#YEAH THIS IS THE ASK I WILL ANSWER AFTER MONTHS OF INACTIVITY
Note
OPEN THE CURTAINS
LIGHTS ON
* FANTASTIC JAZZ MUSIC ON *
Don't miss a moment of this experiment~~
Oh, the book is strange like clockwork orange~~
Keep your eyes buttered till the end~~
(The urge to play this song right away:)
I wasn't expecting anyone to recognize the lyrics, so I gasped at this ask hahaha
It is also very funny timing because I've been listening to Mili for months now, yet I bought the Library of Ruina just a week ago (5 days, exactly). I take this ask as a signal to try playing it again, but the gameplay rules are too complicated for me hshshshs
#YEAH THIS IS THE ASK I WILL ANSWER AFTER MONTHS OF INACTIVITY#ACUTUALLY#JUST YESTERDAY I FINISHED TRANSLATING A 16K PIECE THAT TOOK ME LIKE 20 HOURS AND PUBLISHED IT ON ANOTHER ACCOUNT#SO I HOPE I WILL BE ABLE TO WRITE SOMETHING#(especially for Idia and Rollo <33)#the-library-of-forgotten-endings
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if you see this, you might be a little lost
hello, Syb here, haven’t logged into this account in years, but I’ve noticed this account still get new followers regularly? somehow? how did you even find this place?? XD
my active account on tumblr is SybLaTortue, and yes, it is sadly permanently flagged and I can’t get my cute turtle icon over there and the blog is unsearchable and I have to censor the sexy stuff and it sucks, but I’m not gonna move blog and start posting here unless SybLaTortue gets truly deleted
so like sure, in case of disaster you might find me here, but if you wanna see my art and send me asks on tumblr, SybLaTortue (without the dashes!) is where you’ll find that!
I am also on twitter, where art is posted without censoring (when I post a cropped art on tumblr I’ll always put a link to the twitter mirror) and patreon if you want to support me and see some art months before I post it on here~
#I wonder if twitter being in danger is a reason this blog got a little uptick in new followers#anyway this place was created when my original blog was gone with the original purge back at the end of 2019#but then it was un-deleted like a month later#it was a big mess and I was pissed at tumblr and took like a whole year off#I didn't stop being mad at it but I learned to deal with it#so I started using my original blog again#but this back-up here was pretty much forgotten#only reason I get reminded of this place is I get new follower emails from this one lmao#but yeah this place is generally inactive pls head to actually active blog#and send me asks over there it's been so quiet since the purge and my break#I still love getting excuses to brainstorm headcanon and go into details about my AUs and stuff#I'll be logging off this blog and going back to SybLaTortue after I hit post so like#if you have question concerning this post don't ask them here I won't answer them here XD#ask or message SybLaTortue if you want answers!
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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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Reunion (Simon Riley x reader)
Simon wasn’t a huge fan of the school reunions that some of his old friends organized every few years. Usually he wasn’t even around to attend them. But he kept track of some people on social media, although this was something he would have denied without hesitation.
His main target was you. He knew about everything you shared, he saw the photos, he saw the cheesy posts about your life. About your perfect husband.
Because that guy was perfect based on the photos, your posts, the comments from friends and family, and his own profile. Tall, handsome, successful, popular, coming from a good family, and apparently he was so madly in love with you that Simon felt like throwing up every time he saw one of his declarations of love.
Back in the day, during those terrible teenage years, he had wanted to ask you out on a date. But with his background, he always felt like he wasn’t enough for you. You talked to him, yes, but it usually felt like an empty, polite chat instead of a deep conversation.
So when he went grocery shopping one day, he was surprised to meet you in the parking lot. His first reaction was to look away and act like he didn’t recognize you. You wouldn’t remember him anyway, and since you were still a beautiful woman, men looking at you should be nothing new for you.
But his whole body froze when he heard you call after him. “Simon? Simon Riley? Is that you?” He slowly turned around and watched you without a word. Sure, he nodded, even smiled a little, but he didn’t want to look desperate to talk to you. “Oh my god, it’s been so long!”
Before he knew it, you were wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. He didn’t even know what to do. You were a married woman in the middle of a crowded parking lot, anyone could see you hugging a man who wasn’t your husband.
“You never come to the reunions, you’re inactive on social media… I know nothing about what you do these days,” you said with a pout after you playfully punched his chest. “The last thing I heard is that you joined the SAS. Are you still there?”
Who the hell had told you that? Whoever it was, they deserved a punch in the face. But it was water under the bridge, you already knew the truth. “Yeah, that's my life now,” he replied with a nod. “And what about you? What do you do these days?”
He listened to you giving him the answer with wide, happy gestures, and he couldn't hold back the smile that crept on his lips. You were so nice, so alive, so different from the people he was surrounded by. Maybe it was nostalgia making him see you in such a way, but he didn't really care about the why.
Having you in his life again, even if for just a few minutes, made him happy, made him wish you would stick around. He wanted to spend more time with you, although he knew you weren't available. But you could be friends, right? There were no rules stating a man and a woman couldn't be friends.
You suddenly looked down at your phone and cursed under your breath. “I'm late. It was so nice to see you again, Simon,” you said with a wide smile as you unlocked the phone and gave it to him. “Can I get your number? I might check in every now and then. You know, just to know you're okay, even if you don't attend the reunions.”
Oh, he was more than happy to give you his number. Once he gave back the device, you quickly called him so he would have your number as well. “Don't get lost,” he told you with a smirk.
“I won't,” you promised.
Yet you disappeared. He expected you to call him, to send a text, but there was nothing in the following months.
Being deployed and being focused on the mission he was on made things a little easier. He didn't spend every moment of the day thinking about you, thinking about whether or not it was him who did something stupid that made you change your mind. Price noticed that something was wrong with him, but when Simon refused to explain, he gave up trying.
And then, just one week before he was supposed to go home, your name showed up on the screen. At first he thought it was a mistake and you would end the call right away. But it kept ringing, so he took a deep breath and picked up.
“Hey, Simon. You got a minute?” you asked cheerfully.
------
Note: Thanks for reading. I don't have a taglist. If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.
#do you wanna reader more?#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#modern warfare#call of duty#mw2#mw3#the last question is from itsv#i needed that ending
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Spider Bite
A fanfic requested by @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss, the first out of 2 promises! Sorry for the inactivity, I recently started college and it's completely wiped the floor with me. Anyways, enjoy!
Fluff fic, 1,328 words
Lee!Reader
Ler!Miguel O'Hara
CWs: none
Finally, a day of reprieve.
You had been working hard all week to ensure the increasing anomalies in base were kept at bay and to say it was tiring would be a gross understatement. It had been alarm after rift after alarm, the blaring practically burned into your eardrums by now. You’d be lucky if you didn’t get tinnitus.
What does anyone do after a long, thankless week of being on call? Why, treat themself of course!
You had just entered the bustling cafeteria with countless spider-people swishing on webs and standing in lines to get their fill when you noticed a slight shift out the corner of your eye. Your spider senses weren’t tingling, but people were definitely moving out of the way which only made the shift in the air more unsettling. Whipping your head to stare at the commotion head on, you can’t help but smile at the situation. It was just Miguel.
People knew when he was in one of his bad moods- usually he would be trying to make small talk with certain groups, grab someone’s attention when he had a small comment about their work, but never really driving people away or chatting much. Today he looked absolutely foul, glaring off into the void as he grabbed a to-go box with a burger and slinking off to his office once again. It was always a good idea to leave him be when he was in one of these funks, but the look on his face stuck around long enough in your mind to make you want to check in on him.
You grabbed a to-go box for yourself and opened a portal, bouncing down onto the platform of Miguel’s ‘office’.
“What.” He grumbled out, hearing the soft thud and careful padding of your feet as you approached him. He saved his sharper tone for people he was less fond of, for now he just sounded tired.
“You’re in a fun mood today.” You point out, the playful smile evident in your voice as you hoist yourself up to sit on an empty spot on his desk. He spared you a glance and huffed, popping a fry into his mouth. “Aren’t you off work? Why are you still here?”
He was avoiding the not-quite-question, so you of course answer then ask again.
“I wanted a meal and hopefully a conversation. What’s wrong?”
Miguel looked over at you before shaking his head with a defeated smile and rolling his eyes.
“Dios mío, you’re persistent.” He snorted, eating another fry. “Nothing, I just have one of those- what are the kids calling it? ‘RBF’s?”
You rolled your eyes at that, smiling as Miguel chuckled to himself.
“Yeah something like that.” You comment. Maybe he wasn’t in as bad of a mood as you thought.
“But since you’re here,” Miguel looked back at you, placing his food down in front of him and spinning his chair to face you. “I don’t think we officially completed your onboarding.”
You blinked in surprise, quirking a brow.
“Miguel, I’ve been here for three months.” You reminded him slowly, staring at him as if he had just lost his mind.
“Yes, I know that, but we skipped over a few details in your ‘canon events’ folder that I didn’t notice until a few hours ago. Lyla finally got to that part of the scan. Nada.”
Right. Of course, that made sense. You nodded your head and looked at him, waiting to continue.
“Won’t take long. So, do you remember what kind of spider bit you?” He started, swiping up a screen and pulling up footage of your first canon event. The video was clearly inconclusive of the spider, the origin of it being unknown and making it harder to trace back to a definitive source. You remembered the spider crawled under your shirt and bit your side, leaving a nasty mark the first night before you had actually gotten your powers- but you had no clue what it looked like.
“I… dunno. It’s been a while and I crushed that poor guy when I was bitten.” You shook your head.
“Where?” It was an odd sounding question coming from Miguel, but his brain had worked faster than his words when it came spilling out. “Usually spider-people are bitten on the back of their hand, smacking it off for those who crush it. I would have been visible falling off your hand, but I can’t see it anywhere.“ He explained.
