#and when it broke down they replaced it with a new car
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My sister’s friend is coming over to visit for a few days. Her apartment only has one bed. So the two of them are going to stay at my parent’s house. There is only one guest room at my parent’s house. My sister is going to stay in my room for those few days. I will be going to stay at her apartment during that time
Fine, I don’t mind. It’s a few days and someone needs to look after her cat.
My family has a total of three cars. My mom’s car, my dad’s car, and my sister’s car. My dad, my sister, and I all have jobs at the moment that we need cars to get too (thank you American car infrastructure for making my life worse). I’ve been borrowing my mom’s car to get to work, since she works from her business from home
I told them if I was staying at the apartment I wanted access to a car the entire time, because the apartment is a bit of a drive and I want to be able to come and go as I need to (for work or groceries or whatever)
Somehow, this is causing family drama.
My mom’s car is kind the designated “going out car” since it’s the nicest car. If it’s available, it’s being used. My dad needs his car for work because he works an hour away. And my sister’s car has more garbage in it than a dumpster. Plus, she is likely going to be driving her friend everywhere on a dime because this friend is known for hating being in one place longer than a few hours
I figured my request for a car for 5 days wasn’t too much to ask for, but every time I bring it up I get brushed aside with stuff like “we can just pick you up and drop you off, it really isn’t that far.” Or “we can talk about the details later, see how everyone’s schedule is going to be.” Or “you might not even be working that weekend (I am) so let’s just wait on it.”
At this point I want to take back my offer of staying at her place just to be heard
#it’s even more shitty when I think about how my sister got a car when she turned 16#and when it broke down they replaced it with a new car#meanwhile I have been carpooling or asking to borrow a car or using what little public transport I can find to get things done#and it’s fine when I’m out at college because the public transport is actually pretty good so I dont feel like I need a car#but every time I come back to visit home on break I’m remind just how little I can do and how much I have to rely on them#I’ve thought about just getting a car but there’s no way I can drive it back and forth between visiting family and college#so it would either stay out here or out there#I finally buckled down and asked if I could get a car when I graduate college because I’ll probably be getting a job that is far away#they did say yes but I still feel this way about it#and I know there is a lot of privilege in my situation and it sounds like a rich white girl complaining#(I can’t deny that it kinda is)#I just needed to get this out of my system because after every conversation I leave it feeling like shit#but I don’t know what to do#plaid posts
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I have been binging your work!
I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈
I adore your writing. Thank you!
This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️
Sunday:
The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.
Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.
He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.
Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.
His heart had died alongside you that day.
So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.
‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.
‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.
‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’
‘Sunday-‘
‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.
Jing yuan:
Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.
He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.
While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.
You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.
So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.
‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.
‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.
‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.
‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.
‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.
‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.
Aventurine:
He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.
The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.
You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.
So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.
‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.
‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.
‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.
‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’
‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.
‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’
‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘
‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’
You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’
Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.
His light has came home.
Ratio:
Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.
Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.
Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.
A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.
‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.
‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.
‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’
You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’
‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’
‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.
‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.
You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.
‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.
#hsr imagines#hsr imagine#hsr x reader#hsr jing yuan x reader#hsr jing yuan x you#hsr aventurine x reader#honkai star rail#Honkai star rail x reader#Honkai star rail imagine#Honkai star rail imagines#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#jing yuan imagine#jing yuan imagines#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday imagines#sunday imagine#aventurine x reader#aventurine x you#aventurine imagines#aventurine imagine#veritas ratio x reader#veritas ratio x you#veritas ratio imagine#veritas ratio imagines#hsr fanfic#hsr x you#honkai star rail x you#hsr x y/n
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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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the girl next door 1
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.
Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.
You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.
“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.
She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.
You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.
Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”
You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.
You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.
You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.
You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.
As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.
You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.
You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.
“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”
“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”
“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”
You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.
You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.
Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.
The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.
🏠
Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.
She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.
You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.
“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.
You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.
You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.
“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.
“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”
“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.
You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.
“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”
You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.
The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.
His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.
Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.
She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.
You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.
“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.
#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#drabble#series#the girl next door#au#silverfox au#mcu#marvel#captain america
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Not A Verstappen: Lights Out {6}
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris
Summary: The aftermath of Lando's outburst is a messy one with more consequences than they thought there would be.
Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, angst, vomit
WC: 2.1k
F1 Masterlist
NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three
NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine
NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten
NAV: Lights Out One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || 6.5
Charles’ cheeks hurt from the smile that split his face and his chest heaved with elation as he screamed into his helmet. He had risked everything to overtake Checo in the last corner of the last lap and his team had been against the move, but he showed them why he was Ferrari’s golden boy.
Pulling up into the space beside Max’s car, Charles leapt out of the cockpit and rushed over to his team searching for you and Lando. He had been told you were both back from the hospital but he couldn’t find you as he scanned the area. “Xavi! Where are they?” Charles asked over the noise. It was almost deafening how loud the cries of congratulations were.
“They’re fine, just go get weighed - the car is waiting,” he said with a nod to the Rolls-Royce that would take him, Max and Checo to the post-race interviews at the Bellagio.
Max had already been weighed and dumped his helmet on his stand, replacing it for his water bottle. His face was redder than usual and he squeezed the bottle, gulping down the heavy electrolytes with a look that set Charles on edge.
“Go,” Xavi urged when Charles failed to move.
His excitement and happiness was still at the forefront of his mind but in the back of it he wondered what had happened. He assumed it was regarding Lando’s injuries, that seemed the most obvious thing, but since he had been released from the hospital it can’t have been too bad.
“Stay calm,” Max said as they saddled up beside each other in the back of the car.
That was not what Charles wanted to hear. “What the fuck is going on?”
Checo looked out of the window and kept to himself as he waved to the crowd.
Max was never one to cower from pressure and he held Charles' eyes as he broke the news GP had given him a few laps before the race ended. “Everyone knows that Y/N is pregnant, and that’s why she lost her seat.”
Shock, fear, anger. All of those passed across Charles' face before he looked away and swallowed. “Is she safe?”
“She’s in the McLaren garage, she’s safe.”
Charles’ heart slowly began to recover but the pulsing of its beat in his head still thumped. “How?” he choked, as he broke away from the bright lights of the city and faced the man he considered his brother-in-law. “How did they find out?”
Max winced, though he knew this was where the conversation would head before it even started. The car was pulling into the front of the hotel and he knew that he was running out of time. There was no way that any interviewer would be able to resist asking Charles about the news, despite his titillating overtake on the last turn.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Max started and immediately Charles' stomach dropped. “Lando was on strong painkillers and didn’t know what he was doing.”
Charles was glad the car came to a stop and he didn’t wait for the valet to open the door before he was out. The air seemed too thin to fill his lungs as he worried about your safety, it was always his biggest concern.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, snapping him back to the present and Max gave it a squeeze. “Come on, mate. It was an accident. Pull yourself together and let’s get back to them, okay?”
He nodded numbly, pushing back his emotions because like on the track they would do no good going to the interviews. He had been trained for this, for the press, and he would try his best to stay calm. Max could see Charles struggle, his knuckles turning white around the microphone that he clenched from the moment he was offered congratulations. Though he wasn’t comfortable, Charles’ smile was genuine when he said how excited he was to be a father and start a family.
“Please respect our wishes for privacy over the winter break,” he handed the microphone back, ending the line of questioning for him and Checo graciously stepped in to take the attention. Charles felt like a caged animal as he stalked off from the balcony and found an assistant with an iPad. “Do you have the video?”
She didn’t need to ask what video he meant as she found the clip on every news agency’s website. Charles felt sick seeing Lando on the gurney, an IV in his hand and his eyes vacant. Pain pinched Lando’s forehead and his head lolled to the side drunkenly as he spoke to you, the words imperceptible before he spotted the camera.
“I’m going to be a father!” Lando screamed joyfully before sinking back into the pillow. Your shock was clear and he didn’t need to hear your voice to know what you were saying when you shook your head.
Charles sighed and handed the iPad back, raking a hand down his face. He was angry but it didn’t feel fair to be angry at Lando. Charles had crashed enough times to know how strong the painkillers were. Now more than ever he was happy there was only one race left, one more public outing before he could sequester you away for the winter. He needed this winter to hurry up so he could breathe easier in the remote regions of northern France.
“You good?” Max asked as he clapped him on the shoulder after the water fountain finished its special something or rather. He couldn’t say he paid any attention to it, it was far from his mind when he stood before it.
“Fine,” Charles muttered quietly. “Can we go now?”
Back in the garage you watched the post race interviews and rubbed Lando’s shoulders. Jon had almost called for an ambulance when clarity returned to your boyfriend and he realised what he had done. Thankfully someone from the team had cleaned up the mess he made when he vomited from all the worry. Jon thought he had a concussion, but it was just guilt.
“You’re going to make yourself sick again, babe. He’s not going to kill you.”
Lando looked up from the seat he slouched in, his bottom lip pressed out with the occasional quiver. “What if he hates me? Oh fuck, he’s going to break up with me, I know it.”
“No one is breaking up, ever,” you growled as you cradled his face and forced him to look at you. “I’m not letting this little one grow up without her fathers.”
“You’re angry too.”
“Yes, I’m angry, Lando, but I’m not going to break up with you because of it, neither will Charles. You were as high as a kite and the cameras shouldn’t have been anywhere near the medical centre.”
A commotion in the crowds drew your attention away and you nodded your head to the stage that had been erected on the grid while the post race interviews took place. “They’re back,” you said as you stood up. “Come on.”
“My ribs hurt,” Lando complained as he refused to move from his seat, holding his hand up to show his hospital wristbands as proof.
“Lando…” you could see he was being stubborn so you huffed and went with guilt tripping him instead. “Well I’m going to watch the podium…in that big crowd…where everyone is pushing and elbowing…while I’m carrying your child…”
“Fuck, fine,” he growled as he stood up, curling an arm around you protectively like you knew he would. “But we are staying with the mechanics.”
“This seems like overkill,” you muttered as extra security guards arrived to walk you and Lando four garages down to Ferrari.
“I’m not taking any chances,” Lando said with another guilt ridden glance. “It’s my fault anyway.”
You took his hand and stepped into the protective forcefield that was over half a dozen black-suited guards. It wasn’t the first time having a security team, it was quite common with Red Bull and the hate they received, but it was different this time. The protection wasn’t for you and from the amount of people waiting outside the McLaren garage you were grateful for the extra arms. Like a well oiled machine the men fell into formation, creating an arrowhead that speared through the crowd, carving a path for you and Lando to follow.
“Breathe before you pass out,” you warned Lando when you reached the archway that opened into Charles’ garage. He started to freeze but you tugged his hand and pulled him inside.
“I’m trying, but I think I’m going to be sick again.”
He did look a little pale as you spotted Xavi, who tapped Charles’ shoulder. Charles turned and you watched as the worry and fear faded from his green eyes, before worry returned.
“Mon cher,” he murmured as he stepped closer. Lando clutched his stomach at the sound and folded in half, hurling the blueberry pancakes he had nibbled on all over the floor and Charles’ shoes. “Mon Dieu!”
The acrid smell of bile made your stomach turn but you were grateful you never had the morning sickness most women complained about. Still looking pale, Charles caught Lando as he swayed and you grabbed the closest chair to put him in.
“He’s been making himself sick with worry,” you explained in a rush. “Just tell him you’re not going to dump him so he can stop imagining it.”
“What?” Charles’ eyes widened as he looked at Lando, his blue eyes watery and downcast at the mess he had made, again. “I’m not going to dump you, mon cher. How could you ever think that?”
“Because he is more dramatic than the two of us combined,” you offered with a smile that softened the words. “But we love him for it.”
Charles brushed away the tears on Lando’s cheeks and went to kiss him before thinking better of it. “We are a family, we will adapt - you already got more security I see.”
“You’re not angry?”
“Oh I am,” he admitted, Lando’s eyes snapping up at the lilt in his tone. Dipping his head to Lando’s ear, you chuckled as you saw a smirk grow as they whispered a promise. “And your ass is going to feel it for days.”
Round Twenty Three - Abu Dhabi
The apartment in Monaco was quiet without Lando and Charles. From the penthouse the noise of the street barely carried to its height and the only sound came from the TV. Martin Brundle was making his way down the grid, trying to interview any personality he could name over the raucousness of the crowds and engines.
You longed to be with them, standing above the pitlane watching the chaos unfold. Unfortunately, because of Lando’s untimely announcement, the UAE had cancelled your visa. They could turn a blind eye to your unconventional relationship when it was behind closed doors but with the public knowledge of a baby, and both men taking fathership status, they could no longer accept it. The options were to stay at home or go and risk deportation, or even being arrested for adultery.
Neither seemed like fun.
You placed a hand on the small bump that continued to swell more each night. Lando said she was the size of a bell pepper this week. That seemed to create more questions for you than a fruit should, especially since the bell peppers you had seen were the same size as an avocado but the bump was certainly bigger.
“Just you and me, jellybean,” you murmured as the grid began to empty so the formation lap could begin. “Guess I should get used to this.”
