almost creepily. "He didn't really take me out."
"What? Why?" If you could openly date Regina there wouldn't be a limit to how much you'd be taking her out, showing her off to anybody who'd listen.
"How should I know?" She shrugged indignantly. "We broke up a little after Homecoming."
"What? I didn't hear about this."
"Really? I thought you would've since it was pretty big news for a while." You didn't want to admit you'd been purposefully avoiding rumours about the couple for the majority of their relationship. "He outlived his purpose."
"The Halloween Party and Homecoming." You clarified and she nodded.
You took a drag. Regina pulled what seemed like a candy bar out of her clutch. It was the same brand she'd been eating earlier today.
Considering she'd been insecure about her weight, you didn't comment on it. You took another drag. You couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something weird.
"Hey, can I look at the packaging of that?"
Wordlessly, Regina handed it over. You looked at the product info. Great, it was all in Swedish.
"Where'd you get these?"
"Cady got me a box of them. They're good for weight loss. Like, they just burn all your carbs." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked back at the product info. The numbers didn't seem like that of a weight loss product.
You didn't like she was eating something that would empty her stomach right after dinner. That couldn't have been healthy.
"You're trusting something Cady gave to you?"
She tilted her head, as if about to question you. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again.
"Shut up. Shut up."
You took a long drag.
Taglist:
@autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared
(i keep forgetting to add this note. comment on this post if you want on the taglist!)
#mean girls#mean girls 2004#mean girls 2024#regina george#regina george x reader#regina george x you#regina george x oc#regina george x ofc#renee rapp#mean girls x reader#lesbian regina george#mean girls musical#mean girls movie#mean girls broadway#wlw#fic: yard work
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Hush Hush Honey:
A guide on how to regulate oversharing and balancing the conversation flow.
Each one of us has at least been in a situation where we accidentally ended up spilling more than we should. We do recognise the patterns but are unable to control ourselves. That's why your girl Ash-says is here to say a lot about it.
1) Find the why
What are you trying to achieve by sharing that piece of information? Drama? Attention? Get it off your chest? Is it important to inform them? Is it valuable to them?etc.
First tackle the why. Before you go in to reveal something ask yourself if it goes with the conversation flow and if yes is it really important to share it.
2) Are you a celebrity?
No like why? Who is interested in your life so much? Are those people paparazzi to broadcast your current events and bring you fame? No right. So shut up.
3) Who puts their dirty laundry on display?
When you overshare you are basically putting all your secrets, stuff that you do or did on blatant exposure. People are going to judge you. That's the very nature. So breathe and keep it inside.
4) Try to listen more
Train yourself into listening more than speaking especially in group settings or around people that you don't know much about. Gossip is real. You don't want to be the next tea time sensation.
5) Alternatives for talkative people:
Now I know you might be thinking can't say this can't say that then how the hell am I going to bond with people or what should I converse about?
I have developed a solution for you. It's Ash verified because I myself have been using it unknowingly for around 7 years of my life.
Never open your mouth for passing judgements, expressing your opinions on things that do not relate to you, your dirty laundry, secrets, family issues, relationship issues, your sex life, your goals and aspirations, your daily routine, your political standpoint,etc you get where I am going right?
Instead speak about the experiences you had while travelling somewhere, some goofy stuff that happened to you, your harmless vice for example: I am clumsy so I have a lot of incidents that occur due to it which can be told in a funny way. It adds a nuance to my perfectionist image plus helps people warm up to me. Movie shows, songs, etc here also there's a catch if you relate to a show/song/ piece of literature strongly never reveal it. The smart ones will understand the inner workings of your mind.
Never let them know your next move.
If nothing of this then goof around being nonsense. Do little hand gestures, funny faces if you are bored but never overshare.
6) Be mindful of interruption
Practise practise practise. Literally that's the only way. Try not to interrupt people while speaking. There's no roundabout way. It is what it is.
7) Be comfortable in silence
You have to be okay with the conversation dying down. Running your mouth dry will only result in one sided convo. It's more useless and harmful than the one mentioned before.
8) Know your limits
Fix in your brain what you can share and what you can't. Stick to it. Even over your dead body.
9) Be genuinely interested in people
Ask yourself are you asking questions to really get to know the other person or just looking for a chance to talk about yourself? Dethrone yourself first and then interact with others.
10) Put out stuff that you are over with
Always remember what you say can and will be used against you. Drill it and from next time when you speak be mindful that every word can stand against you. Do you have the capacity to handle the consequences? Yes then go ahead. No, then stop live streaming.
Bonus point: Be as private as possible on social media. People don't need to know what you are doing nowadays. Privacy is power. What they don't know they can't ruin.