“Oh! Uh, somewhere on my side, like right here…” You gestured vaguely to where you remembered the spider biting- well, you remembered which side at least. Your left one.
“Alright… not super helpful…” He mumbled in thought, only for you to yelp in protest as he grabbed your side and held some sort of tool near it.
“Hey!”
“Hold still, I just need a quick scan.” He ordered. Still you squirmed. It tickled. Miguel shook his head and grabbed your side again, this time earning a short giggle. He stopped in his tracks and looked up at you, processing what had just happened as you stared back at him tensely. You only had about two seconds to even stare before he had sat down his tool and scooped you up into his arms with a playful grin.
“Ticklish, are we?” He teased, one hand scribbling lightly up and down your side with the edges of his nails. The movement earned only more squirming from you as well as fresh peals of giggles as you kicked and wriggled in his grasp. His fingers skittered up to your ribs, gently tweaking the bottommost one before crawling up to lightly poke just below your underarm and crawl down again and it left you howling with laughter.
“M-miguel!” You cried out, squirming harder in your ticklish frenzy and almost managing to writhe free before he shifted his arm to wrap around your waist and start tickling your side. You doubled over with laughter, kicking out in front of you and pushing at his arm all the while his other hand came up to gently scribble at the side of your neck.
“You know, normally I wouldn’t be so childish, but I’ve been needing a little pick me up this week.” Miguel teased. You bunched up your shoulders, peals of giggles pouring out of you just as his touch began to slow down. He let you rest as you slumped in his grip, residual giggles bubbling out as you caught your breath.
“I’m a little surprised you weren’t laughing this hard as that spider crawled to your side.” He pointed out, emphasizing his point by poking two fingers into your side a couple times and sending a jolt through you.
“Ehehe- quit it!” You whined at his teasing, your cheeks growing flush as you squirmed again. Miguel chuckled, shaking his head.
“Ah, what? Quit this?” He began gently pinching your side up and down, pulling fresh laughter from you as you nodded your head.
“Yes- yehes! Quit thahat!” You managed to squeak out. His fingers remained pinched on your side but had stilled for the moment, but for some reason that was worse. The anticipation left you shaking and giggling, waiting for when he would start up again.
“Quit that…?” He prompted, his voice dripping with amusement as you awaited whatever fate become you.
“Please!” You spat out and Miguel relented, patting your side and finally releasing you.
“Certainly.” He snickered. You turned around and rubbed your sides, only to be greeted by Miguel’s grinning face- you can’t remember the last time he looked this happy, or even the last time he smiled. He put his hands up in faux surrender, shaking his head.
“I’m done, I swear.” He assured, and you relaxed a bit. “Let’s just finish our lunch.” He offered, sitting back down and picking up his to-go box in a gesture of good faith. Your food was still warm and it tasted delightful.
#hunting4fluff#tickle fluff#atsv tickle#sfw tickling#t word#sfw tickling community#miguel ohara fluff#fluff#tickle fic
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1000 Followers?! + 2024 News
🎉Thank you so much guys!! You all are awesome and rock!!🎉
I haven't been very active this last year and yet I got to reach the 1k followers in this blog?? ToT I imagined I would have lost some followers for my inactivity but I see people got interested again in the blog.
I want to thank you all again for following this blog and showing interest in my content of these 3 silly crazy jesters. I'm very happy that so many people enjoy my blog and content about my 3 fav jesters :") Your asks are so fun to answer, and any interaction or comment in my posts cheers me up a lot! I love reading all your comments and thingies you draw for this blog ;w;
Should I do something special as celebration?
⛥ 2024 News ⛥
I'm planning on being more regularly active again this year with the blog. So gonna answer some few asks every month :") And also to get new Asks time to time...
⛥ On the 28th of each month for Jester's Day, questions will be opened all day.
This activity will be active until I can answer the vast majority of Asks in the inbox, after that, the questions will always be open. I need new questions after years with none :")
Did you know there was a Jester's Day? Lol at least in Elder Scroll, also on December 28th in Spain is celebrated something similar to April Fool. So yeah I decided that day hehe.
See ya!
~ Mist out
#jevil#dimentio#marx#deltarune#kirby#super paper mario#fanart#announcement#status#1k Followers Got it!
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Fears
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Word Count: 1.1k
Summary: Joel's biggest fear.
Content: Vulnerable moments, fears, late night talks with Joel, angst, TLOU spoilers, takes place in Jackson after events of TLOU 1
A/N: Upcoming weeks are exam weeks for me. So i will definitely sadly be more inactive :( Enjoy these one shots which I'll write when i can but updates on Paper Stars may be slower.
“Is there something you’re afraid of?” Joel looked at you, caught off guard by your sudden question. You had a blank look on your face but the tight grip you had on your own hand and how your thumb rubbed against your skin in an attempt at a soothing gesture gave you away. Joel had learned over the months of knowing you that you were awfully skilled at hiding your emotions away, a skill the apocalypse had taught you no doubt, a skill that he too possessed.
“Nightmare?” Joel questioned, leaning over the side of his chair to grab the water bottle. You instinctively shook your head, too used to brushing people’s concerns off. Joel looked at you with a skeptical look, handing you his water. He always seemed to see through you. “Just answer my question, Joel.” You insisted, taking the bottle from his hands and drinking it. Joel looked out to the darkness, being on night watch was tiring but there was something oddly reassuring about the peace at night.
“It’s just- you just seem to be fearless. Nothing seems to strike fear into Joel Miller.” You laughed weakly. Joel pursed his lips, deep in thought. In the apocalypse, fear clouded every corner, and every action is driven by fear. Joel could easily come up with a list, he just wasn’t sure if it was still considered a fear anymore, he had grown so numb to these fears. “The dark?” You scoffed at his answer, knowing that he was nowhere close to being afraid of the dark. “Is there really nothing?” You wondered out loud. He folded his arms over his chest, going down the list. “Being infected, dying.” He replied. “Yeah, no shit Joel. That’s probably the reason why we lasted this long in this shit world. Fear drives us.” You deadpanned. “Well, I don’t know what you’re expecting from me.” Joel shrugged. You sighed, maybe Joel wasn’t the right person to be having this talk with. It was like Joel sensed your walls going up again, he panicked. “Tell me yours then.” He suggested instead.
“I-I don’t know either. That’s why I asked you.” Joel rolled his eyes at your answer. “Just tell me bout your nightmare.” You bit your lip, it had been a while since you had such a conversation with someone. No one in the apocalypse wanted to be burdened with useless information, a nightmare, it was common here, people would just ask you to deal with it, no one would want to hear about it when they go through it every night themselves. Some may even argue that the world now was a living nightmare itself. “Fine. I’m terrified, terrified of losing people.” Joel noticed how you trembled, he was unsure if it was from fear from recalling the nightmare or the cold. Joel shifted closer to you anyways, hoping that his warmth may help. “I dreamt that I lost you guys. Tommy, Maria, Ellie and you. All the small moments of normalcy we had, all gone. I was alone again, in the cold. Having to kill and hunt just to survive another day. Fuck Joel, I was so scared. Before I came to Jackson, I was perfectly fine with being just that, another fucked up survivor, but now that I had a taste of what normalcy feels like, I don’t think I can go back. I let myself get attached again after decades, I wanted to spend time with you, wanted to get to know you better. I just can’t fathom not having you and everyone else in my life.” A painful feeling arose at the back of your throat, and you were blinking back tears. “Fuck, emotions.” you cursed, laughing at how pathetic you were, crying over a nightmare. You felt like a kid again. “Hey, it's ok.” Joel turned to face you completely, cautiously placing a hand on your shoulder. When you leaned into his touch, he took it as a sign to pull you into his arms and lend you his shoulder. “I’m afraid of losing people too. You know, I lost people too. We all did, but no matter what. We keep finding something to fight for.” He whispered softly into your ear.
“Is there something you’re afraid of?”
Your question hovered around in his mind even as he laid on his bed, eager to catch up on sleep after the nightwatch. He tossed around on the bed. A fear. His eyes fell onto the drawer on his nightstand, the one that contained his trusted revolver. One of his biggest fears is losing people that he cares about and like you said, fear is a driving force. It finally surfaced onto his mind, his deepest darkest fear. The answer you were probably hoping to learn more about.
Joel knew exactly what he did that day when he decided to save Ellie. He knew the consequences of his actions. He knew that he had single-handedly erased the hope of a cure for humanity. He knew that he is the villain in many people’s stories. How could he not when the weight of his actions burdened him every day? Joel does not regret his actions, maybe that makes him more of a bad guy. The fact that he would do it all over again, erase the fireflies from existence, the chance of a cure, just to save Ellie. Realistically speaking, the chances of a cure were low even with Ellie, at the very most, Ellie would contribute to their research of a cure and that’s it. Ellie was more than just a chance of a cure for Joel, as much as he does not want to admit it, Ellie had become his world, the person he fought and live for. He was not willing to sacrifice his world for the world that seemed to have already met its end. Joel had his reasons, reasons that he wasn’t sure others would understand.
His deepest darkest fear, Joel finally knew the answer.
His fear is that you will see him the way he sees himself.
A monster, a killer. The villain who erased all hopes for humanity for his own selfish reasons. The killer who had murdered innocents just to give a warning, to survive. The monster who had ruined millions of lives because he had killed the only person that was capable of finding a cure, the one capable to put an end to all this suffering.
The horrified look on your face, staring at him as though he would ever hurt you. It would be enough to haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn’t lose you either, the woman he had come to care about. Although he was still relatively unsure about how he felt about you, he knew that he felt enough to know that his life would become hell without you.
If one day you saw him the way he saw himself, he knew he would lose himself to the darkness of the world.