Doctor Turner had advised against flying anywhere once you reached 8 months, but that would be right after Australia. You would definitely miss the Grand Prixs in Japan and China before she was born and then Miami and Imola after. All going to plan, your jellybean would make her first public appearance at Charles homerace.
As you had found out in Vegas, the best laid plans meant nothing in reality and only time would reveal what would eventuate. For now, you were going to focus on watching the last race of the season and get ready to enjoy a peaceful winter with your family.
You cosied into the couch, bundled in the pillows as if they were the two bodies you had missed for days, and turned the volume up as the formation lap ended.
Lights out and away we go.
Click here for the next chapter.
#lando norris fanfic#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#lando norris imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 imagines#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 fic
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Every Baby Needs a Daddy 8
Part 7
The rest of the band had gotten over their shock of the news of Eddie's sudden rut and were having a conversation about sewing or something but Steve was deep in thought.
"I'm telling you, it's both calming and not calming", Jeff said as they walked out of the venue.
Gareth adjusted his jacket. "You get all that from quilting?"
"You remember your dice obsession way back when?"
"Dude, that's all I remember from junior year."
"You guys aren't worried about Eddie?", Steve asked, interjecting.
"Why would we be worried?", Gareth asked.
"He just-", Steve paused when a couple of fans caught them between the sidewalk and the car taking them back to the hotel. It didn't seem prudent for anyone to know why Eddie would be indisposed right now. But he continued when the fans got their autographs and left. "He just went into rut without any warning."
"Yeah, but he's a grown man", Jeff said. "He can handle it."
'Handle it'. How alphas usually handled it was all Steve could think about on the way back to the hotel. Alphas of his previous tax bracket would usually have a designated partner. Whether that was someone they were married to, were promised to, or just someone they had an agreement with, it was odd for an alpha of means to spend a rut alone. So did Eddie already have someone like that?
Was that why he pushed Steve away and took off? So that he could go to them? The initial twinge of heartbreak and rejection was quickly replaced with anger. Who the hell had stolen his alpha away?
"Uhh, is Steve okay?", Grant asked, picking up on the bothered scent he was putting out.
"I need to talk to Eddie", Steve said, arms crossed.
"Chrissy's already with him in his room. She's probably making sure he's all set up", Jeff said.
Chrissy. Corroded Coffin's manager. Completely professional. But also...she was an omega...One that had known Eddie for a long time. When the car parked, Steve got out, forging ahead to the suite he and Eddie were sharing.
"Steve? Steve! We're telling you man, it's gonna be okay", Jeff tried to reassure him.
"And no one's gonna blame you", Gareth added.
That got Steve to stop in his tracks just as he was about to press the button for the elevators. "What do you mean blame me? For what?"
All three of them looked anywhere but him. Steve put his hands on his hips, not allowing them to get out of answering his question. Jeff was the one that broke.
"His rut, Steve. I think it's pretty obvious it only happened because... well, you and he, you know..."
Yes, Steve did know. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. Decades of science had proven that in certain conditions, this situation could happen. He let out a puff of laughter and ran his hands through his hair.
Honestly, if you had asked him, Steve would’ve figured that Eddie would have triggered his heat first. He’d heard the stories of having your hormones knocked out of whack by an alpha and having an off-cycle heat. So having to deal with his rut out of the blue was definitely a surprise.
Looking back on the past twenty four hours, anyone from the outside would have thought that Steve had been purposely trying to start it. But his sweet, sweet alpha and treated the situation like he was inconveniencing Steve. He had pushed Steve away, probably for his own good.
When he allowed himself to calm down and think about it, the idea that Eddie was getting his rocks off to someone else right now was just unbelievable. They had agreed. Exclusive. Which meant Eddie intended to ride this out alone.
“You don’t have to worry about Eddie”, Gareth said. “You can bunk with one of us while we wait for it to pass.”
“I’m not going to leave him”, Steve said quickly.
He pushed the elevator button and when the doors opened, he went inside. Grant and the others followed him. They stood behind Steve, trying to have a silent conversation on how to proceed.
"I can hear you guys bugging out", Steve said without turning. "It'll be fine." It wasn't even a matter of choice. His alpha needed him.
When the doors opened, he led the brigade and took his key card out. Inside, Chrissy was ending a call and Eddie was nowhere to be seen. She frowned a little at Steve.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I'm here to help Eddie", Steve said.
She looked disappointed at the band behind him, as if they were supposed to keep him away before giving Steve her attention again.
"Look, Steve, I know you're nice. But it's a liability thing. You could get hurt and Eddie's a public figure. Or maybe you'll use this to baby trap him, I don't know. But I can't let you use my friend that way."
Steve let out a hiss at the accusation. He had to remind himself and his omega that Eddie wasn't actually his alpha, that they weren't mated. She was completely in her rights as a friend and manager to protect her friend.
"Eddie won't hurt me. Chrissy, you know that stereotype about alphas during rut is nothing but BS. And I'm on birth control, so no pups are coming out of me any time soon."
"Baby, Chrissy", Eddie called out as he came out of the bedroom.
Steve ran up to him but Eddie grabbed his hands, keeping him at arms length. Steve frowned, but understood. They never really discussed what to do if one of them went into their cycles. But Eddie was still of a clear mind. They had time to discuss it now.
"Do you trust him?", Chrissy asked.
"With my signed copy of Lord of the Rings", Eddie smiled.
Steve's brow rose. "By Tolkien?"
"No, by McKellen. Which is better. The thing is, I don't trust myself around you while I'm like this."
Steve pouted a bit and let go of Eddie's hands, turning back to the rest of the group. "Do you mind giving us some privacy? I promise, if he turns me away, I'll come to one of your rooms."
"Text me before you guys get too....you know...", Chrissy said. "We can make accommodations."
"Will do", Steve said as he walked over to the couch while they left him and Eddie alone. Once they were, Steve patted the space next to him. Eddie came over, but only sat on the far opposite side.
“Angel, you shouldn’t be here. I’m not safe.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Eddie, you’re a pre-rut alpha. Not an insatiable lust monster.”
“But we never talked about this…you doing this for me, being my-m-my-”
“Shh”, Steve put a finger to his lips. “You’ve been taking such good care of me. I just wanna return the favor.” Then he let out an exaggerated sigh and turned away, standing up “But if you don’t want me here-”
He heard a loud thump that was probably the from Eddie rushing and falling off the couch to stop him. He felt Eddie hug him from behind, gentle, like he was afraid of breaking him.
"I want to. Christ alive, I want to. But I...what if I'm too much? What if I cross the line?"
Steve turned in his arms and kissed his nose. "Then we need to draw a line in the sand first."
Eddie nodded. "Okay. Okay, I can do that." His hands were already toeing the line, inching under Steve's shirt. "Maybe we have this conversation with some space between us?"
Steve conceded to that. He didn't want to get distracted either. So they sat back down on the couch, apart but not too far apart.
"Sooo, what am I allowed to do?", Eddie asked.
"Anything", Steve breathed out before composing himself. Eddie's scent was getting stronger but he had to not think with his pussy for once. "I mean, just what we've done before. All of that is fine."
"What if I wanna bite you?", Eddie swallowed.
"You know you're allowed to do that", Steve smirked. He was still sporting some of the marks from earlier.
"Even if I wanted to...", Eddie's eyes went to his neck. "Once I'm in rut, I'll really want it. I'll wanna make you mine. In any way I can."
'Don't think with your cunt, don't think with your cunt. Make a rational decision-god our babies would be so beautiful-but we're not ready to be mated-he's such a good alpha, perfect alpha, could raise our pups good, keep them safe and-'
"We can, um", Steve cleared his throat and looked around for something. He got up, just to get some space and also think of something that would keep him from getting a mating bite tonight even though that was all he wanted. He saw something on the bed and went right for it.
"Perfect!", he exclaimed, returning with the black bandana Eddie had been wearing during the concert. It was saturated with his scent. Steve folded it to a rectangular band and then tied it around his neck. "This is off limits", he said. "And your alpha brain won't fight because-"
"Because it already smells like you're mine. Sweet thing, you're a genius", Eddie beamed. He got off the couch and pulled Steve in his arms, kissing him sweetly. He took in a deep breath and released a full body shudder. "It's working already."
"Oh yeah?", Steve couldn't help looking smug.
"Mhm. It's like you've already got my bite." Eddie started to kiss at his jaw. "And it's making me wonder why I haven't got you pupped up yet."
Steve could've swooned but he had to keep his wits about him for as long as he could. "There's one more thing."
"Hm?", Eddie looked up, his eyes were already starting to get the moony look.
"You're not going to be entirely yourself. I know that. So like I said, I'm gonna take care of you. That means you listen to me. I'm in charge, okay?"
Eddie nodded rapidly. "You're in charge. Got it."
"Good alpha", Steve stroked his hair. With any luck, the tour schedule wouldn't be messed up too badly. Alpha ruts typically lasted around 3-5 days. It would've been longer if he had to go solo. There was the idea still being passed around that an alpha's rut would end when they were convinced their partner had conceived, but Steve wasn't sure how he was supposed to trick Eddie's alpha into thinking that.
But the important part was that they'd decided what to do and Steve was taking him to bed.
"You know, the guys think that I triggered your rut", Steve said.
"And don't you look proud", Eddie grinned, lying in bed next to him. He frowned and sniffed at the comforter. "Doesn't smell right. Doesn't smell like us."
Us. Steve felt himself get wet. Well, wetter. He was going to be Eddie's omega. At least while his rut was going on.
"Do you know what I was thinking, while I was watching you on stage earlier?", Steve asked.
Eddie swallowed and shook his head. Steve pushed him onto his back and sat on his lap. Eddie looked perfect under him and between his legs like this.
"I was thinking about how sexy you looked. How everybody couldn't take their eyes off you, but you were only looking at me." Steve started a slow grind and watched as Eddie's eyes darkened. "And how I wanted to ride you all night long."
Part 9
Tag Team
@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @marklee-blackmore @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva
#apo writes#stranger things#fanfiction#steddie#omegaverse#a/b/o#next time on this: what you've all been waiting for#well maybe not all of you#but the real ones are the ones
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why logan isn't getting replaced at imola, a breakdown
(aka a breakdown so my fellow logan girlies (gn) don't break down)
I've seen this getting around, with a little traction and some people panicking a bit so let's discuss.
Joe Saward has not been a reliable source of transfer news for some time. Let's be real. A lot of this is gaining traction because Saward is "a 35 year accredited F1 journalist". And this is true, he has long experience in F1 and is accredited in the paddock. But it has been many, many years since he was accurate about driver market predictions.
You have to be eighteen to get a superlicence (thanks, Max!). Antonelli does not turn 18 until August. For him to be granted a superlicence in time for Imola, the FIA would have to issue an exemption. If Antonelli was carving up F2 it'd be one thing. But he's been far from convincing so far, and it hasn't just all been Prema. He is an F2 rookie - and he looks like it.
James Vowles has already said that Antonelli to Williams next year is not a given, because Williams has its own juniors - of which Logan is one. Now I know James has been in the bad books with plenty of us since the whole chassis debacle in Melbourne but I do believe him on this. He is quite keen to establish that Williams is not a feeder team for Mercedes and that has been the board's position for some time too (remember their angry denunciation when the rumour was that Oscar was going to replace Latifi at Silverstone?).
James Vowles still believes in Logan. Now I know some of you will be claiming this is doubtful, but I do believe it to be true. In the Japan Vowles Verdict he was warm in his praise for Logan's race pace and early stint - to the point his voice literally changed tone while answering the question. He was absolutely effusive in his praise for Logan after the Melbourne debacle. I do genuinely think that James wants to keep him.
Bringing in a driver change mid-season is incredibly disruptive - you don't do it unless you are certain you're getting a better deal out of it. Last year Alpha Tauri brought in Daniel halfway through the year. The main reason for this was because he was a fairly immediate upgrade to de Vries. But even if you're scornful of Daniel's pace, the other reason they wanted him was for his feedback and car development ability, which AT were pretty vocal that they found invaluable. Bringing in an extremely green, unprepared rookie who has barely worked with the team would be a recipe for instability, morale issues, and more broken bits, which is the absolute last thing Williams needs.
Toto Wolff can't offer James Vowles a big enough incentive to take his junior. Let's cut to the chase on this: to insinuate that James would take Antonelli just because Wolff asked is a pretty big insult to James. He's not Wolff's lapdog. They clearly respect one another and have a personal relationship outside of the sport, but that doesn't mean he'll just do whatever Toto wants - he didn't get to be team principal that way. So Toto would need to offer James an incentive. But what can he offer that James actually needs? Williams aren't broke any more, so money isn't going to cut it. And Williams already run the Mercedes engine, so Toto can't convince him with that. What Williams actually needs - the cultural and procedural overhaul that James has begun - Toto cannot help with.
tl;dr keep cool and keep the faith, logan fans. there's still plenty of time left in our ride.