Strategically put things out. I am not saying be inactive. In Rome you live like the Romans. Do it smartly.
That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.
#girlblogging#glow up#it girl#self care#that girl#gaslight gatekeep girlboss#self love#becoming that girl#dark feminine energy#becoming her#wellness#advice#motivation#self development#self help#self improvement#dream girl aesthetic#dream girl#it girl aesthetic#pink pilates girl#pink pilates princess#coquette#ash-says#femme fatale vibes#femme fatale#feminine energy#level up journey#level up tips#thewizardliz#wonyoungism
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I absolutely LOVED your dreaming if you cheacting reaction! For the event, can you do a reaction where you dream they cheat? thanks so much i absolutely love your writing pooks 🤭
# WHEN YOU DREAM OF THEM CHEATING ON YOU ; 7riize.
⚝ bf!riize x fem!reader | fluff | bf au
⚝ note ; sorry for the inactivity guys!! i graduated highschool earlier this week so i took some time to rest and celebrate with my friends hehe <3 and thank u !! sorry for the wait, i hope u like this :3
# SHOTARO.
- you don't believe your dream at all, and neither does shotaro when you tell him about it the next day. the both of you know how committed and loyal you are with each other, so while the dream is somewhat disturbing, it's soon forgotten with laughs, a quick kiss from shotaro, and watching your favorite movie while cuddling.
# EUNSEOK.
- don't get him wrong, he loves you to bits, but he can't help but burst out laughing when you complain about your nasty dream. like him??? cheat on you????? you're so silly <3 but of course, he'll comfort and reassure you that he would never. seals that promise with a long kiss and princess treatment all day.
# SUNGCHAN.
- it's just a dream, but he feels terrible about it. to prove to you that he has never cheated on you (and never will tbh he's so in love with you), he lets you go through his phone and do whatever you need to be assured that he isn't living a double life behind your back. once you're relieved, he smothers you with kisses and whispers of 'my only lover' and 'my prettiest girl' <3
# WONBIN.
- like sungchan, he feels so bad about it. will hold you close and reassure you that he'll never do that to you, pressing soft kisses to your hands while he holds them, tracing random shapes on to them with his fingers. he'll be apologizing too, even though he didn't do anything wrong. pretty boy just wants you to feel better and reassured that he'll love you and you only :(
# SEUNGHAN.
- absolutely disgusted. he'll never do that to you, but the fact that he did in your dreams makes him sick to the stomach. even after you've told him it's just a dream and you'll forget all about it, he won't stop apologizing and telling you how much he loves you. will kiss you from head to toe while showering you in compliments, saying things like 'my baby with the prettiest eyes' and 'my baby with the cutest smile' <3
# SOHEE.
- treats you like a princess for the rest of the day. he'd never cheat on you, but he wants to make it up to you for the terror the dream threw on you. cooks (or tries to cook) breakfast for you, takes you out for your favorite overpriced coffee and buys you a dress you've been wanting for a while, and ending the night with cuddles and endless kisses and whispered promises :(
# ANTON.
- he's so confused because he would never!!! tells you just that with a warm kiss and an arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you close to him, and proceeds to list out an entire list of reasons why he'd never cheat on you and what he loves most about you. ends up with the both of you falling in love with each other more than ever, glad that it was all just a stupid dream.
© anton-luvr, 2023.
taglist : @wonbons @mxlly143 @keehobaldboy @shawyle @yenart (drop an ask to be added to my taglist!)
#sarah's 400 ! ☆#riize#riize fluff#riize angst#riize drabbles#riize fics#riize imagines#riize scenarios#riize reactions#riize anton#riize sohee#riize seunghan#riize wonbin#riize sungchan#riize eunseok#riize shotaro
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Summary Ethan knew Quinn was going to attack his friends - but the deal was to keep you as unharmed as possible. Unfortunately Quinn had never really liked you.
tags violence, wounds, blood, spoilers for scream iv, fem reader
word count 1380
a/n first time writing for scream! Recently watched it cuz of jack and wow…. Such a great movie like what. Anyway I decided to write this and I hope it's not all too bad :) enjoy. For the ppl that follow this account I'm so sorry I've been so inactive, I'll try post more <3
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It had happened quicker than you would've thought - in the span of a few seconds Tara and Sam's roommate (whom you didn't know well) is being shoved out of her room, blood splattering over the floor and Anika, who was pulled to the floor with the - now - dead Quinn.
She screeches as Quinn's dead body pulls her down with it, landing on her back on the hard floor. Everyone's screaming for yelling, but nothing registers in your mind as the infamous masked killer looks behind the door.