And that was what struck fear into Joel Miller.
That is Joel’s biggest fear.
"I wish I was more like you. Brave and fearless." You had told him, Joel chuckled darkly in reply.
If only you knew.
#joel tlou#joel miller angst#joel miller x reader#joel miller#tlou x reader#joel miller tlou#the last of us#tlou#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader
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my love when it counted. 11
summary: Things settle into a weird new normalcy between you and Kenny, one he isn't fully happy with, but is still too much of a coward to back out of. So he just lets it continue, and tries to enjoy what time he has with you. Though, one day, while watching one of your matches, he is forced into a heavy revelation. One that only grows heavier when you get hurt, and he goes to visit you at your home for the first time.
pairing: kenny omega x reader
word count: 8163
warning: blood and vague descriptions of violence, angst and smut (light choking, unprotected piv, creampie)
if last chapter was francesca and take me to church, this one is movement and nfwmb. anyways, we are approaching the end here, start saying your goodbyes cause we getting to the final part after this. aside from that, this chapter is a lot. multiple things happen, and I even found space to sneak in a smut scene. but yeah, kenny is back to his bullshit and back to his suffering and maybe just maybe managing to learn something important along the way
11.
Hurried steps echoed through the backstage murmurs, only growing more rushed as Kenny clearly heard your music hit. Shit, he didn’t want to miss your entrance, but he had taken too much time getting himself back together after his own match. Quickly, he made his path through the halls and up the stairs. He was just getting to the one empty skybox he was going to be watching your fight from as the familiar crescendo of the beat hit his ears. The minute he opened the door, Kenny heard the booming cheers of the crowd. His large stride covered the space to the balcony in moments, eyes catching you on the screens above the ring before he even saw Nick already sitting there.
“Where’s Matt?” Kenny asked, not even looking to the side, blue eyes trailed on your image displayed in the middle of the stadium as you made your entrance.
“Had something to solve, so he is watching from downstairs,” Nick replied with a shrug, throwing a popcorn in his mouth as his foot tapped to the music, Kenny’s thumb doing the same as he rested on the railing. “Excited for whatever insane shit she does today?”
From the corner of his eye he saw Nick smile, and it seemed almost devious, that smile echoing in his voice. Kenny didn’t really answer, just nod as he silently mouthed the lyrics to your music as it died down. Looking down, he felt a tinge of fear slowly creep into his spine at the sight of metal contraption below. It was a cage match, and as excited as he was to watch you fight, there was still something in him that was afraid. He knew you - he knew you very well - and he knew that for you, a cage was just a big trampoline.
It had been a while since Kenny really felt scared of whatever move you tried on your fights. But this one was different, that creeping fear of just what insane bullshit you’d pull trying to invade his mind for a couple of weeks now, ever since the match was announced. At first, it would only pop up when he thought of the damn cage, but the thing was insistent and it’d pry into his head at the most inopportune moments. A week back, he felt it slithering into his brain just as he held your sleeping form in his arms, dragging his eyes to the scars on your back and making his fingers feel ice cold. It dared disturb what little moment of peace he had - though, he had to say, at least it was giving his brain something new to freak out about.
Something that just wasn’t about what your situation was.
A couple of months had passed since your fateful visit to his house, and in that time, Kenny had been a bit of a coward. He’d be the first to admit it. By a mix of interest and inaction, he got himself in a hole he felt he was only digging deeper into. After that first hook up, he let you take the lead, getting himself roped in a casual thing that wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but was the best he could have right now. At first, he was sure he could just do it, easy - or at least that’s what he told himself. But as time passed, things were getting less easy, a quiet discomfort settling into his bones. He couldn’t feel it every day, only here and there, but on lonely nights it usually appeared, poisoning his mind and reigniting the storm in his heart.
It wasn’t your fault, he knew it wasn’t. Kenny had entered the situation willingly, accepted the terms and went along with the game. Now he couldn’t complain. And he wouldn’t, not when he would have you in his arms almost every other week. It was a coin flip, really, but there was always about a fifty percent chance he wouldn’t have to sleep alone in his hotel room, at least for one night. Besides, sex was great, and the company was better, so he really had no right to complain. And he had learned to live with it, so long as he didn’t think about what was going on when the coin didn’t land on his side.
But aside from that, things remained the same - or about as much the same as they could. You were still friends, still spending time together when you had to travel for a show, still preparing together every now and again, still eating and traveling along with Matt and Nick and all of that. Although, while one brother had mercifully spared you from any judging stares, the other hadn’t been showing Kenny the same generosity. But Matt couldn’t do anything, so for now the routine continued. Travels, hotel breakfasts, dinner after the show, and of course, watching your matches. Even the ones where he felt ice creep under his skin at every big move.
The loud crowd cheered and Kenny heard Nick cheer behind him too. Not even fifteen minutes into the match and you had drawn blood from your opponent. You were ramping up the violence fast. There was something about the cage that lured out the animal in you. He could see it in how your eyes reflected on the screen. Feel it in the way you moved, a bloody hand slicking your tousled hair back, its bandaged twin wrapped in barbed wire. You looked to the side, face turning directly to the camera for a second, and Kenny felt like you were looking straight into his eyes. His breath caught in his throat and was only freed when you turned around and ran forward again.
The match continued and soon you too started to bleed. There was crimson smeared on your chest and spilling down your face, the thick liquid pooling on your lips like honey, slowly leaking down your chin. It dripped on your gear, staining the leather red, blood and sweat mixing on the corners where the thick fabric dug into your skin. You broke out of a pin at a two, opponent crashing back on the ring in exhaustion and disbelief as the camera zoomed on your face. The screen filled with your image as your lips curled, your smile a devilish baring of teeth as your tongue slipped out, licking the blood from your plump lips.
Never had your time together in New Japan felt further than now. You were nothing like this before. Sure, you had always been a thrill seeker, enamored with the rush of the fight, but not like this. The person moving on the screen before him was more beast than woman. Not that Kenny disliked it. No, he loved it. You were the picture of a wild thing, untamed and free in its brutality. An ancient god covered in blood, beautiful in its bestial horror. The years apart had changed you into someone different, and Kenny loved that person. To him, you were the most gorgeous thing, and even the sight of your bloodied smile had his pants suddenly feeling tight.
Kenny knew he should sit down, but he just couldn’t, torso leaning into the metal railing as his eyes never left the screen. The match went on and he could only imagine how well you were seeing with the blood spilling down your eyes, hair sticking to your beautiful face. Still you pushed on, gaining ground, getting bolder - just as Kenny got more anxious. If this match went beyond forty minutes, he’d probably implode.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, you made a run for the top rope, gaining momentum as you made it to the turnbuckle before throwing yourself high into the air. Your body twisting as it drew an arched path up and across the ring. Though, just as you were about to land, your opponent rolled to the side from her spot down on the ground, your body hurdling to the hard ring floor. Kenny winced as he heard Nick hiss, foot hitting the hard concrete below them.
“Shit, that was unnecessary,” he grunted, eyes still following your movements as you got up, taking a blow from behind just as you got to your feet.
“What? That was cool,” Nick cried in almost disbelief, leaning forward in his chair and throwing a popcorn in Kenny’s direction. “Unlucky, but cool,” he added when Kenny glanced to the side for a second before looking forward again, just in time to see you manage to recover.
“That was reckless,” Kenny retorted in a strained voice, watching you trading blows in the middle of the ring, fighting hard to regain your ground. “Come on, she is risking too much, especially with all that bleeding t-”
“You know she’d hate to hear you saying that,” Nick cuts Kenny off in the most somber voice he’d ever heard from the man. “You don’t think she is good enough?”
Nick’s words touched Kenny’s ears like a butcher’s knife to tender flesh. A clean, merciless cut. It froze him to the core. More than that, it also felt like a threat, quiet rage spilling through his friend’s voice, in a way eerily uncommon. When Kenny turned around, he found Nick’s gaze on him, somber aggression shadowing his eyes, and a judgment that felt worse than Matt’s ever did. The moment feels like it’s suspended in time, his knees almost buckling under the weight of that heavy stare. And then he remembers, Nick had always been close to you, if there was somebody out there who knew all the ways Kenny wronged you, that would be him. And he’d be primed to notice Kenny slipping up again.
It hurts. Kenny knows Nick is right, and it hurts. The truth burns him, wide eyes glued on his friend’s somber ones, yeah, he deserved the quiet rage. Then he remembers something else, he remembers you, saying those same words when he went to see you after a match, not too long before you left. ‘You don’t think I’m good enough?’ Kenny had gone to check on you, worried about your state, he was scared of you getting seriously injured, deeply terrified of something bad happening to you. He couldn’t understand why you were enraged when he talked, why you wouldn’t just comprehend that he cared and he wanted to help. Why you wouldn’t just take his advice, when all he wanted was to see you well. He was afraid, and he ended up letting that push you away.
He was acting on his fear back then, and he was doing the same thing now, too.
A loud cheer erupted from the crowd, breaking the bubble they had been trapped in. Two pairs of eyes turned back to the screen, both men catching the end of your finisher, just in time to see you take your opponent to a pin. The sight has Nick coming to his feet fast, both Kenny and him voicing a strangled yes under their breaths. The count starts, and it seems so long, but just as they were both about to commemorate, it stops, your opponent kicking out almost the third hit, Nick and Kenny once again matching in a chorus of frustrate grunts.
You don’t let up and the match continues, now turning into a struggle, a test of resilience for both sides. For a brief second you leave an opening and your opponent capitalizes, having just returned from the almost pin. She delivers a kick that sends you flying over the hopes, back hitting the cage wall before you fall to the hard floor. Nick winces and Kenny follows suit, but it’s not for long. You come back up with a renewed fire, rage burning bright and making you turn the next few minutes in an unbarred beat down, until you are standing before your exhausted opponent laid on a table. Kenny knows it can only mean one thing.