#f1blr#f1#logan sargeant#james vowles#kimi antonelli#williams racing#keep calm and believe in logan#keep calm and believe in james
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saw your requests are open so i’d like to request something! something angsty because this came to me after listening to ‘cherry’ by harry styles :p reader is danny’s ex but they broke up, few months later he’s dating someone else and reader is now in a (new/fresh) relationship with another driver, max/charles i couldn’t decide so i’ll let you do that! ♡ just something angsty like him realizing how much he misses her but she’s moved on and happy 🫶🏼 hope this makes sense? ah, love your stuff btw!!!
thank u anon you're so sweet! and ughhhh this request was IMMACULATE cherry is one of my favourite harry styles songs. wasn't sure if you wanted a socmed fic, if u did lmk and i'd be happy to adapt it into one! but i hope you enjoy nevertheless :)
I, I just miss
I just miss your accent and your friends
Daniel stares down at his phone.
What a cruel twist of fate it is that the moment he opened his Instagram, he sees you.
You’re laughing in the picture, your hand looped around none other than Max’s neck. You’re sprawled on the Red Bull driver’s lap, and there’s a giddy grin on both of your faces, Max’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. It feels bittersweet, seeing that familiar sweet smile of yours, only now it’s pointed at another man.
It’s only one photo in a carousel of others posted by your best friend. Why Daniel still follows her, he has no idea. But he stares at the photograph of you for longer than he’d like to admit.
There’s a shuffling noise from the kitchen, and Daniel’s new girlfriend pokes her head into the room. “Danny, we still going out for dinner?”
Daniel can only stare at her for a moment, too caught up in the memories of you and him to reply.
He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t be leading this poor girl along. He knows that all this relationship is to him is a way to distract himself from what’s really eating at him. He knows that she’s just a replacement for you.
But the quizzical smile his girlfriend sends has his heart aching in guilt, so he manages a feeble nod in response, quickly shutting his phone off and throwing it onto the bed, before making his way to her smiling face.
The guilt eats him alive as he makes small talk with her over dinner. He would never admit it, but sometimes he can’t stand to look at her; to roll over in bed and see someone other than you laying beside him.
Did you know I still talk to them?
Everything changed after Zandvoort.
Daniel was partially to blame, he knew that. The crash in free practice had taken a toll on him, not just physically but mentally. The season in AlphaTauri was his one shot at proving that he still had it in him to be a class Formula 1 driver - to the world, to Red Bull, and to himself.
You were supportive of him all the way. From the moment he entered talks with Red Bull and AlphaTauri to get back into F1, to when he first got in that white and blue car at Hungary, you were always there, by his side.
But Zandvoort changed things. Zandvoort changed him.
He started to push you away. The comments from the media, from fans, from people everywhere, all around him, were starting to get to him. Did nobody believe in him anymore? Was he really not cut out for Formula 1?
Was his time really up?
The weeks of recovery were dark for the both of you. For him, most of it was spent in bed, his mind fuzzy from the painkillers and medicine, too tired and too beaten to do anything. For you, it was utter torture. To see the man you loved, the man whose laughter and mere presence brought so many smiles to those in the paddock, the man who never knew when to give up, look so futile and disappointed? It hurt.
But he hurt you more.
Does he take you walking round his parents' gallery?
It’s funny. Fate, he means. How it has a way of testing him, how it has a way of bringing his mind and him back to you. Always you.
“Has anyone seen Max and Y/N? They were supposed to arrive a while ago, are they late? ”
Instinctively, Daniel turns. It’s almost pathetic really. How just the sound of your name catches his attention and has him whipping around, his eyes searching for you. How you unwittingly made him into your own lapdog.
You aren’t there, though, so he keeps his head down and ignores the questioning look his girlfriend sends him.
In the final few weeks, and perhaps even months, of your relationship, Daniel hadn’t been kind on you. He became bitter, spiteful, even jealous. To him, you just didn’t understand the weight on his shoulder, the pressures he had to face. But how could you? Despite all your protests and pleading, he was shutting you out of his life, bit by bit.
Every time you came over, it ended with screaming matches and you leaving with tears in your eyes. Daily visits from you turned into weekly check-ins. He started to turn his head away from you when you tried to kiss his cheek. Those turned into brusque hand squeezes. His texts, too, became sparse and dry. He recoiled from you when you were around.
He could still remember the heartbreak on your face when he told you he wanted to break up. "It's for both of our own good," he mumbled. "I need to focus on racing. You should have a life outside of me."
It was a bitter end, and to this day, Daniel still regrets not putting up enough of a fight. How stupid he had been, to think that without you, he could give his 100% to racing. How stupid he had been, to think of you as a distraction.
He can’t imagine how stupid he must appear to you now, showing up on Sunday with a new girlfriend on his arm.
Don't you call him baby
“You sure you’re okay?”
You smooth down your dress for the umpteenth time, breathing out a nervous sigh as you smile back at Max, who glances at you in slight concern. His press officer is fussing over the both of you, the paddock entrance looming both terrifyingly and excitingly ahead.
It’s about to be your first public appearance with Max, and your first public appearance at a Formula 1 grand prix since… Well, since your relationship with Daniel ended.
It’s been a rough few months. It took time, getting used to Daniel’s absence. You hadn’t realised just how much of your life had revolved around his being; it became painful to even step foot in the paddock, to even switch on the television to catch up on the latest grand prix.
Even worse was the public scrutiny. You and Daniel had always been open about your relationship, frequently sharing bits and pieces of your life together on each of your social medias. So it was no wonder than when you both stopped posting each other, and when you took down all your posts with him, that fans knew something was up.
Things hadn’t been easy. But Max had made it better. What started as a friendly reaching out turned into a heartachingly romantic and sweet courting, and now, he was your boyfriend.
You smile at Max, reaching up to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. You can hear a flurry of cameras snapping away, and you resist glancing at them, choosing instead to focus on your boyfriend. At your peck, Max ducks his head, as if suddenly shy despite the two of you having dated for going on 3 months now. Still, the small grin on his face tells you all you need to know.
“I’ll be fine,” you say as you slip your hand into his, and give a nod to his press officer. Max’s thumb smooths over your knuckles, and you finally feel yourself relax. You look into his eyes, and in this moment, you know: You’re happy.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me, baby.”
We're not talking lately
Everyone notices when you enter the paddock.
Not only because it’s the first time in months that you’ve appeared at a Grand Prix, but because you have Max Verstappen beside you. With his arm around your waist.
“What’s happening?” his girlfriend asks, craning her neck to peer at the paddock entrance. “Did someone just arrive?”
“It’s Max,” a passing journalist calls, as he hastens towards the paddock entrance himself. “With Y/N!”
Daniel can’t help himself. Really, he can’t.
It happens before he can stop himself. He’s getting up and pulling his hand from his girlfriend and his feet are taking himself over to you as if they have a mind of their own. As if they still remember that it's where he’s meant to be. By your side.
The crowd doesn’t part for him. Not anymore. He finds himself standing on the outskirts of the gathering group, watching from afar as you bashfully smile for the many snapping cameras, and cling onto Max a little tighter, as the Red Bull driver nods politely at the journalists swarming you.
“Alright, alright, let us through, please,” he hears Max say, “Let my girl have some space, yeah?”
Something akin to jealousy rears its ugly head.
Then the horde of people are moving, and some are finally beginning to notice Daniel.
“Danny!” “Daniel, over here, please!” “How’re you feeling today, Daniel?” “Daniel, how does it feel that Max is dating your ex-girlfriend?”
The question has him reeling, and he can only stare at the waiting journalist incredulously. What a ridiculous fucking question. He has half a mind to charge at the dickhead and throw a punch that will send the cunt into a coma for weeks-
“Look, mate, leave us alone, yeah? Daniel, how’re you doin’?”
Max claps a good-natured hand on Daniel’s back, steering him away from the throng of journalists and photographers, who groan before turning their attention to Fernando, who’s just gotten out of his car.
Max’s friendliness momentarily stuns him, and all he can manage out is a half-convincing “Good, good” in return. This seems to satisfy Max enough, though, because then he’s smiling and nodding and rubbing Daniel’s shoulders.
It’s at this moment Daniel realises you’re still here.
He glances back at you, trailing behind him and Max.
You’re just as pretty as ever, he thinks to himself. It’s almost as if nothing had changed. Like you’re still the one he walked into the paddock with, like you’re waiting for him to finish a conversation with Max, not the other way around.
You don’t even look his way.
“…so then I told Charles, ‘No way, there’s no way you’re convincing Carlos that!’, and then, you know what he said? Really, it’s hilarious, he-”
Max stops his rambling midway, leaning down to listen to something you whisper in his ear.
“I’m gonna head to the garage first, okay?” Daniel hears you mumble, “I’ll see you later, baby.”
Then Max tilts your head up and presses a kiss on your mouth.
It’s at this moment that Daniel can’t help but feel a little foolish. Actually, more than a little. He feels stupid, downright idiotic standing here with his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Trying to pretend like everything was alright.
The worst part of it all, is that you don’t seem fazed at all. To you, it’s like he’s just another driver you bump into ever-so-often. You don’t seem to care about him. It’s like he and the weight of your shared history don’t even exist. Like it never did.
The sight of you walking away from him – again – pains him more than he thought it would. He can’t bear to lose you again, not when he’s still so fucking in love with you.
Soo he darts his hand out and grabs your wrist, and you whip around, eyes wide and stunned, and Daniel feels Max halt beside him, watching him intently.
And you’re looking at him now. Finally, you’re looking at him.
His eyes roam yours, trying to find a hint of familiarity, hoping desperately that he’ll find the same yearning and aching he feels for you reflected in your eyes.
“Don't you call him what you used to call me,” he whispers. Pleading with you.
Something in you seems to soften, and there’s a flash of pain in your eyes, but it's one that is quickly replaced with anger.
You wrench your hand from his grip and shove him away, storming off as Max follows you, casting an indecipherable look at Daniel in the process. Daniel watches as Max catches up to you, and he watches as you let him cradle you in his arms.
But it’s not your anger that hurts the most.
It’s the fact that you never once looked back at him.
#daniel ricciardo x reader#max verstappen x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#formula 1#f1 imagine#max verstappen#daniel ricciardo#daniel riccardo imagine#f1#red bull racing#max verstappen fanfic#˖⁺‧₊˚ 📂 ── my writing#꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🏁] formula 1
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ArsCo Presents the Inaugural Arsnof's Great American Yard Sard Comics and Sundry Sale 2024!
Hello there! I'm Arsnof. You may remember me from content such as "Canadian Illustrator", "Dungeon Mentat", or even "Transformers Meme". I'm here today to host a celebration of buying things, thinking they're so super cool, and then putting them away and never looking at them again. Comics, books, toys, anime, manga, CCGs, rare webcomic goodies, tiny figurines of yokai, a Little Golden Book adaptation of Gremlins that ends before midnight, Chuck Norris's Karate Kommandos, can you read Japanese because I can't, official Soul Coughing stickers, a hoard of well read Wizards and Toyfares, Funko Pops, feet pics (you can get off, but only if you can correctly diagnose what's wrong first), Transformers...
I could go on forever, but I got it, you want it, we can make a deal (no tongue).
Why is this happening? I'm shit broke and getting shitter. Going down like a Trump Casino. Guy paying his bills on time? I haven't heard that name in forever.
I've been taking care of my ailing father (tried to die on us three times so far this year) and the rest of my family (I don't owe you an explanation, cop) and then someone just up and decided to make my automobile a notomobile.
They didn't have insurance, but that's okay because we have full cov-*hand to ear*-what? We don't? Only comprehensive? Since when? FUCKING shit... Okay, but we still have uninsured motorist, so-four thousand? Four thousand. Dollars. $4,000. To replace an entire ass truck.
We are in desperate need of a car. I've got a lifetime of memories. You, on average, have some change sitting around. Can I have some? I'll trade you stuff.
I'm starting with my comics because they're easiest to catalogue. See something you like? HMU, as the kids say (please God don't let that be a sex thing) and I'll see what I can do. I'm giving the comic shop at which I used to work a vague preference, but I can be swayed.
Next up will be the trades and manga, DVDs of varied origin, toys, and so on.
Criminitly.
If life can stop kicking us in the gender neutral pain zone for five fucking minutes, @paulyollyoxxenfree and I will get back to handicrafts. They're getting back into the amiguroove and I'm going to hit the pad - finish and print Kitty, start Dr. Doctor. Stickers and stuff. I'm not shaving for a while to put me in mall Santa shape by Thanksgiving.
But what if you've got too much money and you're sick of it, but you hate being given things? I take donations. If you put a special request in the memo, I won't even give you the thanks. I'll just spit. I take requests.
Papal
Cache
Fuck, I don't know, antelope? My email - [email protected]
I might make one of those kofi things.
Oh and, heheh, one more thing...
Launching in the fourth quarter 2024, ArsCo is proud to announce Alone With Arsnof, the happening new app that gives you the power to have some one-on-one time *gunshot* wit- *sudden fade to red-tinted black, gunshot echo. Sirens fade in. HE'S DOWN! OVER THERE! THE ROOF? A high-pitched whine. Bright light. The late afternoon sky comes into focus. Fireballs? The sun is so bright. Automatic gunfire. No, jets. Falling. Screams. Recognizable screams. Unrecognizable screams? Inhuman? The sun blinks*
#long post#yard sard#yard sale#marvel#dc comics#image comics#dark horse comics#comics#anime#haibane renmei#excel saga#azumanga daioh#Neia_7#abenobashi#manga#katsuhiro otomo#osamu tezuka#serial experiments lain#the spectre#green arrow#batman#teenage mutant ninja turtles#transformers#maccadam#spoose#deep breath#erika moen#evan dahm#warren ellis#if you're into that sort of thing
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The Dragster League ~ BC
WORD COUNT:4.4K
GENRE: Motorsport AU, established relationships, angst, moody chan taking his anger out on everyone around him, yn being there for him no matter what, cute, fluffy ending, arguments. @preciouslilmonster
PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader
⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024
⤜MASTERLIST
They say one second can change your life forever and it was Chan who knew that saying better than anybody lately. One second had completely derailed his life and his career and none of it was even his fault.