You're frozen, you've never been directly attacked by Ghostface, you've only heard about it from your friends who've been the victims before. "Go, go, go!" Sam yells and you nearly miss the sight of Chad dragging Tara behind him in a hurry to leave the apartment, their steps vanishing under the noise.
Sam is pushing against the door but with one harsh shove Ghostface is standing in front of you again. Sam runs to the kitchen, yelling something about getting knives, and you're left with the two other girls and whoever was under the mask.
Mindy's upper arm is slashed and bleeding profusely, "Shit, we gotta-" while you're all distracted trying to find a way out Ghostface manages to get in, knife raised. "Fuck!" You curse when Anika doesn't hesitate and pushes the killer to the floor.
They gather themselves quickly - too quick for Anika and Mindy to escape. They seem to almost completely disregard you as they charge for Mindy. You had no idea why they were focusing on her but you used it to your advantage.
With fast steps you're clinging to their back, arms around their throat to hinder them from hurting your friends even more. God, how you wished Ethan was here right now.
"Go, get out of here!" They look at you with conflicted faces but Mindy was in pain and could barely stand by herself. "I'll get back as soon as I can!" Anika whimpers.
When they leave the killer chuckles, "They left you all alone. Great friends," you're thrown off by the voice and the comment, your grip loosening. They seemed to have expected it and they rip your arms away, pinning you to the wall behind you.
"Fuck you," you growl and try kicking somewhere it'd hurt. You don't see the knife until it's in your abdomen and a painful scream rips from your throat.
The pain is hot white, searing through your body as they push the knife further upwards slowly, your blood oozing past their hand.
Your head is thrown back against the wall and you can almost feel your consciousness slipping from the numbing pain.
"Not today!" Sam suddenly yells and hits Ghostface over the head with something you can't decipher. They distinctly groan and fall to the floor again, you slumping over only barely holding onto the table next to you. Sam calls your name but you can barely move your hand from where it's pressing against the big wound.
"Fuck," she curses under her breath, "We gotta get out of here."
She helps you lay your arm over her shoulders and you try your best to walk with her, but the killer gets up again. You just cry out when you have to hide in Quinn's room.
There's blood on the floor - probably from when she was stabbed earlier - and Sam helps you sit on the bed as she hurriedly pushes a dresser in front of the door.
You're aware that the only way out is now blocked and you're close to giving up when Sam gasps. Looking up you see her reaching for something until she pulls- a ladder? forward and into the room.
She hurries to you and grabs your face in her bloodied hands, you recognize it as yours, "Okay, you'll have to climb over, the others are there, okay?" Everything is blurry when she pulls you over to the window, the ladder looking way too unsteady to safely get anything across this 10ft drop.
"Sam…" she's busy pushing the dresser back in place so you speak up again, "Sam, I won't be able to do this." She shakes her head and tries to interrupt but you stop her, "You go first. I'll be right behind, okay?" You manage a shaky smile and she's conflicted but there's shouts from the other apartment, her boyfriend and your friends waiting for you to make your decision.
She groans in frustration but nods, "Right behind me." She emphasizes and climbs onto the metall.
Your head falls down to your chest in exhaustion again, your blood staining your entire lower body a dark red.
You can hear the creaking from where Sam was climbing over until there's a shout of relief and soon your name, "Climb!"
It takes at least a minute to even walk to the window and by the time you've moved half a meter the dresser is pushed and the door is close to opening.
Your heart is beating so fast you're afraid it'll just completely stop any moment now, but with the encouragement and the thought of your boyfriend at home you manage to move across halfway before they reach the window.
Your friends go suspiciously quiet so you look up, "What?" That snaps them out of it and Chad yells for you to hurry up.
You catch a glimpse of someone storming into the apartment as well, and then curly hair and brown eyes are all you see as Ethan reaches towards you, "Grab my hand!" You whimper but the killer seems to have gone quiet on the other side so you remove the hand that was clutching your stomach and reach out.
You're shaking but manage to grab his hand and he pulls you through the window and into his arms. You feel tears leak out of your eyes and fall down your cheeks onto his shoulder before your head lolls to the side and your vision goes black.
-
When you wake up there's people moving around you and your head feels woozy. "She's up," one of them says and people are moving out of the way as someone rushes to your side.
"How are you feeling?" He asks and you turn to him, your eyes clearing to see it's Ethan. His eyes are wide and he doesn't know where to put his hands, awkwardly hovering over you.
A smile breaks out on your face and you grab his hand, feeling better than before. "Like I got stabbed?" You joke. He huffs but looks relieved and puts a hand on your cheek, thumb stroking under your eye.
"Do you know how scary it was when Chad called me and said you were trapped with Ghostface?" His voice is still a little shaky and you can see he was terrified. "Well I'm fine now," you offer.