It all happens in a flash, you run to the corner, propelling yourself up from the top rope so you can jump to the cage wall and climb to the top. It’s like Kenny blinks and you are already standing at the edge of the metal structure, looking down at the ring below. You look small, standing over the large space, floodlights drowning your form. His stomach drops, anxiety creeping into his spine, but in a second it’s gone. You leap, and it’s like all goes quiet for a moment, both Nick and Kenny leaning forward in anticipation. Like the world stands still and there is only you, spinning in mid air for an eternity, defying gravity’s attempts to pull you to the ground below.
You are almost glowing, and Kenny remembers something else. He remembers the first time he saw you - the first time he noticed you, that heart stopping moment that burned your existence forever into his mind. You were taking a leap, much like this one, body floating in midair almost as if weightless. You were wild, free and unafraid, and something in that fearlessness captivated him. So when did he let his fear convince him that caging you would be for your own good?
These long few seconds finally end as the crowd erupts in a booming cheer, Kenny and Nick following along as your landing hits perfectly, bringing your opponent crashing through the table. In a moment you recover from the crash and make it to the pin again, and this time it goes down to the count of three. The bell rings and Kenny’s smile couldn’t be bigger if he wanted to, body frozen in awe and joy as he watches you standing bloodied but victorious. Nick throws an arm over him, bringing them close together, breaking the tension away from his body.
“See? I told you had nothing to worry about,” Nick says over the loud cheers.
“Yeah,” Kenny replies, finally relaxing against the metal railing, laughing softly as he looked back at Nick, “I was just being a scared idiot. And that was fucking beautiful.”
You make your exit and just as your music dies down, both men start making their way to the backstage again. Kenny wanted to be there for you when you returned, bloodied and glorious, his heart still racing in his chest after that match. In a perfect world he’d get to hold you in his arms, kiss your lips despite the blood, and then be the one to clean it from your face. But this was not a perfect world, all he could do was congratulate you like a friend. To tell you how great you were and how beautiful the match had been - and hope he could make up for at least a fraction of the times he didn’t tell you all that.
Before they could get to where your locker room was, they found Matt, who stopped both Kenny and Nick in their tracks by saying you had actually gone to see the doctor. There it was, the taste of fear again, rising to his mouth like bile in his throat. It was sickening. But before Kenny could react, Matt insisted that it was nothing too bad. You had dislocated your knee cap, painful but not dangerous, and something all three men knew you’d been through before. Otherwise, you had just scattered cuts that needed tending, but you were mostly unscathed. Kenny felt a sigh of relief escape his lips, it was terrible to see you in pain, but he knew this much wouldn’t take you down.
Together, the three made their way to you, moving through the corridors until they found the door they were looking for at the end of a hallway. It was open, Kenny could already hear voices from the inside, your warm laughter hitting his ears and calming his heart. But the soft moment was cut when he heard something else, a booming voice he knew all too well, followed by a laughter that almost felt mocking to him. He could try to ignore it, pretend it wasn’t there and move forward just to see you, but then he saw a figure passing by the open door. It was Adam. Finding a poor explanation, Kenny excused himself, letting the brothers go on by themselves, feeling Nick’s eyes burning on him as he left.
Kenny knew he had been a coward by just bailing out, he knew he shouldn’t have done that, and still he did. But the thing was, he really didn’t want to be around Adam right now, not when you were in the same room as well. He was still tender from all the thoughts and memories that he’d gone through near the end of your match and he didn’t think he was strong enough. So he left, turning back and regretting his weakness at the same instant. Minutes later, he sent a text to Matt, asking him to let Kenny know when you’d be leaving for your locker room. And now he stood at your door, an ice pack in his hand as a peace offering, a gesture done more to appease his mind than anything else.
You make your way to your locker room limping and exhausted, whole body screaming. The knee was more annoying than anything else, but your back was killing you, and the ice pack you were holding to it wasn’t helping that much. The old pain refused to leave you like some sort of clingy ghost. You had won but fuck, you really felt beaten, you could use a hot shower. The moment you turn the corner to your locker room, though, you are suddenly shaken out of your pity party. Standing by the side of the door, staring straight back at you, was Kenny, an ice pack of his own in hand and a sheepish smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says in an almost awkward tone and you have to bite back a chuckle, “came to check on you, see if I could be of help,” his eyes feel soft as he speaks, hand lifting the ice pack so you could see it.
“I got one already,” you lift your hand from your back, showing the pack in your hand to him. Your words come almost without thought, like a robot responding on auto pilot, something deep in you bringing back bad memories before you shook your head to scatter them away. “But thanks, I appreciate the thought,” you smile this time, trying to believe in the softness you see in his eyes, opening the door and gesturing for him to follow you inside.
“Well, one more won’t hurt,” he adds as you shut the door behind the both of you, blue eyes following your form as you crash on the bench in front of him. “Heard from Matt you got hurt, how you doing?”
You close your eyes with a heavy sigh, too tired to even properly think, but your brain still processing the pain rattling through your bones. Kenny’s quiet and gentle tone comes almost like a cress to your ears. There was a time where having him in your locker room after a match meant you’d only get more tired - but for a wholly different reason. And then, there was a time this same scenario would only end in rage and anguish for you. You shook your head, this was neither of these times, and the man standing before you spoke in such soft tones and he didn’t even seem like that same person.
“Some cuts and bruises here and there,” you respond, touching the large adhesive bandage covering the long gash in your forehead, fingers littered in small scrapes from the barbed wire. “A bruised ego from not getting a pin from my own finisher,” you laugh, and Kenny follows along, making you feel more at ease to look him in the eyes and truly count your losses. “And a dislocated knee cap, again. But it’s like I get one of these every other year, so it’s not too bad. Though, my back hurts like hell. Not that there's anything wrong with it just, some injuries never really leave you, you know how it is.”
Your words are quiet, a sad smile playing on your face as you shrug, eyes falling to the floor. You pull down your knee pad to reveal the swollen and hurting joint, placing the ice pack on it with a hiss. You knew you looked almost destroyed, and you knew Kenny could see it clearly. Not only in the swollen knee, but in the multiple scrapes on your body, and the few scattered bruises that were probably darkening already. Beyond that, there was still blood on your hair, red staining your gear and some spots on your body. You won, but you still looked like a mess, a glorious mess but a tired one nonetheless.
“If it’s any consolation,” he spoke softly, and at the same time you felt a cold touch bringing relief to your tired back, Kenny dropping to sit by your side on the bench, “you were great. Really, that match was just fantastic.”
Kenny smiled, blue eyes shining as one hand held the ice pack to your back, held against the point on your spine where the longest scar was. Exactly the spot that was hurting the most. His other hand came to brush away a strand of hair from your face, blood still smeared over it. For a moment you felt your breath hitch, heart stopping as the ocean in his gaze drowned you in. When his fingers left your face, you broke away from his eyes, your gaze falling to the side as you laughed softly, his words warming your tired body.
“Thanks, at least that means my knee’s sacrifice was worth it, then,” you smiled back at him, chuckling as you spoke, still not brave enough to return your eyes to his deep blue gaze.
“When did you dislocate it?”
He asks calmly, but you still feel a shiver run down your spine, body reacting on muscle memory, mind suddenly jumping on alert. You remember how it would go, you remember it far too well. He was always worried, always scared, always just wanting what was best for you. And you wondered if he considered what you wanted, what you needed. You wondered if he ever considered that maybe you knew what you were doing, that you were good at what you did. The sting of the memory hurts more than it should and you try to push it away. You are a different person, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t do that to you now.
“What,” you laugh, and it feels wrong even to your ears, a dark and raspy sound ringing through gritted teeth as your tense eyes lock with his own. And you almost feel like Kenny cowers back at the stare. “You gonna chastise me for it if I tell you?”
“No,” he responds, voice almost small as he shakes his head.
“If you do, I'm gonna break your teeth in,” you point a finger at him, the threat coming with a smile and a chuckle that are only half true.
“Fair,” he snickers, lifting his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck as he laughs, “but I’m not planning to.”
You stare at him for a second, but Kenny doesn’t budge, blue eyes trailed on your own, smile seeming soft and genuine. It’s strange, but he has been showing that he changed, so you give him the benefit of the doubt. With a heavy sigh, you rest your torso on your free hand, fingers digging into the edge of the bench as you remember that exact unlucky moment.
“Remember that failed pin after my finisher? Well, after that, she kicked me straight to the damn cage. The fall wasn’t high, but it was still garbage, the moment I hit the ground I knew my knee was out of place again,” the words leave your lips and your eyes look deep into his own, searching for that well known judgment, but you find it nowhere, only a pained softening as you describe what happened.
“Shit,” he shoots back and you almost laugh at the simple reaction, “but honestly, I wasn’t able to tell from just watching. And that last jump was gorgeous anyway, it actually sounds even more amazing now,” Kenny’s eyes shine as he laughs softly and you feel your fears melting away, his presence bringing a strange comfort.“You think you are gonna have to stay away long?”
“Nah,” you shrug, despite the movement flaring up the pain in your back, “I didn’t have anything booked for the next two weeks, they’ll probably give me another one and I should be back with a bunch of tape and a brace on that knee after that.”
“I’m happy to know that,” Kenny’s lips curl into a wide smile, his eyes shining softly and you feel a gentle warmth rising to your chest, blood rushing to your face.
“Well, Kenny, thank you for your worry, really,” you respond, pushing yourself up too quickly for your pained knee, but still hiding the wince as you stand proudly. “Now, it’s not that I want to kick you out, but I really need a shower. I got blood drying between my tits, it’s really not nice.”