"We the jury find the defendant...." The whole of the room seemed to drown out around him as Chan focused on the jurors, some looked guilty while others smirked at one another and nodded their heads as if they were proud of their answers.
All year long Chan's life had been put on hold for this moment and it was going to be a life changer either way. The clock on the wall seemed to tick by slower as Chan swallowed the lump in his throat awaiting the verdict that could potentially ruin him.
Chan lay there in the hospital bed staring down at his wrist in silence, everyone in the room was drowned out as he just stared down at the cast that now covered his right hand and wrist. It was a black colour - fitting since he felt as though a part of him was dying, ever since that damn accident he couldn't shake the feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
"He'll more than likely never be able to drive again," "We don't see it being a possibility for him to get complete function in that hand again"
He'd been pretending to be asleep while the doctors spoke to his parents about his condition, although it was 26 years old it didn't change the fact that his parents were always going to be there supporting him and be his emergency contact in cases like these.
"We can recommend some physiotherapy but it might not be able to get back to 100%" The doctor explained making Chan's stomach sink to the floor, if his hand wasn't back to 100% he was never going to be able to race properly again. The judges who determined whether or not he could race would disqualify him, and replace him with someone new and someone who wasn't broken.
"I came as quickly as I could-" Your voice broke Chan out of his daze as he stared over in your direction, your outfit was dishevelled and you looked like you were sweating. You'd been running, running for him? Your keys jangled in your hand and he smiled a little, he knew those keys well. They belonged to the car the two of you had built together four summers ago when you first started dating one another and it still ran like a dream.
Mostly because you and Chan would fix anything that went wrong with it, not wanting to lose something the two of you held so close to you. But now that he thought about it, it made him feel sick he was never going to be able to make a car with you again, not with the same strength he did before. His life was over and he knew it.
"What happened?" You whispered rushing over to Chan and looking down at him, his heart picked up a little as you smoothed your hand over his cheek and placed a warm kiss on his forehead. You'd been working when you got a text telling you Chan had a small accident and you put everything down and ran out of the shop without a word to your employees. You must have broken about 16 traffic laws trying to get to the hospital but you didn't care, all you wanted to know was if Chan was alright.
"His car was faulty, he crashed-" The doctor explained calmly as if it was the most normal thing in the world but you cut him off.
"Crashed?! And I just got a text?! How?! H-How did it- How fast was he going?!" You'd been at work when you got a text letting you know your boyfriend had an accident and was in the hospital. You'd expected that he'd fallen over or something not a crash.
"I wasn't going fast, I was doing a test run on the track. I went around the corner and my brakes-" Chan tried to explain but someone cut him off,
"His brakes were fine." A man's voice cut off from the door, you glanced up to see the manager of the race track - Ryan- staring in his direction, Chan physically tensed from beside you.
You knew he didn't like him and with good reason, not only was he the manager of the race track where most of Chan's races took place he was also the father of one of the racers Chan beat every single race. Ryan was a sleazeball and an unnerving feeling made you think he might have had something to do with it, especially with the way he was trying to gaslight Chan.
"We checked the car, nothing was wrong with it. You must have hit the wrong pedal." Ryan said as if it was the easiest thing in the world for someone to do, but when you'd been driving as long as Chan had it was damn near impossible for that to happen.
"I've been driving for 10 years, I didn't hit the wrong pedal!" He growled out, your hand squeezed his shoulder a little as you stared at Ryan something didn't feel right about any of it.
"My brakes were cut," Chan mumbled and you looked down at him, taking in the tear-stained cheeks and blood-shot eyes he was sporting. It wasn't like Chan to cry over something so you knew he must have been telling the truth about the car brakes, Chan knew when something was wrong with a car and you KNEW he wasn't one to push the wrong pedal.
"I'll have my men look at the car-" Ryan tried to say but you weren't going to let some creep take the car and ruin any chance of finding out the truth.
"I'll do it," You shot out quickly, not wanting anyone to tamper with the evidence if what Chan was saying was true.
"Excuse me? I'd rather have a fully qualified team look into it, luckily I have those on hand." Ryan snapped out, and Chan's mother let out a low chuckle at the thought of Ryan calling you unqualified to do your job. Something you'd been doing for almost 10 years of your life now, you'd been raised to do this job.
"All due respect, Ryan. I am a fully qualified mechanic, I will look at the car with MY team." You shot him down and the man narrowed his eyes at you,
"You're a woman." You blinked at him, as did Chan's parents who seemed to wonder what significance it had to the subject. Meanwhile, Chan was smirking to himself on the bed, this was going to be the best entertainment he was going to get for a while and he was going to soak up every second of it.
"Yes, and you're a man...I'm so glad we could establish this," You scoffed sarcastically at him, reaching for your phone and already calling your Autoshop,
"But-" The phone rang as Ryan tried to come up with something he could say while you - along with everyone else inside of the room - stared him down,
"Are you trying to tell me women can't be mechanics?" You arched a brow at him and one of your workers on the other end of the phone answered but you stayed silent,
"No...But-"
"Are you trying to avoid me looking into my boyfriend's car because you have something to hide?" The other line of the phone "Ohh'd" and "Ahh'd" listening to you and you did your best to hide the smirk,
"No..."
"Then I suggest you stay out of my way and I will stay out of yours," You turned away from Ryan and began talking to your team on the other end of the phone while Chan watched you with a proud smile on his face.
After a few days of being in the hospital, Chan was finally released and let home, you were doing everything to make it accommodating for him but that didn't mean he was doing the same for you.
Since the accident Chan had turned into a mean old man, snapping at everyone whenever they'd bring up the accident or even mention his wrist being broken. You'd managed to stay out of his line of fire...until tonight that was.
"Have you managed to look into the car yet? My brakes weren't working," He told you as you bought him some hot chicken noodle soup. He wasn't sick but you still liked to make him this meal whenever he was upset, sometimes it felt like a warm hug to you so you wanted to do everything for him.
"Not yet, Vinny and JJ are going to help me look tomorrow,"
"You should have been looking at it before now!" Chan yelled a little and your whole body went numb. In the last five years, Chan had never once raised his voice at you, not even to yell for you to bring something down from upstairs and it made your stomach churn.
"Chan-" You tried to speak but he cut you off, yelling once again,
"You've done nothing but sit around and play fucking nurse and I'm sick of it! You should be figuring out what was wrong with the damn car!" Sighing to yourself you placed the bowl of soup down onto the bedside cabinet and tried your best to stay calm with him.
You knew he was only taking his frustration out on everyone else but that didn't mean he got to do it to you.
"I've been trying to make sure my boyfriend is okay!" You argued with him, losing your cool a little but not yelling half as loud as he was.
"Try doing your fucking job first," He hissed out bitterly in your direction, staring over at the TV that was at the end of the bed where it had been since he came home playing the same reruns of his races again and again while he laid there. The doctors had been offering him physiotherapy for his wrist once the break was fixed but he was refusing everyone's help. He chooses to feel sorry for himself instead of actively trying to fix the problem or even accepting that he might need a little help with it.
"You're lucky it's only a break Chan, we can get it sorted." As soon as you said it you knew it was the wrong choice of words,
"Lucky?! You think this is fucking lucky?!" He screamed out, losing his temper as he held up the cast that was on his wrist,
"I'll never be able to race again! I'll never be able to build a car again! This isn't fucking lucky!" You flinched at the way he yelled, you knew deep down that Chan would never hurt you but you hated when people screamed. It made you feel like you were 1 inch tall and you felt sick to have your own boyfriend doing this to you.
"You could! If you just accepted that you needed help from someone for once in your goddamn life!" It was wrong to yell at him but his screaming at you had been the straw that broke the camel's back. You'd put up with a lot from him, watching him push everyone around him away or refuse to help himself when the doctors offered him it.
"Get out!" He barked out and you felt your whole body drain itself of its blood, you felt cold at the thought of him kicking you out of your shared home.
"Chan-" You pleaded, you knew you shouldn't have yelled back at him. It was never going to stop him from yelling it would only make him double down,
"Get. Out." He bit out, staring at you as he turned red in the face.
"Please...I-I just want to help you," Your voice cracked as tears welled up in your eyes threatening to spill out,
"Help me but figuring out what's wrong with the car." He grumbled as you stared at him and over at the clock at the wall. It was the middle of the night you had nowhere else to go but the shop.
"Call me when you decide to apologise, Christopher." You mumbled grabbing a coat from the back of the bedroom door and going to the wardrobe to fish some spare clothes out and shove them into an overnight bag.
Part of Chan wanted to beg you to stop packing but it was dulled down by the stubborn part of him that just wanted to push everyone away from him. He didn't want help, he didn't want to feel like a burden to you or to anyone else he wanted to be the one to fix this all on his own.
As much as he loved you and the caring side of you it only made him feel worse for you to sit there and wait on him hand and foot, to be there whenever you thought he needed you. It was the last thing he wanted and he knew he was going to have to do a lot of making up to you to make up for the way he had yelled.
It had been a week of constant calls and texts from Chan asking you to come back home, he'd even had Changbin drive him down to the shop so that he could come and see you but you refused to come out of the office when he was around. You were doing what he told you to do, trying to figure out what went wrong with the car, and you'd been strictly instructed to have no contact with him or anyone else from the race track.
"Anything new?" You glanced up at Chan who was standing in the doorway to your auto shop, you were hanging over the bonnet of the car. In his hand was a bouquet of your favourite flower and your favourite take-out in a bag. Anxiety bubbled inside of your throat as your head shot around to look for anyone suspicious that could be looking this way.
"You can't be here," You whispered moving away from the car and ushering him out of the shop. It wasn't because you wanted him to feel bad anymore if anyone saw him here and reported it everything would be thrown out of court,
"If investigators see you're here they could try and say I was swayed into taking your side, I can't discuss the case with you," The police officer that had been around that morning told you the rules pretty clearly and you weren't going to give them any reason to throw his case out.
"Case? What case?" The look of pure confusion on his face made your stomach drop and you pulled him into the storage shed you kept on site and you blew out a breath.
"You don't know?" You assumed his lawyer would have been in contact with him long before now.
"About what Yn, you're confusing me."
"That slimey little fucking weasly." You hissed out losing your cool more and more with every passing second.
"Ryan took your case to court. I assumed you knew. You need to get a lawyer and you need to get one quick." You told him as you glanced over at the crack in the door to make sure no one was listening in.,
"He what?!" Chan's heart began to pound as he thought about it. Second guessing what happened that day on the track like he'd been doing since it happened, did he hit the wrong pedal? Did he push it hard enough if it was the right pedal?
Those questions had been swimming around in his brain for days now and it was something he could never answer unless there was footage of the inside of the car.
"He's trying to prove he had nothing to do with the accident, which only makes him look more guilty. I have four days left with the car before I hand it over to the police who then do their own tests."
"Did you find anything?" He looked down at you and you swallowed the lump in your throat.
"Chan, I can't discuss it with you, they'll throw it out."
"Okay. But there's a camera inside, it usually records everything. Footwork, my face and the speedometer." You frowned a little, you'd been all over that car with a fine-toothed comb about six different times and hadn't found a single camera inside the vehicle.
"I haven't found any cameras in the car..."
"Someone tampered with it before you got it." He whispered, he knew someone had fucked with the car but it was going to be hard to tell who with the cameras being gone.
"There's a little box under the hood. It's like a plane's black box, it records everything. Every pedal pushed, every speed, it tracks everything. Records everything. It won't have footage but it'll tell you if I hit my brakes or if they failed." You'd worked on many cars in your life but motorsport cars were something completely foreign to you which was why you hadn't figured it out yet.
"Chan-" You were going to tell him it was against the rules for him to tell you any of this but he shook his head at you.
"I was never here, you got this information from someone else." He whispered to you as he put the flowers and food down on the table inside of the shed.
"I love you...Okay? They're not letting me go near you until the invitation is through," You whispered as you reached your hand over and gently touched his cheek. The court had put you up inside a nice hotel until the investigation was over, and you'd promised to stay impartial to anything you found inside the car.
"I love you too, I'm sorry I yelled." He whispered before leaning closer and kissing your lips softly, god he'd missed getting to touch you like this.
"I'm sorry about everything." You whispered but Chan stepped back and shook his head at you.
"No. Don't, YOU have nothing to apologise for. It was me, you're right. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and accept help," You nodded a little and glanced over at Vinny who was coming toward the shed.
"Vinny will take you home, keep your head down in the back of the car until you're in a safe spot." You whispered to him before quickly kissing him and darting over to Vinny explaining the situation.
