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#yeah only 12 or somethin

pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

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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steddieas-shegoes · 6 months

Text

sir, this is a wendy's

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'modern au' rated t wc: 765 tags: established relationship, proposal, kinda silly

-----------------------------------------------

"They're out of the cookies, sweetheart," Eddie turned to Steve as he came back from the restroom of the Wendy's.

They were still nearly six hours from home and exhausted, a little bit grumpy if Steve's silence for the last hour was anything to go by.

"I'll have a Frosty then."

"Machine's down."

Steve blinked at him before sighing.

"I guess nothing then, right? Just the burger and fries."

Eddie sighed, too.

The visit with Robin hadn't gone...well. She'd told them she was taking a year to study abroad and part of the program meant she could only come home for one week during their summer break. Steve wasn't taking it well that she'd go from being an eight hour drive away to an eight hour flight away.

He was being patient.

He knew Steve hated change like this, and he'd only been sitting with it for about 12 hours.

Eddie turned back to the cashier with a smile.

"Two number two's, one with no onions and one with no tomatoes please."

Steve was standing next to him, staring down at his phone. When Eddie looked over, he had a tab open showing the program details of Robin's study abroad track.

While they waited for their food, Eddie watched Steve biting his lip, then his thumbnail, and then his lip again.

"Stevie, what's goin' on in your head?" Eddie finally asked.

Steve shoved his phone in his pocket and looked at the floor.

"Nothin'."

"It's clearly somethin'. You worried about Robin?"

"Obviously," Steve huffed.

"Love, she's-"

"Steve Munson!"

Both of them whipped their heads back to the counter, where a woman was pushing a tray of food towards them.

Steve's wide eyes looked back at Eddie, cheeks a bright red.

Eddie walked up to grab their food, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach at the thought of Steve actually being Steve Munson.

It's not that he hadn't thought about it before; He had thought about it most days for the last year.

There was a ring in his drawer at their apartment to prove it.

"Table?" Eddie choked out, avoiding eye contact with Steve.

They were quiet as they sat down, taking their food off the tray and looking at it. Not eating, not even touching it anymore, just looking.

"Um."

"So."

They looked at each other, then back down at their food.

"Steve Munson sounds kinda nice," Eddie said hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Steve was picking at the wrapper around his burger now.

"I mean, I've thought so for a while."

"You have?"

Eddie was really about to propose in this Wendy's.

Without a ring or a real speech.

Just himself and a few old people in the corner eating chili.

"I'm gonna do this for real somewhere that isn't a Wendy's on an exit in some shitty town that has two gas stations and a Wal-Mart, but for now." He cleared his throat and reached across the table to take Steve's hand. "I dunno why they called that name, but maybe it's a sign. I love you. I know right now you're having a lot of thoughts, and you don't have to answer me. I'm not even on one knee, but really this is a Wendy's and my knee's been hurting for the entire ride. I love you. I said that already."

Steve giggled and Eddie couldn't help smiling back at him.

"I love you. I'll say it as much as you want, as long as it makes that smile happen. I'll say it when you're sad and grumpy, when you're happy and silly, when you're tired, when you're hyper. If it's okay with you, I'll scream it right here."

"In the Wendy's?"

"Yes, in the Wendy's."

Steve just nodded.

"Attention everyone! This man right here? I love him!" Eddie was saying loudly, gaining the attention of everyone around them. "And I'm asking him right now, to be my husband!"

"Sir, this is a Wendy's," an old lady sitting in the booth across from them said.

Eddie and Steve immediately started laughing.

"Well, is he sayin' yes so you'll shut up or what?" An old man said from the other end of the lobby.

Eddie looked at Steve with a smirk.

"Yeah, I'll marry you," Steve said loud enough for everyone to hear.

A couple people clapped, but for the most part, everyone went back to ignoring them.

Eddie kissed Steve softly, chastely.

"Was this a distraction from the Robin thing?" Steve asked.

"Not intentionally. Worked though."

Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

"You better make the real proposal a spectacle."

"Anything for you, my love."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #modern au

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finnsbubblegum · 1 year

Text

Where It All Starts (Joel Miller X Reader)

Pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, sweet joel, domestic joel, rom-com

Summary: reader as Joel’s neighbor. Joel’s wife left him so Joel asked his neighbor for help in babysitting Sarah.

Words count: 1.1k

A/N: I’m trying to make this as a rom-com, hope you like my new series! I have a lot of ideas to write about Joel Miller fanfiction and I haven’t finished writing them all. I only have a few days before I start working but I want to write as much as I can. I’m pretty nervous since it’s my first full-time job. Wish me luck!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

“Please just let me go! I can’t do this anymore!” You heard a woman’s yell from outside your house while washing the dishes.