He laughs at your words but still takes his leave, laying his hand on your shoulder before he goes, its warmth spreading through your skin as he praises you again. When the door closes behind him, you huff out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, fighting to get a hold of yourself. That was getting too mushy for comfort. God, you really needed that shower now.
Kenny grunts as your soft lips crashed on his own in a sloppy flurry, tongues dancing together as he pulled your bodies close. You were sitting on top of him, hands bracing your weight on his naked chest as your legs straddled his hips. Kenny’s hands travel from below your top down to the exposed skin of your hips and thighs, savoring the feeling of your soft skin under his thick fingers. God, you felt so good, so right. When you rub your wet pussy against the large bulge in his pants, he breaks away from the kiss with a gasp, wondering for half a second if your wetness would stain his jeans. Somehow, the thought only got harder.
Shit, sometimes he really felt like an animal around you.
Kenny hadn’t even had the chance to take off his pants when you two crashed on the bed. He had come to visit you in your house nearly two weeks after you’d gotten hurt in that cage match. But almost as soon as he arrived, you both were already clashing together in a needy mix of mouths and hands and erotic touches. You dragged him to the bedroom and although this wasn’t the original purpose of his visit, he wasn’t about to say no. He had forgotten how you got horny when you were bored. And you could get really bored when you couldn’t fight.
With one hand, Kenny opened his pants, freeing his aching erection from the tight confine of his pants. The moment his cock was out, you rubbed your pussy against it, smearing his sensitive length in your wetness as he groaned. One of his hands smacked your ass for teasing him, but he loved every second of it. Bringing his lips back to your own, Kenny took hold of your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he aligned himself with your entrance before pulling you down in one fluid motion.
You both moan, lips still barely touching each other in a messy dance. You slide all the way down until he is buried balls deep within you, and Kenny holds you there for a second, completely lost in pleasure. When you start to move, he grunts into your lips, one hand going to the back of your neck to pull you further into the kiss. It feels sinful and holy how your body fits so perfectly on his, your arms over his shoulders keeping him close - oh, if only you knew how he never wanted to be away.
The bouncing of your body up and down his cock has his mind reeling. The way your pussy tightens against his hard shaft every time your ass slams against his legs brings him to the edge of madness. You move in sync, tongues and hands and hips in an erotic harmony. Bodies already used to the map of each other’s shape. Like an old road leading home, one he could traverse with closed eyes. And one he never wants to leave.
One of his hands travels up your body, pulling down the strap of your top, revealing the tender skin of your breast. He digs his fingers into your pliable flesh, in ecstasy at how soft it feels under his rough digits. Kenny teases your nipple and you moan, sound silenced by his hungry mouth. He bites into your lower lip, feeling you tighten around his cock, his whole body shaking with a shudder in response. When he is satisfied, he moves his hand from your chest to your neck, long fingers circling it from side to side. He can feel you shiver, mouth leaving yours to lay a kiss on your shoulder as his digits tighten against your pulse.
A gasp escapes your lips in response, movements stuttering, and the hand on your ass holds you in a firm grasp as Kenny starts moving you up and down his cock. You almost feel weightless, like a doll in his strong arms, he makes it seem easy to hold someone as heavy as yourself. You take it, breathlessly holding onto his shoulders for support as he aids your movements, his other hand constricting your neck only just enough. It’s like everything is becoming too much, his kisses on your shoulder, his cock slamming on your quivering pussy, the large hand digging into your pulse. You can feel the coil within you tightening more and more.
Just as you manage to pick up the movement of your hips on your own again, Kenny’s hand flies to your pussy, deft fingers finding your sensitive clit. Shit, you are sure he is gonna break you down like that, but you don’t really mind. He is throbbing within you, grunting and moaning as you clench around his length. You start to feel breathless, your hard grip around his shoulders loosening, and that’s when his fingers let go of your pulse. Air rushes into your lungs just as his mouth finds your neck, and that’s when he starts hammering his hips against you, one arm now resting on the bed for support.
“That’s it, come on, let go,” he murmurs against your neck in encouragement and it only brings you closer to the edge. “I got you.”
His voice sends a shiver down your spine, making your pussy tremble and throb. You want to scream, but the sound that comes out is no more than a whine as you bury your face in his shoulder, the movement of his fingers on your clit becoming too much. When Kenny digs his teeth into your neck, you shudder, stars covering your vision, body going limp against him. But he keeps to what he just said, holding you with a thick, powerful arm as his hips hammer into your own, riding your orgasm as you shake around him.
Kenny feels close, so fucking close he can taste it, cock throbbing wildly inside you. He is moving you up and down, slamming his hips into your own, chasing his high as you lay breathless on his chest. Your hands run lovingly over his arms and back, a gentle caress to his tense muscles. He feels you laying warm kisses on his left shoulder, the same one that has been giving him so much trouble that he needs it wrapped in tape almost every other match. But you still kiss it softly and adoringly, just the tenderness of the touch driving closer to his breaking point.
His movements grow faster and more erratic and you start moaning in a weak tone every time he bottoms you out. The sweet sound is too much for him, the coil in his gut snapping as he sees white. Kenny pulls you down, holding your hips firm against his own as his cock throbs, shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside your soft, warm pussy. He is breathless himself, arms trembling as he paints your insides white, a bliss so powerful he almost feels undeserving of it. Kenny pulls you by your hair gently, lips finding yours again as he rolls you both, laying your body down on the bed with a kiss as he pulls out.
For a minute, his lips still stay on yours, the kiss is soft and sweet as his large hands caress your face. When your mouths part, your eyes meet each other, both held in a deep, powerful gaze for a long moment as you both feel breathless. Kenny feels his heart stuttering and the air choking in his throat. That’s when he pulls away, laying down in exhaustion. You two stay like that for a second, laying on the bed as you recover your breath, your hand caressing his arm as you murmur something soft to him. All he can feel is the overwhelming weight of the emotions he fights to hide.
When you get up to go to the en suite bathroom, finding your lost pants on the floor of the bedroom, he just stays laying down for a moment. Looking around, he takes in the place, a gentle green painting the walls and the bright sunlight filtering through your warm windows. There were illustrations hanging from the walls, posters and other such things. Your bedroom was large and beautiful, and it smelled like sweet scented candles.
Looking to the other side he sees the closed door to the bathroom, and by it an open door leading to a closet. He can see some of your gear, the leather and chains recognizable from afar. And then something strikes him, a pain shooting into his gut like a knife when his eyes see something hanging in a corner on the far wall. A jacket, but not one of your own, although he can still recognize it, and it has his blood freezing in fear. That was Adam’s jacket.
You leave the bathroom fully dressed and Kenny snaps out of his own mind, eyes finding your soft smile, his heart almost forgetting why he was so terrified. Getting up, he picks up his shirt from the floor and goes to get cleaned and to give himself a moment to push that sudden terror and pain to the back of his mind. He was here now with you, that was all that mattered. When he leaves the bathroom, he finds you waiting for him by the bedroom door, a soft hand bringing his face down to your own when he approaches. The kiss washes over him like a blessing, sunlight shining into his mind and scattering his fears. And fuck, he had already fallen beyond the point of no return.
You leave the bedroom together, as you lead him by the hand, only letting go when you get to the living room, telling Kenny he could wait as you went to the kitchen to get the food. Walking around, he could finally get a good look at the place. When he arrived, you two were so fast to just jump on each other that he didn’t have much time before you both ended up in the bedroom. Not that he was complaining, but he was happy to be able to fully take in the place. He had never been at your home before, despite how he had been to Matt’s and even Nick’s homes multiple times, and how you lived relatively close to them both. It was weird thinking back now, noticing how far you were despite being so near.
Your home was beautiful, the warm sun shining through the large windows making it seem dreamy. The living room was decorated in earth colors, a few plants breaking the dominant hue with their green. The whole place smelled like coffee, sweet and deep and it reminded him of you. Through the wall he saw posters, paintings and photos, sharing the space with the occasional hanging plant, thick vines dropping to the floor, heavy with large leaves.
As his eyes traveled, Kenny spotted something else. In a corner on the wall, only gently touched by the sun, stood a tall bookshelf, all black metal and dark wood. Though, it wasn’t its design that caught his eye. The shelves were littered with various pictures and wrestling memorabilia, and even before his feet carried you there, he already knew they all related to you. Like scattered shards of a life he didn’t witness, they shone under the sun, the only remnants of a history he wasn’t there to share. It was almost like he was staring into something he shouldn’t see.
Most of the things on the bookshelf were photos, some large, others smaller, the majority of them having you in the frame. The ones that didn’t, he knew you were the one behind the camera. His eyes scanned the pictures, many had you with various people, some he recognized, others he didn’t, but he could tell almost all were from your WWE days. The larger ones always had you with a belt, either alone in the ring or surrounded by friends backstage. They were a commemoration of conquests you rarely even mentioned now.
Though, what surprised him the most was seeing an old photo in a wooden frame, standing almost humble in a corner. Compared to the newer ones around, it even seemed blurry. The picture had a much younger you, and on either side were Nick and Matt. He recognized that photo. He had been the one to take it, all the way back in Japan. Looking around, he saw a couple more pictures from that time, and although he knew he had no right to, he still felt his heart drop when he realized he wasn’t in any of them.
Shaking his head he moved on, aside from the pictures there were a couple assorted pieces of gear, beautifully worked, clearly something from special occasions. At one of the lower shelves he found a few figures, the WWE logo stamped on all of them. They had different clothes and even poses, but the one that got his attention was the one where you carried the belt. Kenny remembered seeing that exact one in a store one day and freezing, swallowing hard as he realized you had found success without him.