Throughout the entire trial, the defendant's team had been trying to get your statements and professional opinion thrown out of the case. First, they'd tried to claim your relationship with Chan was going to make you biased but once the prosecution relayed that your findings matched with theirs that was thrown out. Then they'd tried to play the "woman" card because you couldn't possibly be able to do your job since you were only a girl.
"How long have you been working at Vinny's, Miss yln?" Chan looked at you but you'd been instructed not to look at him throughout the whole trial which was hard since you missed him. It had almost been four months with no communication with one another besides small glances during meetings or the occasional letter that Vinny passed along for you which had been meticulously read through by officers to make sure you weren't passing information about the case to each other.
"Could you please repeat the question?" You leaned forward and stared at Ryan's lawyer who appeared to be smirking to himself.
"How long have you been working at Vinny's Autoshop?" Chan bit back a smirk as he hid his mouth in his hand and looked down at the paper in front of him.
"I think the correct question to that would be, how long has Vinny been working for me? Sir," You stared at him as he appeared taken back. You weren't about to sit here and let someone else take credit for your own auto shop, something you'd been working from the ground up since you were nineteen years old.
"I own Vinny's Autoshop. Vinny's sounded better than "Yns" Autoshop." You told them plainly making a few of the jurors laugh at the fact that the defendant team got something very wrong.
"How is it, that a woman of your nature could run an auto repair shop?" Mr Can was starting to rub you the wrong way but you weren't about to let him get to you.
"Objection," Chan's lawyer yelled out, staring at the judge who seemed to be tired of this case, after all, it had been going on for almost two weeks now.
"Mr Cane, relevancy to the case?" The judge questioned, staring at the lawyer who shrugged his shoulders,
"Trying to determine how she could run a place and look too good. I mean, her hair and nails are done up, she doesn't appear as though she could work in such a tense environment dominated by men."
"Proceed." The judge watched as you looked at Mr Cane and smiled sweetly, if you had it your way you'd have ended him harshly days ago when he tried to dismiss you.
"Mr Cane. If you believe a girl can't look good while working in a "tense" environment then how do you explain women who are lawyers?" You countered his statement but he didn't appear taken back by it,
"What do you do? Make them coffee while they do all the work in the shop?" He chuckled making your blood boil. You were told to appear calm on the stand but that didn't mean that you were going to be able to.
"No, but I could tell you how to do a tune-up, oil change, brake relining, engine rebuilds and I could even instruct you how to make a car with scrap parts." You stared at him as he stared at you in silence, blinking a little.
"But is it true you aren't an expert on motorsport cars?" The air turned thick and you stared at him. After Chan's visit to you, you'd done every single bit of research that the world had to offer on the cars.
"Yes, that's true." You glanced over at Chan's lawyer who smirked and nodded at you. You had them right where you wanted them now and you were able to bring out the hidden gem you'd been storing away,
"But I am fully qualified enough to be able to find the black box that has all of the recorded data on it from the car in question." Instantly the court began to gasp out and murmur to one another as Mr Cane wandered back over to Ryan who appeared to be looking more nervous as time went by.
"Order!" The judge boomed out as he stared around the room, glancing at you and back over to Mr Cane who was shaking his head.
"The court will take a quick recess. Mr Cane, I suggest you figure out another line of questioning." He grumbled before leaving the courtroom.
"We the jury find the defendant...." The whole of the room seemed to drown out around him as Chan focused on the jurors, some looked guilty while others smirked at one another and nodded their heads as if they were proud of their answers. You looked over at Chan and smiled weakly, you knew he was putting everything he had into this being a guilty verdict and you'd prayed for the best outcome for him.
"Guilty. Guilty on one account of tampering with the brakes. Guilty on one account of removing the cameras from the vehicle and guilty of inflicting grievous bodily harm because of tampered vehicle." The court screamed out and you ran over to Chan throwing your arms around him,
"You did it, baby!" You screamed, kissing him all over his face and he let out a small chuckle.
"We did it," He whispered before kissing you deeply, your arms wrapping around the back of his neck as you pulled him closer to you. Moulding together perfectly as you made out heavily in the court room and Ryan was taken away in cuffs.
It had been a constant battle inside of Chan when he was in physiotherapy, everything inside of him told him to quit but if he had he wouldn't be here right now and on top of the winning podium accepting a trophy.
"I wanted to do a quick speech, to my friends, my family and just everyone who supported me throughout the whole trial." He spoke into the microphone as you watched him from the sidelines.
"None of this would have been possible if it wasn't for my future wife pushing me," You stared at him, your whole body burning as he called you his future wife when the two of you weren't engaged...yet.
"If it wasn't for Yn pushing for me to go past what I thought I was capable of I never would have gone through therapy for my hand and I never would have won this race." He breathed out heavily as he opened his arms for you to come onto the stage and you slowly walked over you him and into his waiting arms. Whining a little as you realised just how many people were watching from the race course and at home,
"I love you and without you, I wouldn't be here," He told you - and the rest of the world that was watching live on TV.
"I wanna spend the rest of my life with you and with racing but with a twist." He told you before turning back to the cameras,
"As of today this is my last race and I'm retiring."
"But your hand is back to 100%" You reminded him but he turned and smirked at you, it was true his hand was better than ever but it didn't mean he was going to race forever.
"I want to pass the racing torch to someone else while I focus on my future with Yn. But I'll still be here, we...will be," He smirked before a curtain dropped behind the stage and people began screaming and cheering wildly.
The track - previously known as Delmar Racing - was changed to "The Dragster League" making you giggle a little. The dragster was what you and Chan had named your car.
"Channie," You whined out before he kissed you deeply, erupting cheers around you, all of it fading into the background as you continued to kiss the love of your life.
#skz#skz x reader#skz imagine#skz imagines#stray kids#stray kids x reader#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#bang chan#bang chan x reader#bang chan imagine#bang chan imagines#chan#chan x reader#chan imagine#chan imagines#dreamescapeswriting
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Exchange Gift: The Magic Coin
I got into the hot car and with a small jump I left my butt in the passenger seat, I took the wet towel with the sweat of my "older brother", I wiped the sweat from my armpits, the smell of the towel permeated the entire car, but we are used even to each other's sweat.
Immediately, I noticed the smile of my "older brother" who was next to me, impatient to compare the size of our biceps, he flexed his colossal arm in front of me just to show off the size of the triceps that were originally mine.
-WOW! I can't believe how fast those arms have grown! All my friends are going to be so jealous when I go back to school in January! -
I'm glad to know that my brother was enjoying my "gift" but I was even more glad that it didn't cost me a single penny, like every year my family exchanged Christmas gifts.
And The One this year was Kevin, My annoying little brother, Normally I would have bought him something like a video game or something I could play with, but this year I had spent too much money on my ex-girlfriend, That bitch squeezed every penny out of me until my wallet was totally empty. And all for what in the end I will find her in the bed of a campus idiot…
Whatever. I was broke, depressed, AND still owed my chubby 15-year-old brother his little Christmas present. When I was at the mall looking for some gift no bigger than $5 I came across a Shiny coin lying on the floor I probably couldn't buy my brother a video game this year, but I was sure he would love this coin, he's a total nerd, and he loves to collect these kinds of things for his Dungeons and Dragons game.
I wanted to give him his gift a couple of days before Christmas, and privately I didn't want my family to be mad at me for breaking the rule with the price of the gift, and when I gave it to him, he didn't seem too happy with his new coin his disappointment was very noticeable on his face. So I promised him that I would take him to the gym with me to help him with those extra kilos so that he would stop being teased at school for being overweight.
As soon as I told him that, his expression totally changed, we didn't use to spend a lot of time together and when he came home from the gym at the university he always begged for some attention from his older brother. Well, now we are inseparable.
The moment I handed him the coin, our hands touched. A strange sensation from the coin ran through our bodies. I couldn't move or take my hands off the coin, no matter how hard I tried, my muscular arms didn't react. Nor the rest of my body for what seemed to me 5 long minutes.
Without warning the strange sensation disappeared and me and my brother were pushed backwards, the strange coin fell to the floor making a metallic sound.
As soon as I opened my eyes I knew something was wrong with me, my body was totally different, my muscles were gone and instead of my fantastic six-pack I now had a little slice, my tanned skin from afternoon jogging in the sun was replaced by pale smooth skin, my long hairy legs were now short and hairless.
Before I panicked, I looked up and was speechless. In front of me was a giant flexing his huge arms, tensing his muscles trying to imitate the positions that I usually do in front of the mirror for my Instagram photos.
-Is that… my body?-
The words escaped from my mouth and caught the attention of the person occupying my body, he took me by the arms and got up as if I were a baby.
-THANK YOU VERY MUCH, BRO! THIS IS THE BEST GIFT EVER, THIS IS FUCKING GREAT! LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT YOU! I AM YOU!-
He was playing with me like I was a doll, he abused his new strength, and he flipped me in the air. From this new perspective the ground looked really far from my new position, I was terrified. And although a couple of Tears came out of my eyes as I tried to escape from his strong hands, He didn't stop until the fear escaped me in the form of urine.
I had pissed in my pants, by the time my brother noticed I got down slowly, and I ran away from him as fast as my little legs could, I ran to the bathroom to release the rest of the urine that was fighting to escape from my little developing penis.
-Hey… I think, I got too excited…- His voice I recorded filtered through the wooden door while the sound of my urine in the toilet sounded at the same time, when I finished peeing I looked at the huge urine stain that was on my shorts, There were even some drops on my T-shirt
I undressed, stepped into the shower and let the hot shower wash away the mess in my crotch, The soothing sound of hot water and the sound of her apologies merged into a loud song, for a minute I had forgotten that I was in the body of my little brother.
Furthermore, I took the soap to deep clean my brother's body and I could tell the difference between his body and mine, for me. It was so strange to see myself and that none of my muscles were defined in my skin, I flexed one of my arms and all I got was to see the small hanging fish that my brother's classmates made fun of so much.
When I got out of the shower I took my towel instead of the towel with Spider-Man cartoon patterns and completely dried my brother's body, when I finished I rolled it around my belly to hide my new fishnet and left the bathroom.
My brother was still by the door, but the Emotion on his face had faded, -I... I'm sorry, I didn't want to... - He didn't finish his sentence, he seemed to have understood that he had hurt me, he just extended his arm and showed the coin He gently took my arm and slowly put it in my hand.
The exchange was reversed immediately, this time much faster than the previous time, and before I realized it I was no longer wearing a towel but a tank top and tight shorts.
Thank God, this was a back and forth exchange. I was relieved to be back in my body, but this little experience changed me completely. Since then me and my brother have been swapping bodies throughout our vacations, I think I've been spending more time in his body than mine, meh it's not like I have anything better to do.
I even kept my promise to take him to the gym, I let my brother use my body to work out, so he would have more self-confidence and succeed, maybe I did too well, He doesn't hesitate to flex his muscles in front of any stranger's face to stare at him for more than 5 minutes, he is still too innocent to know that all they want is to take him to bed.
But no one would ever try anything on him “intimidating gym bouncer”, and while he has fun impressing a bunch of perverted fagots, I would see to it that my brother will never feel the way he made me feel again even if I had to ”personally”
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✧˖°. WHY AM I SO OBSESSIVE? - ii
content: the silly goofy times are silly goofying and that is all i have to say on the matter
you couldn't tell if you wanted to throw up from the alcohol revolting in your body or from the fact that you agreed to go on a date while still hopelessly hung up on your best friend. you liked to believe it was the first as you leaned your head pitifully against your toilet but you knew, deep down, it was the latter. you had texted travis, in hopes that he would have forgotten about the whole thing or even ghosted you!! wouldn't that be nice!! solve all your problems!! but no, the stupid gentleman of a boy seemed far too eager for his own good to spend an evening with you. which had you throw up throwing up the few contents of your stomach, the guilt of it all hitting your gag reflex like a truck.
but, like the big girl you were, you pulled yourself off the tiles in your bathroom and got dressed. there was nothing a cute outfit couldn't fix, am i right?? you were cute but significantly more covered than you had been the night before, not wanting to give anymore wrong impressions to poor travis. you swallowed down another gag at the thought of his disappointed face as you broke the news to him that you were in love with someone else. after putting on a few finishing touches, you were grabbing your purse and phone and making your way out of your apartment, hoping to practice your smile in the car so you could convince the boy it was real. you pulled up to the dainty little coffee shop travis had picked out, immediately seeing the boy sitting outside at a cast iron outdoor dining set in the late spring sun. he nearly leapt out of his seat at the sigh of you, a beaming smile that had your stomach twisting in knots for all the wrong reasons.
"hey, yn," he hummed, easily welcoming the hug you gave him, "how'd this morning go?"
"i dont want to talk about the color of the vomit coming out of my mouth at four in the morning, thank you very much," you replied and travis laughed, shaking his head at you.
"and what a lovely topic im sure it would be," joked travis, bumping his shoulder with yours before taking a few quick steps to get in front of you and swing the door open. you thanked him with a half-assed curtesy and he just smiled fondly in response. you could feel your lips twitching to revolt against the warm feeling it felt you with as your brain replaced travis with leo. you quickly adverted your eyes to the menu, pretending to read it over like you didn't order the same thing at every cafe. you ordered what you always do and travis did the same, reaching to grab his wallet but you beat him, basically slamming your credit card into the machine.