He grunts and shrugs, "Sure you are." His hand falls from your cheek to your abdomen where a thick bandage is wrapped around. "They said you almost died because of the blood loss." He whispers, more to himself than to you and his hands are shaking.
"Oh, Ethan," you mumble and pull him closer with an arm around his neck. His shoulders are shaking and you can feel his tears against your neck. You keep him close to you, one hand buried in his hair. You smile at Tara who was standing a bit further away with the others.
Mindy had her arm wrapped in bandages and the others were seemingly discussing something. Tara nudges Chad with her elbow and he looks at her before his eyes move to you and his roommate cradled in your arms.
He smiles before smirking and taking his phone out and taking a picture. You chuckle and roll your eyes, holding your middle finger up, smile not leaving your face.
#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry#jack champion#jack champion x reader#scream#scream iv#scream 6#chad meeks martin#mindy meeks martin#ghostface#anika kayoko#sam carpenter#tara carpenter
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The Bad Batch Finale - Thoughts and Thanks
Before I get into spoiler territory, I want to say the most sincere "thank you" I've ever mustered to this fandom.
I've been in fan spaces before, going back almost 15 years - most of that on Tumblr, to boot. I've been in inactive fandoms, small fandoms, big fandoms and "we're watching new episodes together in real time" fandoms ...
And none of them have ever given this sense of community and support. Ever.
There really is something special about The Clone Wars/Bad Batch fans, even within the Prequel lovers or Star Wars fans in general that breeds this kind of sentiment. It's truly unique and I found it at a time in my life when I was the most isolated physically from my support network and struggling to make new friends and connections IRL.
I cannot express in words just how much you all saved me with your validation and support.
The Shades of Blue series was the first fanfic I actually felt comfortable leaving a comment for on Tumblr, and the amazing @the-rain-on-kamino's kind and loving reaction gave me the courage to start writing fanfiction again. Not only that, but actually sharing it for the first time in years.
And after that, everyone else came in one at a time. From @deejadabbles and @sev-on-kamino's delightful, rabid and enabling reactions to my unhinged thots, to @wings-and-beskar supporting my unhealthy Wrecker obsession, to @l-lend being an absolute example of how to engage and interact in fan spaces to make room for everyone, to @wild-karrde, our bastion of supportive engagement and creative celebration (and a kickass writer in her own right) ... you all helped me come out of my shell in ways I can't express in words besides thank you.
@dystopicjumpsuit, @freesia-writes. @anxiouspineapple99, @dickarchivist, @wizardofrozz @523rdrebel
@starrylothcat @starqueensthings @the-bad-batch-baroness @multi-fan-dom-madnessand @moonlightwarriorqueen
You all have listened to my rambles, thoughts, and vent sessions - whether about fandom stuff or not - and I hope I've been able to return a fraction of that support.
@daimyosprincess, girl you get a whole special shoutout for the levels of depravity you encourage my thots to get to :D
And there are so many more!! People I may not talk to frequently (cause sending DMs gives me anxiety), but I see you commenting, liking, reblogging when I post and posting your own amazing writing or art for me to moon over.
@cyarbika, @madameminor, @spacemagicandlaserswords @merkitty49 @vodika-vibes
@kimiheartblade @nika6q @arcsimper5
@soaringthroughthegalaxy @sunshinesdaydream @sinfulsalutations and so so many more.
THANK YOU ALL FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART
I'll still be around simping after our favorite clones. I hope you'll keep joining me.
Now, on to the spoilers!
I have to say overall, I like this conclusion. It's the happy ending we wanted, but if feels earned. I love that the boys got to grow old in peace with Omega. I love that their dedication to one another is reaffirmed and upheld as the strength it is, rather than - as Hemlock saw it - a weakness to exploit. And I loved that last little scene. It felt like a fanfic and I say that lovingly. It felt like the writers and animators put together the fic we all know would have happened if they left the ending on that fadeout of the Batch next to the tree on Pabu. And that felt like a kiss on the forehead as a fan.
Now here's what I didn't like.
I didn't like that they clearly rushed the end. Pacing wise, there were so many moments that were slowed down so you can feel the emotional impact ... but the editing of the scenes around them made this slower pace a mistake to me.
Like when Echo and Omega are sending Emerie and the kids away ... they all hug and take time to talk about their plan. BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TIME. We know Hemlock has the others. We know Tarkin is on his way. YOU DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS SCENE TO HAPPEN HERE and Echo of all people would be on that, moving everyone along as he is trained to do. It feels artificial because we go from high intensity and fast paced to slow and dragging when nothing from the fast paced scene had been resolved. I think this could have been different if the scene with the kids in the hanger came before the Batch gets in to the hanger and knocked out. It would be a break from the fast pace of the Zillo escape, but without the immediate urgency of a rescue weighing over them (and us! I was having heart palpitations!). It also would then match the tone and sentiment of the scene between Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair in the woods ("Omega needs all of us.").