And then the feeling catches him again, but not quite the same way. You had found success without him, and it was a good thing. It was good that you had left. Looking through all of these things now, he finally took in the extent of the life you had lived. These objects all told a tale, not only of the path you had trailed, but of how important it all had been to you. He knew how hard you had fought to be free to do with your life what you wanted, to follow your dreams, even before you had gotten to New Japan. And even beyond that, you continued to fight and to conquer and to live your life to the fullest.
Suddenly, Kenny felt overwhelmed by the realization that he had almost robbed you of that. That his fear of being left alone had blinded him and almost chained you to the ground. That in his desperation to keep you safe, to keep you close, he had almost stopped you from having all of that. He had been selfish and childish and it was good that you were stubborn and relentless. He had always liked that in you.
“Oh, please, anything but that one,” your voice snaps Kenny out of his mind, only then realizing his fingers were almost touching the figure on the shelf. “The face mold makes me look awful,” you laugh and he has to try and calm his breathing, to force his heart to slow as he looks back at you.
“They never look quite right,” he laughs sheepishly, hoping you don’t notice his state as you approach.
“This one looks especially bad though, so sad that it’s the one with the belt,” you pout and Kenny almost melts, heart skipping a beat at the sight. “You must think I’m a hoarder, keeping all of this stuff.”
The words spill from your lips followed by a soft laughter, it’s sheepish and he can feel the hesitation in your smile. You feel ashamed, hands fidgeting by your side. No, he doesn’t think you are a hoarder, he wants to say. He knows the importance of the memories of all the things you’ve built. But the words get caught in his throat as he looks into your beautiful eyes. You both growing silent for a moment before he turns his gaze back to the bookshelf.
“No, I think it’s nice,” he hesitates, throat feeling like it’s closing, as if he was choking on his words. “I can see why you keep them.”
You stand by his side, shoulder resting on the wall, as you watch him speak. Kenny talks softly, he says the words with a smile, but you can tell there is turmoil behind the gentle curl of his lips. You can tell by the way he hesitates, the way he chews on his words, the way his voice feels just a bit heavier, a bit more controlled. You could only imagine what goes on in his mind, your eyes following his gaze to the most recent photo in the bunch. It had been taken only a month after your arrival at AEW, in it, you stood surrounded by new friends - and old ones - standing in front of the ring. Kenny is so tense he doesn’t even notice the silence growing again, but you can almost taste the anguish in it.
“Kenny,” you call his name gently, and he finally turns back to you, eyes almost gazing beyond your face, “what’s got you thinking so deep?”
He blinks a couple of times, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs softly, but you don’t believe in that laughter for a second. “Nothing, really,” he starts, but you hum suspiciously his way, prompting him to squirm under your gaze a little, face turning back to the bookshelf for a moment and you can see him almost speak. His lips tremble and his jaw moves, but he hesitates, cutting himself off before any sounds come out. Then he turns back to you, taking a deep breath before finally talking.
“Just, these are all nice, honest. I can see what they represent to you,” he smiles kindly, but the gentle curl of his lips feels bittersweet to you. “You’ve done so many things, and I’m really happy for you, really proud. You deserve everything you’ve got. And you truly became someone awe inspiring,” his smile grows bigger and you can tell the compliments are genuine, words spoken from the heart, but there is still tension in his voice, like a frozen lake, and you can see the shadow of something swimming just below the surface. “Though, I guess that was always a given, I never knew anything that could stop you.”
That’s when the ice cracks, and you catch a glimpse below, things falling into place in your mind. Guess that responded to your fears from all these months ago. Yes, he was aware of what he had to apologize for, he knew the sins he had committed, and now he was made to face them. To catch a glimpse at the other side of that door, and take the brunt of that feeling. Some time ago you’d relinquished this moment. Cherished the regret in his eyes as he looked at the photos on the shelf. But time had made Kenny into another person. One you could care for. One you could hold close to your heart.
“Come on,” you laugh, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning your head against it. “You talk like I did way more than I actually did. I mean, not that I’m unhappy with anything,” you shrug, laughing softly, feeling a bit happier when Kenny follows along. “And I’m happy you like who I am now, you know? We all change and sometimes, that’s terrifying. I guess, in the end, leaving New Japan, coming to WWE, it was for the best, I can’t deny,” you rest your head fully on his shoulder now, looking up to see those ocean eyes glancing at you from under heavy eyelashes.
You want to console him, to tell him it’s ok, that your stubborn nature saved too much harm from being done. That in the end, since you left and got to make your life your own, you still could find space for forgiveness in your heart. But you can’t do that, not when he won’t truly tell you what he thinks. So you settle to try and say the things you mean, without saying the words. To tell him that despite the harm done and all the bad things, you still managed to find beauty. You managed to be happy, and you’d want him to be too.
“I mean,” you start again, free hand coming to circle around his bicep as you speak, eyes falling back to your photos, Kenny’s gaze following suit. “It all helped in the growth of my career - and, shit, despite my problems with them, I can’t say WWE wasn’t important on that too. But also on my growth as a person, I needed to do all these things I did to become who I am now. And sure, some of them were pretty stupid and reckless, but I don’t regret anything,” you say with a smile, squeezing his arm and bringing his gaze back to yours, those piercing eyes feeling raw and open. “Even though, my body may be a bit more fucked up now than it should. But we can never win against age in the end.”
You finish your words with a warm laugh, laying more of your weight on his shoulder as your body shakes with the movement. You can only hope he has understood you, only hope you managed to get your point across. Kenny chuckles along with you, and you can feel his head shaking from above your own. A large hand covers the one you had on his arm, warmth spreading from his palm to you at the gentle touch. It made you feel happy, to hear him laugh, feel the warmth of his hand, made you believe that maybe you could get through.
“You are not old,” he retorts, squeezing your own hand, his smile reaching his eyes again.
“Ah, see how that feels now?” You pull away from him and playfully slap his shoulder, Kenny’s laughter filling the room. “But really, Kenny, I gotta face the music too. Time passes and my body just isn’t as strong as it used to be. That little cage match isn’t something I can do without weighing the costs now.”
“Come on,” Kenny rests his hand on your shoulder, smile never faltering from that beautiful face, his eyes filled with something tender and inviting that you can’t quite place. “You still got some years to go, and many matches like that last one to give during that time.”
His hold on your shoulder is tender, and once again his warmth spreads all through your skin. It’s like Kenny heats the room he is in just by being there, warmer than the sun and twice as gentle. He smiles at you with a kind certainty that makes you want to believe in his words, to believe that time would be good to you the same way he is. For a second you get caught in a bubble, removed from the rest of the world, this long moment where there is only you and him. Only this bright smile and beautiful eyes that make your heart skip a bit and make you suddenly forget how to breathe.
Shit, you really don’t wanna think about what this means right now.“Let’s go,” you snap yourself out of it, slapping his shoulder and turning around in the direction of the kitchen, “food is gonna get cold, again. Hurry up.”
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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬' 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞
⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
Warnings: swearing
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ
𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿
・You had seen Keeley on the tv before you ever saw her in person.
・And when you did see her in person, you went up and introduced yourself. Only because you were making yourself do things that were difficult (it was supposed to be character-building or something - an idea from your therapist)
・And talking to a pretty girl was one step toward having more confidence
・But she was absolutely lovely
・And you were left feeling so light and bubbly after the conversation
・But fate somehow had a hand in your relationship because you kept bumping into each other.
"I'm not stalking you, I promise!" You blurted out one morning after entering the coffee shop she was exiting.
But she only laughed.
"I've had stalkers before love, you ain't as good as 'em," she winked and walked off. Leaving you with a very fast beating heart.
・You fantasised about her; daydreaming about how your relationship would be. What your wedding would be like, how many kids you would have, if you would be the bread winner or Keeley
・And then you would be brought back to reality with a yell from your boss
・Your pining lasted a few months, until one of your friends got fed up with your inaction and added her on Instagram
・She accepted, and to your surprise, she dm'ed you first
'we go to the same coffee shop, don't we?'
・You were stunned and didn't think this would happen in a million years. Were you supposed to answer straight away? In 10 minutes? In an hour, oh god a day??
・This was why you were terrible at dating and relationships in general - you never knew what to do
・But Keeley had made you feel so at ease, and you made up your mind. Even if you looked stupid, at least you were being polite
'Yeah, we do! Too bad today they didn't have their croissants :('
・You waited and waited and saw that she had read the message. It took two minutes for the bubbles to form and you were squealing
'I could get you one tomorrow!'
・You nearly threw your phone across the room. FUCK WAS SHE FLIRTING OR JUST BEING NICE?!
'Really?? thank you! What time do you get there?'
・Was this a date? Were you inadvertently creating a date?
・The answer was yes. A big fat fucking yes. Which led to more and more dates.
・And then she asked if you wanted to sleep over at her place and it was the best time of your life. The next morning she made snails out of pancakes and various other creatures. It made you fall in love with her even more.
・There was something about Keeley that made you feel confident and weak in the knees at the same time
・She always loops her arm with yours, nudging you and then holding you close.
・And Keeley always has something to say, so there's never a lull in the conversation
・She's asked you if you'd still love her if she was a worm, and you said yes. And you'd make a little worm house for her, and get her food. And she started crying.
・Who knew a B-level model and D-level celebrity would fall in love with you?
・You honestly never thought Keeley and you would work. Or at least, get this far. Past the point of talking to each other in the coffee shop.
・But you did, and you moved into her place
・She brings you to all the Richmond games (or the important ones, if you don't like sports)
・Roy and Jamie cornered you one afternoon, both had their arms crossed in front of each other.
・But you weren't intimidated in the slightest
"You hurt her, and we'll break your face," Roy grumbled. And Jamie nodded and then looked at his captain with a tad of horror.
"Fair," you said and walked away.