"i owe you drinks. last night, remember?" you teased over your shoulder, shooting him a small smile.
"trust me, i remember last night," flirted travis and you just rolled your eyes and bit your lip in response, shoving him back towards the table he'd been previously sitting at.
you two sat there, soaking in the sun and just yapping away. really, it played out more like the catching up of long lost friends rather than a first date of what could be many to come. both you and travis could feel it, the flirty comments slowly dying away and being replaced with anecdotes from the camp you both attended as child. those summers seemed to last so long, but looking back now, they were mere blips in your lives. the best blips, though. your drinks came and went, though you were still taking sips of a clearly empty cup when it seemed travis was about to mention something too serious. like you were doing right now, using your straw to push the ice cubes around in search of even a single drop of liquid.
"yn," travis started and your eyes instantly darted up to him and the look he was giving you. it felt like the look a mother would give their child when they wanted them to confess to a crime they already knew the committed.
"hmm?"
"im not getting a second date, am i?" he asked, though the smile on his face helped ease you to answer honestly.
"im so sorry, travis. i threw up this morning out of guilt-"
"and whiskey."
"yeah, that too, but mostly guilt. i should have never asked you out, knowing what i know and i feel like ive completely wasted your time and-"
"woah, woah," travis cut in, waving his hands around and putting a halt to your words as he leaned towards you with a soft but teasing smile, "okay, firstly, this wasn't a waste of time!! we can still be friends, i've missed a lot of you guys from camp and would love to catch up with all of you sometime! secondly, is it safe to assume what you know is that youre completely and utterly in love with leo?"
"what- who- how the hell did you guess that?? am i that obvious??" you hissed out, your jaw dropping at the look travis gave you. this caused you to groan and fold your arms on the counter and bury your face in them, travis laughing in the background.
"lets just say there have been bets going around for years. if you are planning on doing anything, wait until 2026, ill get- i think the pool is up to like 1500 bucks or something-"
"please tell me your joking," you cried to the boy, glancing up from your arms and travis just shook his head, causing you to return to your arms with a muffled scream.
"come on, that just goes to show how perfect you guys are!! though, wait a few years until you tell him that. ill split my winnings," travis offered and you popped back up, raising a brow at the boy.
"you wouldn't."
"youre right, i wouldn't." shurgged travis, not an ounce of shame on his face, "so you might as well tell him now. i think it'll go to grover or something."
"for someone who's on a pointless date, you're taking this like a champ," you huffed, leaning your fist against you cheek as you looked across the table at travis who laughed, glancing over at you.
"i lost to a great guy who you've been in love with for, like, eons. can't really be too mad about it," he replied and you cooed at the boy, causing him to knock your arm out from under your face, which would have surly slammed into the table had you not caught yourself, glaring up at the giggling boy. and then a thought hit you, a smirk growing on your lips, which slowly stilled travis' laughter.
"what's going on in that brain of yours, yn?"
"do you remember katie gardener?"
"remember? gods, how could anyone forget a girl like katie?" travis replied instantly, only to realize the words he said and blush to coat his face. you held your phone up, shaking it like you would a treat for a dog.
"ive got her number. how'd you like a date, stoll? to make up for this one?"
"i mean, how can i refuse an offer like that?" replied travis following a thick swallow of spit and he lifted his clearly empty cup to his lips, desperate to do something with his hands.
"man, i've never been on a date where i've been turned down and set up all within an hour."
"i've been told im enigmatic," you winked, looking up from your phone that you were rapidly typing on.
"well i've been told leo likes enigmatic."
that got a plastic cup thrown at travis' head and treats to rescind your offer of helping him, and i quote, 'get bitches.'
✶⋆.˚ taglist: @ssparksflyy @imasimpdealwithit @pro-oddity @aezuria @literallyimthenerdemoji @sunshine-of-ur-life @brodieland @ivyy-covered-walls @annybah @aryxchse @riordanness @stargirl-exe @shimas-pjo-addiction @shimas-things12 @butterandhoneytoast @pumpkinbxtch @balletfilmss @daniskywalkersolo @meerpea @mayo-0-o @hannenomical @eliseisclinicallyinsane @ellipsisspelled
#𐙚⋆｡°✩ everythings alright when she calls me back#all my love ౨ৎ#pjo#hoo#heroes of olympus x reader#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez#pjo smau#smau
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“𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”
[ 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]
tags: strangers to lovers, roommate au!, best friend’s brother, fluff, mutual pining, smut, 18+
synopsis: In a desperate search of a new roommate, you have little to no choice but to accept your best friend's / best barista in the world's offer of letting his older brother rent out the room, who just so happens to be conventionally attractive.
You swear nothing will happen between the two of you but one thing eventually leads to another and you find yourself in his bed, leading to an unofficial roommates with benefits situation.
You know deep down it's wrong and you're worried when you start catching feelings...but it's okay because it's only temporary, right?
Series. next chapter
chapter one: a partridge in a pear tree (that doesn’t know how to fly.)
“So…is this everything?”
“Seems like it.” your roommate nods along— well now to be your ex-roommate .
The keys are already placed on the counter as well as the payment of last month’s rent. It’s a shame that the contract had to be cut short immediately, which was ultimately due to her boyfriend’s eagerness to spend their very first Christmas living together.
You are happy for her. Intensely so. You’ve seen the two of them together and they just seem to make butter melt. It all happened so fast, one date, then two, then seven and suddenly they’re speeding ahead to get moved in.
But nevertheless, you’re happy for the two of them. It’s nearly the holidays, basically the perfect excuse to get as romantic as you want.
You let out a sweet smile at MJ, helping her in carrying bags down to her car. As you made your trips up and down the apartment block you couldn’t help but think about the fact that she was already your third roommate this year, only managing to outlast your previous roommates by two months.
And it’d seemed like you guys had just begun to develop a close bond, until she broke the news that she was moving out at the beginning of December.
Which meant that you were spending Christmas alone… again and already your landlord is pushing for you to keep an eye out for any possible tenant around; silently hoping that you can find a replacement before the end of the year.
It’s another burden put on your shoulders. A burden that should be the job of the landlord, not you.
Just when you had thought that you were getting to the end of the year stress-free, now you’re dealing with the exhausting task of finding another roommate or else you’ll be paying double for the rent.
And if the best case scenario works out for you, then you’d have to go through the awkward roommate phase for the nth time: the awkward first meetings, the uncomfortable shuffles around each other, trying to navigate between each other’s own personal space and privacy. I mean, it took you and MJ a few months before you guys had grown accustomed to each other. She was really beginning to feel like more than a roommate, becoming one of your closest friends.
As you both start bringing down the last of her things, the signals to give your last goodbyes draw near. It’s more sentimental than you thought it would be. The two of you find yourselves in a latching hug, squeezing each other tightly.
“God– I know I haven’t known you for long but I’ll miss our little talks in the kitchen all night.” MJ hums, her head leaning on your shoulder.
You agree along with her, “Me too. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with another roommate.”
“You can always come and visit me and Peter y’know, we only live a few minutes away from downtown.”
You pull away from each other, meeting each other’s eyes. The cold breeze of the December air in New York whips over the two of you, cheeks frozen in frostbite.
“I know, I know, I’ll see if I can make it down for Christmas.”
“You better swear to that.” And it’s at her words that you outstretch your hand, pinky finger in the air. MJ’s own finger meets your own, sealing the promise for definite.
“I promise.”
“Good.” She smiles and you both indulge in one last hug before you wave her off to the car. She wishes you luck on finding a new roommate and you reciprocate the wish on her and Peter’s future together.
Making your way back up to your empty apartment, reality now kicks in. Standing in the doorway at what used to be MJ’s bedroom, the emptiness and plainness of the room reminds you once more that you are alone again.
You wonder how long it’ll take to find a roommate. Not long you hope since New York’s housing crisis isn’t getting any better but you hope to find a somewhat decent human being. Anxiety blooms at your stomach at the thought of them being anything like your first ever roommate – someone who didn’t know how to clean up after themselves, leaving you to become their own personal maid.
The thought remains with you for the rest of the morning, your routine feeling a little more woeful than usual. Your anxiety and overthinking followed you around like a little stray puppy, claiming you to be its rightful owner. It followed you through the bustling streets of New York as you interweaved between busy people all trying to make it to their own nine to fives.
Even when you stepped into O’hara’s , the puppy continued to follow you. O’hara’s was a little Mexican cafe/bakery that you had discovered in your second year of university. As soon as you had stepped into building the warm scent of hot cocoa and pastries filled up your nostrils.
The cafe was already heavily decorated for christmas: printouts of stars and snowflakes cello taped to the windows, lights strewn across the walls of the cafe and a slouching Christmas tree in the right back corner of the cafe, the golden glittering star limping slightly to one sight.
You join the small queue waiting patiently for your turn. You’re met with a smile by the barista, the same one who meets your face every morning.
“¡Buenos días!, Your regular?”
“Good morning, and yes please.” you reply as you tap your card for payment.
“Take a seat, bonita , I’ll come right over.”
The barista’s words add a smile to your face, slightly easing the anxious ache that you had from this morning. You take your favorite seat, the stool in the corner by the window so you can eagerly watch people as you’re taking your morning coffee.
As always it’s not long before the barista comes over with your order, eager to rush over to you.
“Thanks Gabi .” you say as he places down the hot cup of coffee. Two sugars and a drop of milk. Always to your perfection.
“No problem.” He replies, leaning his arm on the empty stool next to yours. Gabriel watches you take the first sip, as he always does when giving you your coffee. You take a small sip, careful not to burn your tongue. The hot liquid quickly travels down your throat, awakening your body as you do so with its bitter yet slightly sweet taste.
“Perfect as always, Gabi, you’re a natural.”
He waves his hand, in mock embarrassment. “Oh stop it, you’re making me blush.” You repeat the compliment to him everyday without fail and he knows that you would never say anything less, not even on his worst days.
“Now for the tip.” He speaks, a smirk drawing on his lips. “Fifty or hundred today?”
“Don’t be an ass, Gabi.” you mutter, reaching for your purse. You hand him a twenty dollar bill.
“Ooooo, looks like she’s being nice today.”
“When am I not ever being nice?”
“Okay, you remember that one time when that lady pushed–?”
“Zip it.” you quip, not wanting to hear the rest of that sentence.
“Okay…..” he rolls his eyes, knowing fully well how he could have proved you wrong. “So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or will I have to blackmail you with my mama’s tres leches for you to tell me?”
“The latter.” you pipe up quickly, taking another sip of the coffee. You weren’t even surprised that he tell that something was wrong, he had known you long enough to know your habits.
“You mujer interesada, of course you would. Why did I even bother asking?” [self-interested/greedy woman]
You let out an exhale before confessing your thoughts, the anxiety building up in your stomach becoming too discomforting that you just had to tell him. “My roommate moved out this morning. Again.”
“Another one? But you guys got on so well!” Gabriel exclaimed, his mouth slightly open in shock.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s moving in with her boyfriend. They want to spend their first Christmas together after being in a long distance relationship for so long and I’m happy for them I guess but…” You trail off, looking down into your coffee cup.
“You feel lonely as fuck now?”
You nod your head wordlessly. As always Gabriel was always quick in being able to read your mind. “You don’t need a spare room do you?” you ask suddenly, your eyes eagerly brighten at the thought.
“No, I'm sorry. I’m still living with my mom at the moment.” Gabriel flicks his head over to the counter where his mother was, working in the kitchen making more traditional Mexican cuisine. “I’m saving up to get a place of my own one day.”
You nod along again, humming in response to Gabriel’s plan before glancing out of the window.
A comfortable silence came between the two of you as you both observed the streets of New York. O’hara’s was set in a quiet corner of downtown with few passersby and traffic. One of the many reasons why you loved to come here was for the peace and quiet of the cafe– not many would be able to find that in New York. But also, you liked to take advantage of the free wifi.
“Y’know what?” Gabriel speaks after a few minutes of silence.
“What?” You hum.
“I think I know someone who might need a place.”
“Really?” Your intonation rises higher, surprise evident in your voice. You shake your head, stopping your body from celebrating just yet. It looks like you can’t abandon that puppy yet without some sort of confirmation. “Wait, Gabi, you can’t be shitting me okay? Be serious.”
“Hey, I’m always serious!” He retorts and you deadpan him as your response. “Trust me.” He says. “ I’ll get you someone by the end of the week, if I can convince—”
“Oh my god, you're the best barista ever!” You say aloud, indulging him with a hug before he could finish his sentence.
“And don’t you tell me that everyday.”
/
The next morning, you feel a little lighter as you walk the streets of New York. For the rest of yesterday, you were unconsciously avoiding your return back to your empty apartment, upset by the knowledge that there was no one at home waiting for you. Yet, waking up this morning and instantly remembering Gabriel’s words had indefinitely removed the sea of anxiety from your body.
You’re a little more excited than usual to head to O’hara’s, hoping to hear back from Gabi about your potential roommate. You step through the doors of the cafe, the usual smell of coffee, pastries and desserts hitting you like always. The queue is a little longer than usual today, but you estimate that down to more people wanting hot drinks to subside with the colder weather in New York lately.