These pacing issues are editing issues, and I think we're really seeing how post-production was truncated to get this out on time (or possible pre-production and storyboarding was truncated). I hate that production studios are making this practice more common to cut costs. We will wait longer for better quality storytelling.
My final example of this is Crosshair's story resolution. It doesn't happen. He still thinks he deserves to die on Tantiss (the sentiment from S3 Ep1) and even though Hunter and Wrecker tell him otherwise, we don't know if he internalizes that. And his climax is about trusting Omega to know what to do to take the shot. But Crosshair has (in this season) shown he always trusts Omega. It would have been better if his hand was still shaking and Hunter said "Omega trusts you. You'll make this shot." so that the external conflict for Crosshair is resolved by resolving his internal conflict and trusting himself as his family does. And it would leave Hunter's climax the same - trusting Omega as an competent member of the team.
It just feels rushed. Or like an abstract painting that almost looks like a real object, but just a little blurry. They almost stuck a perfect landing, but just missed the mark a bit.
I also hate how this means Wrecker gets fuck all resolution. The entire last episode was a really intriguing challenge for him. He knows Cross is off his game and Hunter is getting desperate and reckless again ... just as he is almost entirely knocked out of the fight from an injury. Him, the strong one. That should have been a great moment of growth for him. That he doesn't keep going because he always can -- which is very much how he comes across in TCW S7 and TBB S1 -- but that he actively makes himself the strong one, the supportive one, because that's what his family needs.
But no, we didn't get that. We didn't get any insight into Wrecker at all, despite him being the one to free his brothers enough for them to save Omega (and he saved Echo, too!). And then he doesn't speak again, though we see how banged up he is. I get it was less of a focus throughout the series, but man they didn't need to sideline my husband like that.
And finally, Tech.
Look, I may be delulu, but contextually, there was plenty of evidence that CX-2 was Tech. From speech and mannerisms to his blatant disregard for orders, to the seemingly personal level he took his missions.
But it's more than that - why show us this big tense moment of him breaking onto Phee's ship, which the focus being on Phee sensing him near? Why not just have that in the dialog with Hemlock the way Cid's confession was? That would have saved so much time that could have been put elsewhere. Why have such a focus on him in the marketing?
I'm not mad that Tech is dead. Let me make that clear. The showrunners said from the start they killed Tech to prove there are real, lasting consequences to characters' decisions. And I can respect that. And I can understand and appreciate the interpretation that CX-2 wasn't meant to rep Tech, but rather what the Empire can turn clones into, a threat to them all not just in the danger CX-2 poses, but the danger if they get caught.
And that's fair ... but then it could (and should have) been any and every CX trooper to fit that bill. There was no need to waste time and attention on one in particular.
And to be, that also ignores the clear wall of contextual and subtextual evidence that a reveal was planned. The posters are a great example.
Here is the Batch in the final poster:
And here is CX-2
He's standing at Crosshair's right, just out of frame. The lighting matches and he's even looking up to the right just like the rest of his brothers. The line of light cutting his left side even matches the one cutting above Crosshair's right side.
All the other posters showing Bad Batch adversaries has them lit more darkly or in shadow and has unique posing and positioning that do not reflect our heroes.
Why are we styling a brainwashed clone like one of the Batchers artistically? That's a weird choice.
I think the some big wigs wanted him back and others didn't want to water down the impact of his death and we're seeing that confusion and conflict on screen, when we really shouldn't. IDK if Disney was pushing it or the showrunners but either way, going halfsies and changing your mind (and impacting the resolutions we got because of it) is not a good look, especially from a studio like Disney/Lucasfilm. I'm not blaming Dave or Jen wholly, but we the audience should never be able to see the writer's room when we watch, and that's all I was able to see with this.
(My own husband was like "we are supposed to think that's Tech, right?" and he's not really a Bad Batch fan, he just indulges me.)
Alright, that's all I got. I'm happy with how my comfort show ended, I'll write fanfic to cover the pieces I don't agree with personally, and I'll remain ever grateful and supportive of the community who gave me this most precious gift.
I love you all.
And may the force be with you.