“Baby, please.. Just do this for Sarah. Please.” A man begged.

*baby cried*

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

Curiosity ate you. You peeked through your window and saw your neighbor were having a fight. Assuming they were husband and wife with a newborn baby. The man was carrying the baby while the woman was trying to get inside the car.

“Get in that car and there’s no coming back!” The man raised his voice.

You felt guilty for eavesdropping because that should be a private conversation but they fought in front of their house and you’re pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood heard them.

The next morning when you were preparing breakfast, you heard a knock.

“Can I help you?” It was the man from last night.

“Ugh yes, I’m sorry to bother you early in the mornin’. I was wonderin’ if you could help me with somethin’.” He put his hand behind his neck.

“Yeah, sure? What can I help you with?” You opened your door wider and invited him in.

“I live next door…I just had a baby and somethin’ happened with her mom..and I have to go to work so no one is watchin’ my daughter. Uh..You look young, I’m assuming you’re still in college, maybe you could help me babysit my daughter? I’ll pay you of course.”

“Oh! Uhm..Well..I’m not in college actually. I’ve graduated.” You chuckled.

“But I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

“Sorry.” Joel chuckled.

“Uhm..how old is your daughter?”

“She’s just 3 months old.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened. You had never had a baby but you had always wanted one. But how could you possibly be able to babysit a newborn without experience?

“Sure, I’d like to help.” You were blinded by the man’s puppy eyes.

“Really can you do that? How about your work? Because I don’t want to burden you.”

“That’s not a problem, sir. I’m taking over my parents’ cafe nearby so I can take your daughter with me. If that’s okay.”

“You’re the best. Thank you. I’m Joel by the way. Joel Miller” He extended his hand to shake yours.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n).” You shook his hand.

Joel invited you to his house and introduced his daughter to you.

“This is Sarah.”

“Hi Sarah. You’re so cute.” You booped her on the nose.

“Do you know how to hold a baby?” Joel asked you.

“I’ve held my nephew before but-”

“Here. Support her head like this.” Joel instructed you.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that. Don’t worry, you’re doing good.” He placed his hand on your shoulder.

His touch made your heart beat faster. You know you shouldn’t be thinking about this since he just got into a fight with his wife last night. But you couldn’t help it. He could be a single dad any time in the future or probably now. And you admitted your neighbor was a hot young dad.

“So this is the bag. It has everything in it. Diapers, baby formula, and other things. She eats every 2-3 hours. Here’s the house key.”

“Got it.” You nodded.

“Okay, I’m runnin’ late. Here’s my number. Just call me if you need anythin’.” He shoved you a paper written with his phone number.

“You goin’ to work now?”

“Ugh-yes.”

“Want me to drive you?” Joel offered to drive you since your hands were full.

“It’s okay. I’ll drive myself.” You refused his offer.

“Okay, well. At least let me help you get settled in your car then?” He carried the big baby bag to your car and helped you settle the baby car seat in your car.

You put Sarah in the car seat and brought her to work.

“When did you have a baby again?” You co-workers couldn’t stop staring at the baby you brought to work.

“It’s not mine. It’s my neighbor’s. He’s-” You sighed.

“He? Single dad?” Flo’s eyes widened. She was still in college and working part-time at your cafe. She had a thing for single dads that was why she was interested in your situation.

“I’m not sure. But I heard him fighting with his wife last night. It sounded bad.” You shrugged.

“This could be it. This could be it.” She shook your body excitedly.

“Could be what?” You stopped her.

“You know. I know you’re lonely. And you definitely need a man. Why don’t you try it with him? Is he hot?” She raised her eyebrows up and down.

“I don’t know, Flo. I mean I’m still not ready and I’m sure he isn’t too.”

“Is.he.hot?” Flo repeated.

“Well, kinda?” You shrugged.

“Want my advice boss? I’d say you should flirt with him.” She crossed her arms to her chest.

You rolled your eyes.

“Want my advice? Get back to work or I will cut your pay.” You squinted your eyes.

“Yes, boss.”

Flo was right. Maybe this was your chance to start dating again. Since the last time you had your heart broken, you were too focused on helping your family’s business. But once you wanted to try dating again, you got a soon-to-be single hot dad? You always had a thing for dads. Just like Flo. Did you win the lottery? Probably. Let’s see.