It takes a while to get to your turn but you’re patient. A cheesy smile is on your lips as you step to meet your usual—
“Uh– what would you like?”
Your face freezes at the sound of a gruff voice addressing you instead of your usual cheery ‘¡buenos dias!’ missing from your usual routine. You hesitate a little in making your order, finding it unusual that Gabriel’s not in for work today. You knew that they were running low on staff recently but…Gabriel rarely takes a day off.
Unless he’s hungover.
Instead, his replacement stands as a tall, tanned and muscular man. Older , you assume or perhaps that’s just the notion that you get from the dark under eye-bags that he has. You practically have to crane your neck just to make eye contact.
He looks familiar but you just can’t recognise where you know him from. The features of his face, dark hair, eyes, and nose screams at you to be recognised. But you just can’t put your finger on it for some reason.
“Do I know you?” you speak up, your curiosity violently plaguing your mind.
“Huh?” The man looks down at you, currently struggling to tap in your order on the till.
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
“Oh, okay.” he says, looking down and attempting to tap in your order again.
You stand around, patiently waiting for your order and as you glance around the cafe you find that your favorite spot is taken. Immediately, your shoulders drop. You take it as a sign that today will be a bad day. Not correlated at all, but it does dampen your mood.
It takes more than ten minutes before you get your order, the muscular figure works slowly as if he’s just figuring out how to work all the machines. A newbie you guess.
Finally , your order is ready and instead you settle with taking a seat in a comfy lounge chair. It’s disheartening not having your regular conversation with Gabi today but you’ll cope instead making a mental list of all the errands and work that you need to run through today.
Pulling out your phone, you go to his contact to text Gabriel.
You (8:23am)
Let me guess…you’re hungover? Anyways, I hope you feel better soon <333 Lmk if you need anything…and if you get any updates on the roommate situation. :)
You hit send and slide the phone back into your pocket. You’re not expecting a response anytime soon from him. Picking up your cup, you take a quick sip of your coffee before immediately pulling a disgusted face. Too much sugar.
You’re in the right mind to go back up to the counter and order a new one but by the look on the new barista’s face, which you could tell was filled with stress and internal panic, you think it’s best not to run him ragged even more.
For his sake you decide to keep quiet. For now.
reblogs are much appreciated!
lmk if you would like to be tagged
#angel writes#a temporary situation.#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel spiderman#astv miguel#atsv headcanons#astv x reader#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel x reader#miguel ohara#atsv miguel
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Pink Pastels Pt 18
Description: Miguel deals with Todd, and has a late night visitor—you.
Pt 19
The purr of car engines overhead, the slight rattling of the bridge, the coos of pigeons and the soft lapping of the waves fills Miguel's ears as he stares down at the waterlogged corpse at his feet.
“Lyla, how many people know about this?”
“About the mauled body of your new girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?” Lyla smirks, her heart shaped sunglasses low on her nose as she observes the scene.
Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Lyla, please just answer my question.”
“Just a few displaced people along the river, the Swedish shipping vessel that reported the sighting, and the Coast Guard has the call record, but since you got lucky with the currents and since I made a few more urgent calls to the Coast Guard, they haven't set eyes on him yet.” She tells him, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Thank you.” He says as he zips up the body bag and tosses it over his shoulder.
“So, what are you going to do with him?” She asks, flickering in and out of his masked vision.
“Acid.”
“Acid? Lame.” Lyla huffs.
He snorts. “It's quick, efficient, and less likely to leave a trace.”
“Yeah, but wasn't he like a total dick to y/n?”
He grunts in response as he swings through the city until he finds the disposal grounds of Janson Inc, the manufacturing company you mentioned Todd works for.
“I mean, I thought you'd go way more psycho than you did.” She says, laughter on the horizon of her tone.
“Lyla” He warns, as he heaves the body bag containing Todd into the acid, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the fabric, flesh, and bone dissolve.
“Ok, ok, I'm just saying, I think I know you pretty well and-”
“I want him forgotten, I want y/n to forget about him.”
Lyla says nothing for a moment, then sighs heavily. “Miguel…you know it doesn't work like that. You might have been able to easily replace this universe's version of you, but that doesn't mean you can just as easily replace Todd.”
Miguel turns from the acid, the surrounding area bathed in a sickly green glow. “I know.”
“And you know y/n's different from Ana, Xina, Dana, and even Tempest, she cares about you, about Gabi. She really cares about Gabi. She's not just going to jump you now that her ex-boyfriend is gone. She's going to weigh the consequences.”
A smirk tugs at his lips, and for a moment his mind supplies him with the memory of you begging for him, his name on your lips like a fervent plea as you fall apart on his thigh. Of the way your eyes linger on his lips, how you reached for him in the doorway of your apartment.
He grunts in response. He knows you, better than you know he does, better than Todd did, perhaps better than anyone else in the world. You'll weigh the consequences, but that doesn't mean he can't try to lighten the load.
“Okay, Mr. Stupid and Silent, don't believe me. It's your funeral.” Lyla huffs before her form flickers out, and he's left alone in the dark.
Miguel unlocks the door to his apartment and silently pads through the quiet space.
Gabi's asleep, he knows this. You're asleep, he knows this. He should also be asleep, but he's filled with a nameless emotion--an anxious energy raging against the edges of sleep that are threatening to creep in on him.
He sits at his desk, flipping through security feeds, ensuring there's no record of him. He's clean, there's no trace of him or Todd.
He was smart, made sure no one would see when he broke into Todd's apartment and knocked him out.
No one noticed as he carried Todd's unconscious body to an abandoned warehouse, and no one heard Todd's screams as he tore into him, leaving him a mangled mess that Miguel finally dangled him off the bridge.
He watched unflinching as Todd plummeted. The sound of Todd's body slamming into the water echoed off the banks, and Miguel waited until he sank to return to his apartment.
No one would ever know. He got away clean.
“Hey Boss? Y/N's here.” Lyla says, her words hitting him a millisecond before he hears your soft knocking on his door.
He bolts up, running a hand through his hair and checking his appearance in the hall mirror before he swings open the door to see you. Perfect, perfect you.
Your hair is loose, hanging free, and you're clad in fuzzy socks and an oversized sweatshirt.
Are you wearing pants under that? Shorts? Is this a seduction tactic? Because it's working.
“Hey, I'm sorry, I know it's late, but I just...” You wave your hands helplessly, your nails are pink, a pretty pearlescent pink.
He reaches out to catch one of your hands in one of his, squeezing it slightly. “Don't apologize, I’m more than willing to help, whatever it is.”
You give him an embarrassed smile. “Okay, so, it's a new apartment and I swear I keep hearing all these noises, and I know it’s childish but...would you come and take a look? Make sure there's nothing there?”
He's in love with you, fully, completely, unreservedly.
“Of course, y/n, I felt the same way when I moved in. The building is a bit older, there are lots of creaks and groans.”
He follows you to your apartment as he says this, and you look back at him in surprise. “You were scared?”
He chuckles sheepishly. “Actually, Gabi was, I just wanted to make you feel better.”
You smile and duck your head. “I appreciate the effort."
You hold the door open for him, then stand in your lit kitchen, your arms wrapped around yourself. Your bare thighs are exposed by the rising fabric of your sweatshirt, and he averts his eyes.
He strangles his desire to sink to his knees and grip the soft flesh of your thighs, to wrench them apart and bury his face between them. To watch you come apart on his tongue as the sounds of your pleas and moans fill the air.
“I feel like I heard something near the balcony. You say, tearing him from his thoughts.
“I’ll go check.” He tells you, making his way towards your balcony, his senses on high alert even though he knows there's nothing.
It's an older building, Gabi was scared when they first moved in, that much is true. But there's nothing to be scared of, he's ensured that. In fact, this building, this block might be the safest in all of Nueva York.
Miguel throws open your balcony door and makes a show of checking every inch. He's rewarded by your soft laugh.
“All clear?” You take a half step forward, a smile playing at your lips, the lingering traces of sleep still gracing your expression.
“All clear. Anywhere else you want me to check?”
You nod towards your bedroom. “I swear I heard shuffling in my bathroom.”
He waits at your door, looking back at you. “Through here?”
You breeze past him and sit cross-legged on the edge of your bed. “The door on the left.”
He pushes the door open and flicks on the light. He's seen this room already, through your necklace, but standing there, on your plush, pastel purple bath mat, looking into your mirror, the mirror he's admired your bare body in, sends him into a tailspin.
“You see anything?” You call softly.
He shakes his head. “Nothing, no monsters lurking in between your towels.
“I didn't think there were monsters." You mumble, padding over to him, your scent hitting him like a freight train.
Has it always been this strong, or was it because he's in your home and everything around him screams y/n?
He inhales deeply, his fingers curling around the edge of your sink, his eyes closed as he fights to calm himself.
“Miguel? Are you okay?” You ask, placing a hand on his bicep.
He pulls you forward, pressing your back against the sink, his arms on either side caging you in.
You look up at him with an adorable expression of surprise, as if you hadn't seen his agility when he was disguised as Spiderman. “Miguel?”
He steels himself, even as he feels the plaster of your sink give beneath his fingers. He'll fix that later.
“Pancakes or French Toast?”
“I'm sorry?” You ask stunned.
“For breakfast, cariño, which would you prefer?” He forces the words out, prays they're smooth and unassuming.
You smile up at him, and he feels his stomach flip. It's a childish thing, for a small smile to affect him this way.
“Oh, pancakes please, and I can help you cook if you need.”
You're so sweet.
“No, no, mi vida, I'm cooking. All you need to do is keep me company.”
Your eyes follow the movement of his lips, and his nostrils flare when he smells the arousal wafting off you.
“Are you sure? I really don't mind.” You insist, palms resting against his chest.
He leans down and presses a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “I'm sure, now goodnight y/n.”
Then he leaves you there and heads back to his apartment, his head spinning, your scent still lingering around him.
Taglist: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @youcantseem3, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue, @marcelineormars
#meg's writing#miguel's pastels#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara imagine
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faceless // P1: the mask... take it off ~ charles leclerc x reader
pairing: charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader
includes/authors notes: language, lack of equal rights/ gender equality, readers an unknown figure in the races, fem!reader's gender assumed as male, use of "y/n".
Bold Italics are the past.
Normal Italics are thoughts or radio messages.
summary: "There is a new mysterious driver on the grid. Nobody knows who he is, the only thing we know is that he races for Red Bull with the number 66. Other drivers call him the faceless driver for none have ever seen his face or heard him speak. The faceless driver is a legend in the making and even giving Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen a run for their money…”
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
Come on y/n! you told yourself. You could feel the car beneath you hum as you broke smoothly into the corner, speeding up once again on the straight. Repeating these movements over and over like clockwork, as you did laps around the track, maintaining your position in first.
Throttle.
Break.
Turn.
Repeat.
Driving in a car as nice as a Red Bull felt euphoric, the car was sleek and fast. You glided across the pavement with the perfect amount of traction, you could overtake in your sleep.
"Nice work 66, you've lapped the back of the grid. Tsunoda coming up on your right at P20." your race engineer informed.
Clicking on your voice changer and the radio you responded, "Roger, thanks Rick,"
You lapped multiple people, continuing to feel at ease behind the wheel, your race could not be going better and you were well on your way to pulling ahead of your competition in the championship standings.
But you see, that was kind of a stressor...
Your boyfriend Charles had no fucking clue you were racing, hell he didn't even know you had ever stepped foot near a car before you met him. When you got the call from Christian Horner that he wanted you on the team you were beyond ecstatic, but of course, being the first woman in Formula One, there were some hesitations.
You had never had a huge social media presence and the thought of interviews made you nervous. Not to mention the massive fan population of Formula One that you felt already stalked you enough after meeting Charles.
Voicing your concerns with your new team principal was not a problem, and to be honest it sounded like he agreed with everything you had to say. Making you feel confident about your choice, even if you had nerves going into this alone and keeping it from your boyfriend.
"I completely understand y/n," Christian said over the phone. "I think if we send you out into the media, the drivers and them will eat you alive, not saying you couldn't handle it but that is a lot of unnecessary pressure."
"Yes," you replied. "And I want to be taken seriously, I believe people not knowing I'm a woman might just make my life a whole lot easier."
"And this is why I picked you y/n, you're serious about your work and are smart about it. I think this year is going to work out just fine."
You and Christian whipped up the plan to create a mysterious persona. You would use a voice-altering device at all times, people called you 66, no interviews or media were ever allowed, and absolutely no one could know your real identity. Not even your teammate Max, who had clearly been fuming since Horner started to favor your superior driving skills on the track, without even having a name.
"Box, box," Rick quipped, pulling you out of your thoughts, that sounded about right. You were about to take the second pit of your two-stop strategy. Replacing your worn-out hards with fresh medium tires that would last you until the end of the race and warm up perfectly for fastest lap attempts.
You turned the last corner before the entrance to the pit wall came into view, slowing the car, you took a clean park just outside your garage. After a quick few bumps up and down your car was released again, rolling down the pit lane and back out into the race. That must have been the fastest pit stop of your life. You speed past a Ferarri to maintain your previous spot in first.