#the bad batch#tbb spoilers#tbb season 3 spoilers#tbb s3 spoilers#tbb wrecker#tbb hunter#tbb crosshair#tbb omega#tbb tech#emerie karr
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Coffee Shop Love Pt.6
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader
summary: He's as stern and cold as the snow falling from the sky blanketing the bustling streets of Nueva York, Miguel O'Hara stumbles upon a hidden gem of a coffee shop just around the corner from Alchemax. Only problem is the annoying-as-shit smiley-ass barista.
contents: slow burn, no use of y/n, fluffy, not proofread, literally the fluffiest of fluffs, a little drama at the end
author's note: Hey lovies, whoo! Two chapters today! Consider it my apology for being so inactive lately. But don't worry loves I'm back on track. A like, comment, or repost is always appreciated. Hope you like this chapter, the cliffhanger not so much >.<, enjoy...
word count: 1.5k
Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt. 5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Sequel: Sweet Tooth
That morning you were so lost in the ridiculous amount of people coming for coffee that you didn't even realize that Miguel hadn't shown up that morning. "Which is so weird because he always comes for coffee in the morning, sometimes again midday then he comes at night and stays a while," you explained to Estella over muffins and Earl Grey tea.
"Alright girl, first of all, why are you this worried about it? It's probably nothing," Estella reassured.
"It can't be nothing, we slept together days ago when the blizzard happened, and he cuddled multiple times!" you exclaimed, as Estella almost choked on her drink.
"You had sex?!" she blurted out shockingly.
"No, no we just like, slept in the same bed, my bed," you muttered, trying to draw the attention away from the two of you.
"Wait, I'm confused, why was he even in your house?!" she questioned.
You explained the whole situation with the amber alert and filled her in on the day that you had spent with Miguel. The more you explained, the more her jaw dropped.
"Wait, now I'm confused, what is your relationship with him?" Estella asked, taking a bite out of a muffin.
"I'm not even sure, we've had this strange chemistry ever since we met," you explained.
"I'd say give a day or two maybe he's like, at work, or living his life?" she joked sarcastically.
"I'm gonna kill you, Estella! Get out of my shop!" you joked as you pushed her out. She laughed along and waved before heading back to the shelter where she worked.
Your break was over and the lunch rush was just about to happen. Still no Miguel, you were starting to wonder if you had done something wrong. No, it makes no sense to think that way, I know I did nothing. I wonder if he misses me this much as well, you thought to yourself as you began to make people's orders.
The day went by very slowly. You sat by the counter at 8 pm, chin propped up on your hand, as fatigue drooped your head down. Just then the bells rang. Your head shot up immediately hoping there would be a tall, dark, and handsome man standing there before you. But it was just Mr. Smith. Probably here to collect the rent. "Good Evening Baby, I've come here for something, but I forget what it is... maybe a drink?" he trails off as he looks up at the menu.
"No Mr. Smith, you're here for the rent. It's too late for you to have coffee," you explained. He smiled and nodded.
"That's right dear, silly me," he said. You handed him an envelope with the rent for the month and waved goodbye after sending him off with a candy cane.
You let out an exasperated sigh as you plopped into a chair and waited to see if Miguel would show up. Why do I miss him so much? What are my feelings for him? You asked yourself as you got up to lock up.
That night you slept wishing to see Miguel walk through those doors in the morning. But to no avail, he didn't show up that morning, or for lunch, or that night. You opened your phone for any notifications from him but nothing. You gave him a call but his phone was turned off. You decide to leave him a voicemail.
"Hey Miguel, It's been a while since we've seen each other. The shop’s really boring without you here, come by for a coffee soon, I know you can't go a single day without having like 3 cups, I miss you, and I'm pretty sure I like you" you said. You had no idea where that last part came from and you fumbled to delete it somehow but what was done was done. You hoped that he wouldn't listen to it. Besides he was a businessman he had better things to do.
That night you slept wondering where he was and why he would come see you. He was cuddling you one day, then you never saw him. Does he like me, or does he not? You asked yourself. You allowed your mind to rest and went to sleep.
The next morning you got through the rush just fine and went on break while mentally preparing yourself for the lunch rush. Miguel was nowhere to be seen but you didn't panic as much as the days before. You had hoped that maybe he would show up tonight and you would scold him for disappearing without notice.
So as you lay your head on the counter bored out of your mind, the shop bells rang. You headshot up as usual and there you saw him. Tall, dark, handsome, and stuck in the mistletoe again. "I told you, you have to get a taller door frame," he joked as walked in. You chuckled at his joke holding yourself back from rushing to him and hugging him.
"Where have you been Miguel?" you asked him softly, unable to wipe the upside-down smile off your face.
"Surprisingly enough, the second I walked into work I was rushed onto a last-minute retreat at another lab. It's one of those classified things where we turn our phones off. I'm sorry I could let you know Baby," he said softly.