Sarah wasn’t hard to babysit. You worked while babysitting her and your co-workers helped you so it wasn’t really hard work. You went home by dinner time and left your cafe to your employees to close the store. You put sleeping Sarah to her crib then went back to your car to get the bag. While you were closing the car door, Joel’s car parked on the driveway. You stopped and waited for him.

“Hi.” You put the bag strap to your shoulder.

“Hi. How was she? I hope she’s not taking your energy too much.” He walked closer to you and took the bag from you.

“She’s well-behaved actually.” You smiled and passed him the baby bag.

“Thank God.” Joel sighed.

“I put her to sleep.” You told Joel proudly.

“Thank you. I owe you a lot. I really appreciate it.” He placed his hand on your shoulder again.

“Did you eat dinner Mr. Miller?” You tried to flirt just as Flo told you.

“Not yet. Just call me Joel, please.”

“Joel.” You hummed.

“Pizza?” Joel suggested.

“Sure.”

Joel called for a pizza delivery and the two of you spent dinner together. You talked about college and work but not relationships. You were avoiding that topic and so did Joel.

“Thanks for dinner.” You thanked Joel as he walked you home which was just next to his house.

“Anytime.” He put his hands in his pocket.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow when I get Sarah?”

“Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow. Have a good night.” He kissed your cheek awkwardly.

“Good night, Joel.”

To be continued...

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stvharrngton · 9 months

Text

don’t leave me hangin’ on the telephone

a/n: just a lil somethin somethin i wrote inspired by a certain blondie song :^)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), dirty talk, friends to lovers sorta, hint of perv!steve if you squint

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose

Your back hit your bed with a quiet thud, your clothes still stuck to your body, one shoe off, one shoe on. The bottle of wine, or two, you shared with Nancy sounded like a great idea at the time but now the room was spinning and your skin was buzzing, it seemed less so.

Groaning, you managed to get your other shoe off, downing half the glass of water you’d left on your nightstand. You glanced at the red numbers on your alarm clock, 12:02 they read, and then at the phone on the table.

Wine always had you like this. A little needy, a little desperate. Hot under the collar and skin clammy, usually fixed with a cold shower or a hand shoved down your panties.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, toying with the flesh as the scenario you imagined swirled around your brain. He’d been on your mind all night, in fact, he was never off your mind. A crush on your best friend that he was totally oblivious to.

“Fuck it,” you sighed, picking up the phone and dialling the number you had memorised long ago. It rang out a couple times, a part of you hoped that he wouldn’t pick up but another part of you hoped he really fucking did.

“Hello?”

Your heart was in your throat as the person on the end of the line answered, their voice gravelly and rough as if they’d just woken up.

“Hi, Stevie,” you whispered as innocently as you could. Fingers curling around the phone cord as you try your best to remain calm.

“What time is it, is everything okay?” your heart swooned at the quick change of tone in his voice, the panic evident. Steve knew you were hanging out with Nancy tonight and there would be alcohol involved, he just hoped you hadn’t gotten yourself into any trouble.

“A little after midnight,” you replied, your fingers toying with the strap on your top, thighs squeezing together at the mere sound of Steve’s voice on the other end, “and I’m okay, just wanted to hear your voice s’all.”

Ouch, subtlety was never your thing when tipsy. You could only imagine the look on Steve’s face in the dark of his bedroom, hair still full of sleep, lips soft and pink, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” You could hear the cockyness clear in his voice, the sound making you gnaw on your bottom lip out of arousal.

“No reason.” You lied. There was a reason, a reason that you hoped Steve would be able to pick up on so you wouldn’t have to utter the words yourself. Something told you that you were both on the same page.

Steve thought he was dreaming when he answered the phone and you were on the other line, voice sweet like saccharine. Truth be told you were all Steve thought about. His gaze follows you whenever you aren't looking, thoughts circling his mind about how his life would be ten times better if you were his girl. Innocence interrupted by impure dreams of how good you would look bouncing on his cock whenever you would wear that skimpy red two piece by his pool, or that skirt was a little too short.

“I’ll just hang up then if you won’t tell me, sweetheart.” Steve teased.

“No!” you cried, internally closing in on yourself at how desperate you sounded, “No, please don’t go.” Your fingers were now teasing the waistband of your shorts, your need to keep Steve on the line ever present.

Steve chuckled on the other end, hushing you as you got yourself worked up. “Fine, fine,” he started, “but you gotta give me something here, love.”

You groaned, cursing as you hoped he wouldn’t actually make you say it. “Just keep talking, please?” you asked, fluttering your lashes wishing he could see, “I just need to–” you cut yourself off, preserving your dignity.