・Would definitely get two ragdoll kittens with pink collars and love heart name tags.
・Her favourite things to do with you are staying up late watching movies - especially romance. She can't help but love them. Especially 'Leap Year' and 'Mamma Mia.'
𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔
Chaotic Dumbass Duo
Always Hold Grudges (You) x Forgives Too Easily (Keeley)
You Didn't Believe The Other Could Ever Love Them Back But They Do
𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆
You Fell First, But They Fall Harder
𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈
Underground by Cody Fry
#witchthewriter#headcanons#keeley jones#keeley jones x reader#keeley jones headcanons#s/o#s/o headcanons#ted lasso#ted lasso headcanons#ted lasso x reader#witch the writer's headcanons#witch the writer's stories#female reader#keeley jones x female reader#keeley jones x you#keeley jones x y/n
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I saw that tag and I’d love to hear your thoughts on Remadora, respectfully 👀
I can’t do it respectfully, Remadoras this is a dead dove don’t read!
It’s a miserable relationship right from the start. Remus does not want to be with Tonks, point blank. He’s a traumatized, emotionally scarred man who has lost everyone he’s ever loved. He’s not ready to be in a relationship. Tonks isn’t just younger, she hasn’t lived through a war and experienced grief like he has. She doesn’t understand him at all.
She was such a fun, spunky and warm person. What the hell happened in HBP honestly? Why is she suddenly someone who can’t take no for an answer and withering because a man doesn’t want her? Why not give Remus the space he needs and just say “I have feelings for you but I respect your decision and not losing you as a friend is more important”.
Remus cannot take himself out of this equation because he’s trying to fight a war and keep his dead bestfriends orphaned child alive. He keeps throwing himself into dangerous missions because he literally doesn’t want to commit to a relationship. Instead, Tonks, Molly and Mcgonagall corner him right after he loses the mentor who quite literally gave him a place in the magical world. They pressure Remus while he’s vulnerable and intensely distressed. Remus’ reasons might be clouded by his self-loathing but to him they’re still valid. Absolutely no one listens to or tries to understand him.
Of course he tries to fucking bail. He didn’t ask for this, he wasn’t ready and he’s freaking the fuck out! He’s stressed both about the war and his relationship. He worries about Tonks, he worries about her family, worries about Teddy. He’s miserable and Tonks sees that, is she happy? No!
Also. this whole debacle literally got them both killed. Yeah, I said it. Neither Remus nor Tonks could keep in shape or train sufficiently for the battle and would probably have survived without the relationship and baby drama.
“Remus was no longer in prime fighting condition when he rushed to join the fight. Months of inactivity, using mostly spells of concealment and protection, had blunted his duelling capabilities, and when he ran up against a dueller of Dolohov’s skill, now battle-hardened after months of killing and maiming, his reactions were too slow.” Pottermore
Also, they were thrown together because they were the queerest characters & terfling hated Wolfstar. Bleh!
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Hey, y'all! It's been very long since I've posted anything... (it probably would have been months but anyways) I was just here to say some things that I've been reflecting on too much and I've finally decided to say it out. It's not such a big topic, or an important one, and I think we all, Milevens relate it to it in some case.
So yeah... I was inactive. And I srsly don't know how long it have been since I last visited Tumblr. This is the first post in a long time, and maybe it could be the last one too. The reason behind this was (obviously we all know) the constant ship wars between mileven and by/er stans.
When I first opened my blog as a Mileven shipper, I did not want to fight over something, instead just wanted to be myself, enjoying my ship. The same went with Twitter too, but obviously it wasn't happening.
By/ers constantly attacking every mileven post and making delusional clues were hard to ignore. At some point, I was furious with all of these posts, so I started to defend my ship and as I did, I felt some kind of satisfaction that my ship is the right one and yes, I should continue shipping it.
But as the time was passing by, I became tired. Some by/ers started coming @ me for a response, asking "why do I even ship mileven" or "what do you like abt them when they're toxic af", and after that they also start pointing out why their ship is better, which I still find annoying.
I tried to answer them as much as I could but then them completely ignoring my point and just coming back to the starting was totally rude. If they don't want to believe what I say, then it's completely fine. But not even respecting my opinion and just talk past through it?
I started to get tired of all this and tried to ignore them but then they came with a conclusion that "you're scared to face the reality and that's what you all do"
Not only once, it has happened a tons of times. On YouTube, Instagram, Twitter etc. there a lot of toxic by/ers attacking me for even posting some mileven content like wth?? Now I can't even post anything in peace??
So getting tired from all that, I decided that I should just get out from the mileven fandom. I know, it's silly and completely childish to back up after being into this fandom for nearly 8 years, but now it's just getting frustrating.
I love Mileven. I seriously do. But I can't ship them when other shippers can't respect other's ship. It's enough now.
Honestly, when I came here today, I was so happy that there are still positive Milevens out there, who are not bothered of all this and I think they have suffered worse from what I did but still enjoying the ship in peace.
I wish you all the best of luck into this journey and I hope that our beloved Mileven becomes endgame. And when it will, I will come back. To celebrate that joy that we all Milevens are longing for.
-Have a good day, ya'll!
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Could you possibly do kokichi x reader where they have a hard time telling the difference between truth and lies so they believe alot of his lies
Hello! I apologize for this blog dying momentarily.. I would have posted before this ask, but have been busy recently.
(Albeit, even if I have been inactive, I highly suggest sending in asks if you would like to see more content from me. It really gives me a good kick to the butt to get my work done!)
Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this! I was going to do a oneshot, however I felt that headcanons would fit the prompt slightly better.. Thank you for baring with me, and make sure to let me know if you’d like me to change anything!
~Princely
Kokichi Oma x Reader Who Believes (The Mass Majority..) Of His Lies
~Oh, trust me.. Kokichi has definitely figured out how easy it is to trick you, and uses it to his advantage on a daily basis.
~He actually lied about his name when you two first met! The only reason you even found out about him being a compulsive liar was that you met the actual Tenko Chabashira.
~..Yeah, Tenko wasn’t too happy about that.
~Kokichi loves making you second guess yourself. He will often lie about seemingly pointless stuff, like what you ate for breakfast that morning, and it will take you a hot minute to figure out if he is being truthful or not.
~He loves making up fake backstories for himself and others. But he always seems to forget the previous ones, so he tends to make a game out of how crazy he can make the next story.
~Unicorns, perhaps?
~Kokichi’s manipulative nature only increased when he realized how much of an opportunity he has now that he met you.. Perhaps he could trick you into messing with the others?
~Nonetheless, even if Kokichi is manipulative, he won’t do anything too terrible. He may be the leader of a super duper evil organization, but he still has boundaries, y’know?
~To everyone else’s dismay, they can never get an honest word out of Kokichi when you are nearby. They know this because the lies get increasingly obvious when you are within an earshot..
~He loves influencing you to think random, embarrassing things about the other students. For months, you used to think that Miu was actually a cross-dresser, and that Rantaro still peed the bed as a teen.
~Kokichi has definitely made up some random bug species or has renamed an existing one just to mess with you. Either way, he succeeded in embarrassing you in front of Gonta, so he considers that a job well done.
~Sometimes Kirumi or Kaede have to sit you down to tell you that Kokichi was lying about something. And even if you believe them or not, you always make sure to thank them when they look out for you.
~Kokichi can sometimes convince you that he has injuries that he doesn’t actually have. This often ends with him getting scolded by Kirumi..
~He definitely has tried to use you to his advantage when he tries to get an answer to his life long question. (Do robots have dicks?)
~However, no matter how hard Kokichi tries, it never works out the way he wants..
~Still, even if he can be a little shit, he will try to tone down how much he lies when you two get into a relationship.
~Keyword: try. But at least he will start admitting to when he is lying more often, so I guess that’s a bonus..
~Believe it or not, but he doesn’t want to build a relationship entirely on lies, so he’ll make an attempt to chill out once in a while. However, he refuses to tone down on the more childish ones.
~When you figure out that Kokichi is lying, it’s most likely because he told the same lie before (and told you that he was lying).. Nonetheless, it doesn’t make him any less surprised when you catch him in the act.
~He’ll try to play it cool when you call him out, however he can’t help it if a little bit of shock registers on his face. He has learnt to let his guard down when lying to you, after all.
~Although, the more often you call him out, the less he will lie. Whether or not that is because he needs to let you forget his previous lies he told is a secret, though..
#danganronpa x reader#danganronpa x y/n#danganronpa x you#danganronpa#danganronpa fanfiction#kokichi oma x reader#kokichi x reader#kokichi x y/n#kokichi x you#kokichi ouma#kokichi oma#kokichi drv3#x reader#x reader blog#fanfic
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(Good news! This blog will be back to life next week after almost a year of being inactive! Of course I’m horribly sorry for the weeks and months and almost a year of waiting and putting this blog on a hiatus, I didn’t mean to do it but school and life got in the way and my mental health started to decline and I had no interest in keeping this blog going but I’m back and ready to start posting more now! I’ll be back next week with the questions from before all answered and the ask box will be opened soon! Anyways hope to get more questions to keep this blog going! Bye bye now!)
(P.S. I got way better at art then from um…last year…no idea what that monstrosity of “art” that was last year but uh yeah—)
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Welcome To Redacted Updates!
A blog dedicated to giving you updates on Redacted Audios on YouTube & Patreon.
Inactive as of January 13th, 2024.
Redacted Audio
Patreon
YouTube
Hewll Yeah Podcast
Lore Site (Timeline)
Linktree
Weekly Schedule
Patreon early access: Tuesday & Friday at 4PM MST
YouTube release: Wednesday & Saturday at 4PM MST
Monthly BA: On the Wednesday closes to the 15th of every month (I believe?)