"It's no problem, but this other lab... was it nice? Good coffee?" you asked skeptically.
"Yeah, it was alright—" Miguel started.
"Ha! I knew it! Miguel, have you been seeing another barista?" you jokingly asked him. Just then she heard a low sound break the silence between them. He had never fully laughed around her, but once she heard it, it was music to her ears. I would become a stand-up comedian if it meant hearing this beautiful laugh all day, you thought to yourself.
"Oh Baby, I've missed you so much," he confessed with a few chuckles.
"Alright then, sit down and lemme make you a coffee that will top whatever you drank at that 'other lab'," you said motioning for him to take a seat at his usual table.
Instead of taking his laptop out and getting straight to work, he just watched you. He watched you make the most simple but best coffee he had ever tasted. Once he took a sip, it felt like home. "This is that special brew you used at your place isn't it?" he asked with an amused smile.
"Yeah, I figured since you liked it so much, I would make you a nice big cup of it," you explained as you took a seat across from him.
You and Miguel caught each other up on the events that had passed while you were apart. Miguel couldn't stop talking about how much he learned at this fancy schmancy lab he visited with Alchemax in Washington D.C. and how much he learned about quantum physics. You didn't understand half of the terms he was using but that didn't matter because at least he was having a good time. Seeing him talking about something he was passionate about set fireworks off in your chest. You filled him in on the usual Café gossip and drama that was going on.
It was a lovely night of shared laughs and stories but it had to come to an end at some point. Just when he was about to leave you decided to ask him about the voicemail you had sent. "Miguel, did you ever listen to my voicemail?" you asked.
"No, I didn't have the time, should I?" he answered.
"No, just delete it. What I said was pretty embarrassing," you admitted.
"Well now I’m dying to hear it," he teased.
"Oh please don't," you whined.
"Too late!" he called out as he stepped out to his car and visibly pressed the button.
You begged God to allow the earth to swallow you whole and just began to wipe the counter. Just then the door swung open with violent speed and the bells rang crazily. You turned around to see Miguel out of breath holding his phone in one hand, running his hand through his hair with the other. "Baby?" he huffed completely out of breath from running back to the store the second he heard the voicemail.
"Did you mean what you said in that voicemail?" he asked in disbelief.
"I mean, yeah, I guess, but—" you started. But Miguel held his hand up for you to stop. you took that sudden motion as defeat. He doesn't think the same way, you realize in complete despair.
Next Pt.7...
taglist:
@iite-cool@jewelz-teehe@br0-please@thesilenthill@d1lf-loverrr@corpsebridenightamare@laysmt@bitchystrawberrystudent@lotionlamp@local-mr-frog@scaleniusrm@migueloharastruelove@thedevax@veyveys@amber-content
#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara x you#astv miguel#across the spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x reader#spider man atsv#spiderman into the spiderverse#spiderman across the spiderverse#astv x reader#miguel fanfic#miguel o#miguel o'hara fluff#miguel o hara fluff#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#atsv miguel#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel imagine#spiderman 2099#miguel o hara x reader#miguel fluff
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Can you do Bokuto/Iwaizumi as a father like Kenma?
[✦] - 𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐃
notes : sorry for being inactive for almost like 2 months :)
warnings : pregnancy idk if that's a warning tho
pairings : dad!bokuto x mom!reader,
dude has baby fever all the time I swear
"y/n it would be so cute!!" "y/n it wouldn't be that hard!!"
he's nagging you 24/7
so you just had to give in 🤷♀️
during the pregnancy he would be so worried
you could literally like cough or something and he'd call a doctor to make sure everything's okay
VERY overprotective
once, a small child came up to you and asked you if there's a baby in your belly and he was glaring at the kid the whole time 😭
but he honestly really likes when little kids come up to you two, he just wants to make sure they don't hurt the baby or smth
he talks to your belly so much
he's so convinced that the baby is understanding and responding too
it's honestly adorable to see him calm for once in his life
bokuto's determined that it's a boy, like literally DETERMINED
I mean, having a girl wouldn't hurt, but like it's just like his sixth sense telling him he's gonna have a boy
he gets so impatient to find out the gender too!!
he's gonna pay any amount of money to find out as fast as possible
… and boom boom his assumption sadly turns out to be true
this is loosely related to this piece I wrote a few months ago, girls or boys?
when the baby's born, he almost drops his son, but thank God he's okay
he probably wanted to name him something like buster 💀
"this is our son, not a dog, kotaro!"