Holy shit, that was Charles.
You pushed the car to the max, pulling away little by little, trying to brush off the achy feeling you felt when you saw the bright red race car in your rearview mirror. But you didn't feel right and it wasn't the thought of Charles, not feeling as calm in the car as you usually did put you even more on edge. Something was off. Something was wrong.
It was taking more effort to drag the car around corners and every time you tried to break, something in your car hissed like a cat being held above water.
"Ri-ck-y, wha-at the h-ell is going on?" your masked voice shook over the radio from the tremor of your car.
"Um, looking at it right now 66,"
You knew it wasn't Rick's fault of course and he was always on top of things when it came to your needs during the race. You didn't need to panic, he would fix it.
Stay calm y/n.
Stay fucking calm.
"Oh no, once she starts quoting Micheal from The Office you know shits about to go down," your best friend Sarah cackled.
"STAY FUCKING CALM PEOPLE!" you shrieked, pulling smoking cookies out of the oven. You could hear Lando rolling around on the ground, laughing so hard he was crying.
"It's not on fire love, you're blowing out nothing..." Charles smirked, making Lando wheeze next to him.
"Okay, don't panic 66"
"I'm not fucking panicking-"
"Oi... watch your language," You could practically hear Ricky's smirk in his voice, except he seemed uneasy.
"Ok, dad,"
"66, focus."
"Right sorry,"
"I'm going to need you to box again,"
"WHAT?"
"I'm. Going. To. Need. You. To. Box. Again."
"FOR WHAT?"
"Your left rear tire is loose, I'm sorry mate,"
You felt like you were going to scream, how the hell does that happen? The simple pit stop your crew has been doing all year, and they can't put the tire on tight.
"UHHHHH" you groaned.
"I know, I'm sorry, box this lap please,"
You drove the car as best you could around another corner, the pit lane was still about half the track away so you would have to stick it out. Charles however, was gaining on you from your slow lap times with the wonky tire. Oh boy, Charles was really gaining on you.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The car jerked to the left, and you struggled to maintain control of the wheel. The back of the car shook as you pushed it faster, you could not let Charles pass you by this much, even if you got a fresh set of tires you wouldn't have enough laps to regain pole position. The red Ferarri pulled into view beside you making your heart clench and pulse quicken.
"Leclerc trying to overtake on your right," Rick warned, "Be careful with that tire!"
Too fucking late Ricky.
The back of your car slipped, sending both you and Charles hurdling toward the barriers. You braced for impact, head pulsing, ears ringing. You tried to take a deep breath, letting oxygen into your lungs, instead, they were greeted with thick grey smoke. You could see flashes of red around you and heard people screaming outside the car, why were you still sitting there?
"Mate! Do you copy? Get the hell out of the car 66!" Rick yelled into your ear.
Both of the cars had burst into flames. You removed your steering wheel and neck guard, holding onto the halo above you in order to pull yourself out. Your boot had gotten stuck somewhere under the seat and no matter how hard you yanked on your leg, it would not budge. Your body felt weak, and muscles throughout your body shook with fear and fatigue.
The radio must have failed at some point because Rick had stopped yapping your ear off, leaving you to your own thoughts and tears that had started streaming down your face.
"Please don't advance towards the fire!" someone shouted. "Mr. Leclerc!"
Looking up you saw Charles. He had weaved himself through a part of the car that was not in flames, holding out a hand to help you. Taking his hand you both used all of your strength to pull and release yourself from the cockpit of the car. Your foot popped free and survival instinct took over, sending you both running out of the flames.
"Thank you," you mumbled, making sure the voice changer was not damaged in your helmet before speaking to him.
Charles just grunted, lifting his visor, and then his helmet from his head. He pulled off the white balaclava as well and stuffed it into the helmet.
"What the fuck was that mate?" he asked, green eyes dark. You panicked and remained silent, to be honest, you didn't really know what you had just done. Pushing the car was one of the stupidest things you could have done with a loose tire.
You slowly backed away, you needed to get out of here.
"Mate what-?" Charles let out an aggressive sigh as you turned away. "I saved your bloody life after you tried to end mine! The least you could do is talk it out-" he was yelling now and you just walked away. You knew you would hear all about this later anyway.
"Sir, I'm going to need you to step into the medical car," a sharp-looking woman with glasses tapped her clipboard and then pointed to the car with her pen.
You just kept walking.
"Sir!"
"What a dick-" you heard Charles say in the distance, making guilt build up in your chest.
The tears continued to fall once more as you made your way to the Red Bull garage, you were glad the heavy helmet covered your face, and that you made the deal to never remove it. You could feel the stands of people staring at you, some cheered, some booed, other people stared with looks of fear or adoration. That crash was a mixture of emotions for everyone.
The stares continued as you passed the engineers to head to your driver's room. Guilt filled you when it came to the team as well, who would spend the rest of the week getting you a new car started for next weekend's race. When you closed the door to your room you could hear whispers through the walls, everyone was pissed.
"Christian, I want to know who I'm dedicating countless hours to mate," an engineer said. "He fucking fried the car, and now I'll be fixing it for the next 5 days, I don't even know who the guy is."
Christian, who was right outside your door said, "I know Matt, I'm sorry it's just not an option right now."
"But-"
"Thank you for understanding, if you'll excuse me."
The door opened in front of you and your team principal walked in, closing and locking it behind him before he turned to stare at you. You took the hint and removed the sweaty helmet from your head, fresh air hitting your sweat-soaked skin.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, recalling the crash clearly in your mind.
"And so am I," he said, face remaining calm, "Our race control should have been better than that and your tire should not be hanging off your car during the race."
You gave him a small grateful smile, "I lit the fucking car on fire."
He let out a hoarse chuckle, "That you did. Look, I'm going to let you go find Charles, keep your cover and shit. We can talk about this later alright, there are still some things I think we should discuss."
"Okay, thank you sir," you said and once he left you slipped back into your street clothes, sleek jeans, and a black shirt. Brushing your hair into a messy bun, and trying to touch up your makeup before exiting out the back alleyway towards the Ferrari garage. By this point the race had ended and the crowds were bustling giving you a perfect opportunity to b-line to where Charles and Lando were standing.
"You need to get a girlfriend, Lando," Charles spoke, hitting his friend playfully, "How bout that girl over there?"
Lando looked to who Charles was pointing at, "Eh, maybe,"
"C'mon mateee, she's pretty. Some might even say stunning, go talk to her!"
"This morning I saw a YouTube video with a puppy riding a motorcycle. So my bar for stunning is pretty high."
"Okay, but maybe there are different bars for different situations...?"
What the fuck were you listening to?
"The bar is consistent, the only time I set the bar low is for limbo. Always keep the bar raised no matter what."
"Uhm, okay, your funeral," Charles said before spotting you, his face lit up and Lando turned over his shoulder to see what Charles was looking at.
"Look who it is!" Lando cheered. "Your girlfriend, Charles. Maybe you should focus on your own love life and not mine..."
"Where were you?" Charles asked, ignoring Lando. Pulling you into his side and placing a kiss on your head.
"Bathroom," You replied curtly, "needed to compose myself."
"Were you crying?" Charles questioned, eyes looking concerned.
"No." you grumbled, wiping away access mascara from under your eyes.
"Well I wouldn't blame her mate, you gave everyone quite a scare with that crash," Lando shrugged.
"Oh, I'm sorry baby, I promise I'm alright," your boyfriend cooed, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug. You chuckled and relaxed into his scent. Lando was called away after a few minutes leaving you and Charles alone.
"Should we head back to the hotel?" he questioned.
"Yeah," you sighed, squeezing his hand as the two of you walked to his car. He opened the passenger door for you before heading around to his side. Turning the key and pulling out of the parking lot he blasted his favorite French rap music that you didn't understand.
"Uhh, what a day," he sighed.
"That looked like a nasty crash," you replied, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh, yeah I'm fine," Charles said, "I hate the other guy,"
You gulped at his words and tried to keep your voice steady, "Yeah, we don't even know who he is though..."
"That's also a problem, like we get it, he's good. Hell, he's amazing. But now he's fucking up other people's races by being selfish, and then hiding behind his visor because he's too much of a coward to own up for the mistakes he and his team make-"
Holy shit. Is that how people saw you? A coward?
As Charles ranted on you felt your breathing quicken, images of the crash fluttered through your mind. What would happen if Charles found out about your secret? This was the best relationship that you had ever been in, you felt genuinely loved and cared for. The butterflies in your stomach never ceased when he was around, no matter how many times he complimented you. You hadn't fully said it to him but, shit, you were in love.
Would he break up with you if he found out you had been lying?
Was it hot in here?
"Woah love, are you okay?" Charles asked pulling you from your thoughts. "You zoned out there for a second"
"Mhmm! I'm fine!" you forced a smile.
Charles's green eyes narrowed as he frowned, "You know you can tell me anything right?" his hand reached over the console to rub your thigh, reassuringly.
"Of course,"
He leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead before he continued to drive, he continued to talk about his race, and you hummed in agreement. You had back-to-back races so another one was just around the corner, you needed to pull yourself together. Growing less anxious as the night went on, a beautiful sunset captured your attention as the colors faded behind some hills, but the word coward still screamed in your mind that night as you drifted off to sleep.
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
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Suited
Husbands, Dave and John, swiftly needed suits for a close friend's sudden impromptu wedding. Luckily, the brand-new suit store that had just opened near them was available all night. They rushed over, intending to be in and out as fast as possible, but unbeknownst to the nieve couple, they were about to have a life-changing shopping experience that would quickly eradicate all strive for haste.
When Dave and John first stepped inside, they were immediately assaulted by the thick smell of intense cologne emanating from every corner. The scent was overwhelming but highly masculine, giving their cocks a pleasant twitch. To their surprise, there wasn't a single other customer or shop assistant in sight, but not overthinking it, pursued on.
The overabundance of suits intimidated them, having only worn basic t-shirts and jeans, but they eventually found ones they liked and, most importantly, could afford. They couldn't wait to leave; the intense smell of cologne was beginning to make them feel lightheaded. But, while trying to find a shop assistant, they encountered the endless racks of dress shoes, halting them in their tracks. They had some old, borrowed dress shoes in the car, but the new, freshly polished ones were hypnotically dazzling, begging to be admired and purchased.
As they contemplated which pairs to buy, their minds became more deliriously lightheaded from the cologne, turning them on. The added scent of fresh dress shoe leather intensified that arousal further, excitedly making the hairs on their arms stand up, and their cocks stiffen. With no soul around to stop them, they gave each other a knowing look, and without hesitation, they brought the dress shoes up to their noses and inhaled deeply. After which, they both moaned in dopey satisfaction, the intense masculine scent making their stiff cocks leak pre.
Dave and John were in perverted heaven, enthusiastically sniffing the dress shoes and playing with their stiff bulges. The thrill of potentially being caught pushing their horniness even further. They felt like they were going to explode with lust. They needed release. They needed each other. With looks of total horny desperation, they tossed aside the shoes they were sniffing, along with their picked-out suits, and began ferociously making out. They grasped each other's asses and rubbed their tight bulges together, French kissing and moaning like complete perverts. They wanted to fuck so badly, utterly intoxicated with how horny they felt.
Dave and John, too consumed in their lust, didn't notice the tossed-aside dress shoes and suits had vanished from the floor and materialized onto their bodies, replacing their clothes. They stuffed their hands into each other's pants and stroked one another's throbbing cocks, oblivious to the fact that their clothes had magically changed. Their brains felt like mush, blissfully unaware that their messy hair had magically slicked back to quaffed perfection.
They staggered into a nearby fitting room, unable to stop French kissing and jerking one another off. They needed to fuck, desperate for it. However, catching a glimpse of their reflections in the big, lit-up mirror quickly broke their lustful concentration. Finally, they realized their clothes and hair styling had changed entirely. They gave their reflection and then each other a bewildering look up and down, utterly slack-jawed.
Instantly, as if by divine force, they felt their bodies ignite with an overpowering need to cream their dress pants. Without giving it a second thought, they dry-humped each other, and French kissed even more ferociously than before. It didn't matter that nothing made sense; they were too dumb and horny to care. Besides, it wouldn't matter if they cared or wanted to stop, for the store wouldn't allow it. The store had its hooks in them too deeply, and there was nothing to do but give in entirely.
With ferocious, manly roars, they blasted their hot, sticky loads into their dress pants. However, they didn't just empty their balls but their minds, ejaculating their free will and way of life. For they now belonged to the store, freshly purchased.
Dave and John, or Davey and Jonathan as they both like to go by now, never did end up attending the wedding. Neither did they ever see their family and friends ever again. As the proud owners of the brand-new suit store, they need to give all their time and attention to their beloved business. Gone are the days of lounging about watching mindless sports and playing senseless video games, but instead, putting all their blood, sweat, and tears into their store and no longer wearing plain T-shirts and jeans but rather flashy dress suits. Their hair is now always slicked back to quaffed perfection, never messy like before. Goodbye, worn-out old sneakers and flip-flops. Hello, perfectly polished dress shoes and leather boots. For now, they were perfect, never to want anything the store didn't see fit.
They're looking to hire, by the way. Any takers ;)
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