Hewll Yeah Podcast: They used to do like 3PM MST on Sundays/Mondays. But there hasn't been a schedule since early summer of 2023
*Erik's timezone is MST
Tags
redacted youtube updates - Updates of the youtube channel
redacted patreon updates - Updates of the patreon (please see FAQ below)
HYP updates - Updates of the Hewll Yeah Podcast
redacted erik updates - Updates of Erik, Mr Redacted himself
queue - posts from the queue
reblog - reblogged posts
Character Tags
gavin update - updates on our favorite incubus Gavin
lasko update - updates on the bestest sub- i mean nervous air elemental
asher update - updates on beta of the shaw pack, asher!!!
hush update - updates on hush...the mysterious entity...shhh...
sam update - updates on the sweet cowboy vampire
james update - updates on the guy who has a point
vincent update - updates on a vampiric prince
david update - updates on our alpha werewolf fiancée
porter update - updates on the mysterious vamp back in town
regulus update
ivan update
(this will be "real time" updated as characters get updates!)
Mods
Mod Dany - all pronouns, EST (unavailable after 8pm-ish), does transcrips/image descs when i have the time, will sometimes post meme/shitpost, tag: mod dany
FAQ
What is this?
An update account dedicated to Redacted Audio on YouTube (& Patreon).
What do you update?
Everything! Sometimes, Erik related activity. But mostly, video uploads, character lore, etc...
Who operates this?
I'm Dany. I run other Update Account blogs on tumblr and I've been watching Redacted since late 2021, and I've been involved with the fandom since summer of 2022.
Do you update stuff related to the Patreon?
Yes and no. This will be a situation to situation thing. However, I will not, ever update about anything that is posted behind a paywall for a reason. I will not disrespect Erik's wishes, so I won't post about BA's, certain upcoming content, links to private streams, etc... (if you have any specific questions about this feel free to ask!)
Do you post updates about the characters?
Yes! That is more or less the point of this blog!
How do I start watching Redacted?
The answer to this will defiantly be different from person to person, but personally I started with the "Everything" Playlist, it's all of the videos in a playlist in the order of release. But if you don't want to start with that, you can start with character/story playlists. Starting with either Freelancer Season One (Gavin, Lasko, Damien, & Huxley), Vincent, or David and explore from there! There really isn't a "right" way to watch Redacted, so whichever way you choose will probably be best for you :)
Who is [insert character here]?
Character Guide
Will updates be put in the main tag?
Yes and no. Again, this is a situation to situation thing! If you wish for me to further elaborate please feel free to ask!
Where did the pfp come from?
It's a screenshot I took of Erik from the podcast, it's from episode 47!
There's a podcast?
Yeah, Erik has a podcast with his friend Odie. The podcast is not about Redacted, they are totally separate things, but sometimes Erik will talk about Redacted related things.
Can I tell Erik about your blog?
I mean, technically yeah you can and I really don't think Erik would care...however, getting an Erik notice or his attention would honestly really freak me out lol so I'd rather no one bring it to his attention for the sake of my anxiety
If you have a question that wasn't answered please feel free ask it in the ask box!
Please Be Aware: Redacted Audio is widely regarded as 18+ however, I am not responsible for who interacts with my blog or Redacted Audio content. I will not ever under any circumstances put time or effort into policing others online, it is a fruitless effort and quite frankly, not my problem. If you do not feel comfortable interacting with 18+ content, that is your responsibility and if you are not comfortable with certain people within the fandom/or interacting with the fandom, the block button exists. You are responsible for no one but yourself when it comes to the internet.
[this blog also functions as an archive]
#redacted audio#redactedverse#redacted asmr#pinned#long post#welcome to redacted updates#not an update#mod dany
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hey! not to seem weird but i haven't seen you on my dash in a bit so I'm wondering if you're okay? sorry this is probably weird to send since it's only been like one day of inactivity but like--you good?
I’m ok now after seeing this ask- sorry, seeing people like… actually worry about me makes me.. idk- feel comfort!! I’m used to being the “side character” let’s say so… this meant a lot, thank you friend <:) BUT UH! To answer your question I am most definitely not ok and I haven’t been for quite a bit however today has been pretty decent and my birthday is soon so I shall not dwell on the negatives too much today!! But, to summarize, lately I’ve been having scary thoughts, I have gone through two friendship breakups within the past few months and my heart is not ok nor is my trust in friendship, one of said friendship breakups happened like last week and I am still quite uh shocked and grossed out by it all, uhhh also dysphoria and LOTS AND LOTS OF CONFUSION REGARDING MY SEXUALITY, MOTIVATION FOR ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING HAS GONE DOWN THE DRAIN AND I JUST- DONT!! I JUST DONT WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE BUT I WILL PULL THROUGH!! JUST FOR YALL!! Oh also I have been inactive lately bc I’m technically supposed to be grounded rn so I have to be very sneaky SO I can’t be super active here also bc of that silly obstacle- BUT ANYWHO- I’m.. not ok really heh- but this ask meant a lot and!! Yeah! sorry I cannot words this week but.. I’m really trying as hard as I can to keep my head above water and you plus a few of my other mutuals are really the only people who make it worth it!! Gsgsgsh thank u for being here for me… it means so so much you have no idea! <:)) but I’ll be ok, I promise, rn I’m just recovering from and dealing with a LOT so- motivation for anything, including reblogging posts, does not exist at the moment unfortunately- I’m trying as hard as I can tho! And I’ll keep trying just for y’all. ANYWHO SORRY IFTHAT GOT CHEESY AT ALL I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO TALK LIKE I USUALLY DO LATELY- UHHH SORRY UH TY FOR CHECKING ON ME THO FRIEND!! I wish I could put into words how much it truly means to me, thank you <:)
Have a good day friend and thank you for checking on me, I’ll be ok, thank you for being here for me and I am so glad to have you as a friend, thank you <33
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January 6, 2024
Carrie (1976)
Carrie White, a shy, friendless teenage girl who is sheltered by her domineering, religious mother, unleashes her telekinetic powers after being humiliated by her classmates at her senior prom.
JayBell: Stephen King Month 2024 begins with a classic, Carrie. We debated about which version of Carrie we should watch and settled on this one, arguably the more well-known one.
Let's start with the things I like about this movie. I like the overall story. Abused daughter of an extremely religious mother, desperately trying to grow up in conditions that target her sense of worth and self-confidence. Carrie is a figure that you root for throughout, even as she finally breaks in the end.
The mother-daughter scenes I think stole the show. The actress who plays the mother managed to create incredible tension. Like Carrie, the audience almost holds their breath through the scenes, balancing on a wire, waiting for the mom to snap. The balance of power shifts between the two throughout the movie, each vying for control. Seeing Carrie act on her own power, without concern for her mom is both liberating and foreboding.
Now on to my grievances. First, the beginning locker room scene doesn't need to be as pervy as it is. And second, my biggest holdup with this movie is the ex "friend?" of Carrie, Sue. She constructs this big plot to have her boyfriend ask Carrie to the prom so she can have a good time or something. She goes through all this effort to "help" Carrie, even loaning out her boyfriend, and she doesn't even have a conversation with Carrie in the movie. I wanted a stronger reason for her actions. Also, has she never considered umm apologizing? Like saying I'm sorry for being an asshole? Maybe sit with her at lunch, hang out with her and make up for her action (or inaction) instead of this stupid plan.
Also, the female teacher is so hard to get a read on. Like she supports Carrie but she's also kind of abusive? I don't know. And finally, the end scene with Carrie snapping is kind of anticlimactic but I don't know if this is a limit to the special effects or something.
In the end, it's hard to compare movies like Carrie to what I like to call the heavy hitters (The Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption). But I'm going to give it more props simply because of the mother-daughter dynamic.
Rating: 6/10 cats 🐈
Anzie: Im not gonna lie- even tho im jazzed for Stephen King Month 2024- I was kinda like meh?? About Carrie- like existed but its from the 70s (being a notorious hater of the 70s horror we’ve watched bc the peeps are so dumb) and a girl gets revenge on the mean girls- right?? No- within seconds it had me.
First- the gym shower deal is so weird- like was that allllll necessary- cut to Carrie showering- uhhh who showers like that- excuse me for absolutely dissociating while I try remembering if I’ve already washed my face- but I think the answer is no one- then we have our big moment- and Carrie goes ballistic- and I completely pardon her from anything she does in the remaining run time of the movie. Bc those girls were sooo annoying and rude about a period - like maybe if you were 12? And even then you deserve what Carrie would do.
- quick aside:::: uhhhhhh why’s this or teacher slapping girls left and right???
Anyways Carrie’s mom totally needs some conditioner and a couple chill pills- like for realz. And then the plot to apologize by giving your bf to Carrie as a date to prom? Also was it a rule you couldn’t go to prom without a date bc that’s kinda something. Omigaaawd and the whole time these girls are insanely annoying and twisted and I’m so glad the one with the dumb hat had horrendous bangs.
- another aside::::: questions on the creepy Jesus in “Carrie’s Closet,” why do his eyes glow? Why’s he got real hair??????
But yeah- everything is total cringe in a bad way, yet survivable? The prom especially and like I felt like I had take a drug and everything slowed down…. Bc that tooook 4ever- like the one girl Sue who comes to I guess make sure her bf and Carrie win queen and king??? To figure out the bucket is above them and evil Chris and her stoopid dog of a bf (literally a golden retriever with only half a brain) are under the stage with the rope??? And then the pe teacher uuggg so dumb. Ohh and quick question- Tommy Ross keeps kissing Carrie (like was that part of the deallll) idk it’s a lot.
But the end that’s something. And I have to say I’m not a whimp- but the jump scare got me so bad I scared my cat. So that’s gotta be worth 4 points alone.
Rating: 6/10 Cats 🐈
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