"but people love and play with dogs, and we'll love and play with him, so there isn't a difference!"
yes, that was indeed a real conversation between you two.
but you ended up naming him Ichiro, leaving kotaro whining about why he couldn't name him buster.
but the absolute first thing he's gonna do is take a countless amount of pictures and send them to the whole msby group chat as well as the Japan national team group chat
can't blame him, he's always given off Instagram dad vibes
and when I say Instagram dad, I mean, like, Instagram dad.
he will post the smallest things lil Ichiro does, and bokuto's a pro athlete, so it's gonna get some attention 🤷♀️
his son is gonna do something as simple as point at the tv and giggle when his favorite character comes on the screen, and he's gonna post that.
his friends are supportive of it too, especially my baby Shoyo <3 <3 (I'm trying so hard not to make this about him but my Shoyo phase is coming back rn)
shoyo_msby21 it's like I saw him as a baby just yesterday !!
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matching outfits.
kotaro has never been the best with fashion, but with the help of you and his teammates, he has gotten better at dressing his son up
like imagine there's just a whole section in the closet just for matching father-son outfits.
He's gonna spend thousands on clothes for the family. sometimes all of you go out wearing the same colour outfit or something
matching jerseys too, little Ichiro always goes to his father's games wearing an identical, but smaller jersey <3
his son is gonna be a total daredevil, sometimes even kotaro surprisingly gets worried.
the kid is gonna have little star printed bandaids all over his little hands and legs, but I guess people learn from their mistakes, don't they?
he's gonna love being the center of attention, clinging to his dad whenever he's getting interviewed. He just wants the world to know that a star player like his dad has a star son like him!
overall, Bokuto gets an A for being an adept father.
Requests are open!
#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#dad!bokuto#bokuto x reader#bokuto fluff#bokuto koutarou#bokuto koutaro x reader#bokuto koutaro fluff
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now that the dust has cleared from the chaos for me irl, i want to officially thank you all for 3000 followers!! because wow. where do i even start?
this isn't a milestone i thought i would ever reach. i made this blog during my junior year of high school when i was bored as hell in online school, not knowing what would come of it, and honestly not expecting anyone to read anything i’ve written. i exclusively wrote avatar fics (kind of embarrassing that a series i started at the beginning of my blog still isnt finished huh?) because it was what i had been watching most recently. i started to gain some recognition, made some friends, and slowly but surely i carved out my little corner of the internet. and now, 3 years, 3000 followers, and almost 500,000 words later, i’m going into my junior year of college with some of the best online friends a girl could ask for (shoutout to my day 1 @simplysolo for still being around and still being the best ever, and shoutout to all my other tumblr friends that have deactivated over the years</3 i miss you guys) a whole array of fandoms that i’ve dabbled in, and a newly discovered thing for middle aged men. cool
i truly cannot thank you all enough. i’ve always been a writer, but this blog has given me a sorely needed creative outlet and made me more confident in my writing skills than ever. at the end of the day i’m just writing silly little x reader fics, but i’ve truly had so much fun doing it! every single fictional man im in love with is also in love with me isn’t that crazy!!!
a special, extended shoutout to the loveliest mutuals i’ve picked up over the years. i wouldn’t be half the writer i am and i wouldn’t have half as much fun on here without you all. @simplysolo for being around since the beginning and truly being the greatest person on this app, i love you intensely, @sokkadora for being another one of my ogs (we dont talk anymore but i see you every so often on my dash and you’re doing great!!) @mcallmestiles for being one of the first avatar fics i ever read, traitor encouraged me to be a better writer and i hope you’re doing well with your medical career!! @tangledinlove for being my most famous mutual, the kindest person in the world, and being brought together through the power of lockwood, @giyuji and @milkiane who are both inactive but who i have to tag because i love them and i hope they’re doing well; naomi you got me into the grishaverse and liane we were in the trenches of the stranger things revival together, @boneblushed for dealing with so much but still being phenomenal and lovely in every way, @tommymcartney for being so sweet all the time, my biggest cheerleader and encouraging my insanity in every fandom ive been a part of, @nghtwngs for being the only person who loses it over nikolai lantsov as much as i do, to all my new/more recent mutuals @hotchfiles @ma1dita @moowithmidnight @emiliehornby @supercutszns i can't wait to get to know or keep getting to know you!!! you're all so lovely!!! and all the mutuals i don’t talk to as much as i should, i love you all and cherish you in my heart regardless of if we talk every day or have never said a single word to each other!! i don’t want to tag you all because i don’t want to bother you, but if you’re looking at this and thinking am i talking about you, i am. i love you. it takes a village and im so lucky to have you all as mine
i can’t believe it’s been 3 years, i can’t believe i’m halfway done with college, and i can’t believe we hit 3,000. truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for reading my fics and letting me be some small part of your lives. i can’t wait to write more for you all. keep a lookout for my 3k celebration post!
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