Steve played along happily, engaging in small talk until he could hear the quiet breaths and subtle groans coming from the end of the line, “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” he blurted out.

You could only respond with a small moan, your fingers now situated in your panties, your index finger teasing your throbbing clit. Your eyes shot open as soon as the noise left your mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in total embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered under his breath, “are you touching yourself, pretty girl?” he cooed, his attention fully on the sounds you were making on the other end of the line.

“No, I–” your voice quivered, “you think I’m pretty?” you asked innocently, Steve’s words suddenly registering in your foggy brain.

Steve chuckled, running a hand through his messy bed hair, “I do, yeah,” you could hear his breath become a little heavier, a little more shaky, “but I’d think you were a whole lot prettier if your hand was in those panties.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, your clit throbbing beneath your fingers. All you could hear was your racing heart beat, all the blood rushing to the tips of your ears. Steve’s voice rang in your ears when he spoke up again.

“You still there, babe?” He asked, minor concern mixed with self assuredness lacing his voice.

“I’m still here, Stevie,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“Good girl,” he cooed, “gonna tell me what you’ve been thinkin’ about?” he asked, his own palm running down his chest now, fingers sitting pretty at the waistband of his boxers.

You considered not answering, considered telling him some lie that somehow ended up with your fingers playing with your pussy to the sound of Steve’s voice, but fuck it, you were too far gone.

“Y-you.” Your voice was shaky, full of adrenaline and wracked with nerves. You squeezed your eyes shut as you waited for his response, your thighs clenching as your clit throbbed in anticipation.

“Yeah?” he questioned, “What about me?”

You sighed in response, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. You cursed Steve at the boldness of his question and you knew he would pull the answer from you one way or another. On the other hand your head was too fuzzy and all you could think about was the tension in your lower stomach and Steve.

“Your fingers.” you breathed, fingers now circling your clit once more.

“Oh yeah?” Steve chuckled, “What about my fingers, pretty girl?”

The pet name made you swoon and your heart beat faster, “How good they’d feel in my pussy,” you whispered down the phone. You were now long past caring about any feelings of embarrassment or preserving any dignity.

You heard Steve mumble out a curse on the other end of the line before he spoke again, “Mm, I bet they would. Why don’t you take your fingers and pretend they’re mine for a minute, hm?”

“Fuck,” you whined as your fingers moved further south, circling your entrance before you plunged a single finger into your cunt. You breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling, a sound that went straight to Steve’s cock.

The boy had his fingers wrapped around his length now, softly tugging as his lips parted, praying to God that this was real and wasn’t some sort of cruel dream. He had the girl of his dreams moaning and whimpering on the end of the phone line, Steve swore he had died and gone to Heaven.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He cooed, his voice sticky sweet and a sexy kind of patronising.

“Y-yes,” you moaned, trying your best to curl your finger like you imagined Steve would, “but it would feel better if it was the real thing.”

“I’m sure it would, honey,” you heard Steve mumble, before hearing the sound of him clearly spitting into the palm of his hand rang loud in your ear, the sound going straight to your core, your arousal coating your fingers and leaking down onto the sheets, “and I’ll give you the real thing, real soon, I promise, but can you do one thing for me?”

Your fingers slowed as your eyebrows pinched together before you stuttered out, “Yes, Steve, I’ll do anything.”

Steve wished you could see the smirk on his face at your response, his fingers still wrapped firmly around his aching cock as his spoke, “Wanna grab that flesh coloured toy I know you keep in your bottom drawer and fuck yourself with it f’me?”

You gasped at his request, your movements all but stopping in their tracks. You wracked your brain as to how he would know what you kept in that drawer but you were all but stumped. The silence on your end of the line had Steve wondering if he’d crossed a line and taken it too far but he couldn’t help himself.

Truth is, he’d seen the silicone length, complete with veins, tucked away when you’d left the drawer open accidentally when you’d excused yourself to the bathroom a month or so ago. And Steve found it simply impossible to get the image of you filling yourself up with the toy out of his mind.

“Is that okay?” Steve asked, bottom lip held firmly between his teeth now. Heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of being rejected. He could hear you moving and rustling at the other end, the anticipation making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His heart was racing, his hands growing clammy. Saliva thick in his mouth as his stomach churned with nerves.

You settled back against your plump pillows with the dildo in hand, holding the phone to your ear once more. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at the toy, “I have it.” you squeaked out, feeling yourself get wetter by the second.

“Oh, that’s a good girl,” Steve purred, his fist beginning to pump at his cock once more, “now can you suck on it a little? Get it nice and wet f’me, baby.”

You mumbled a little mhm down the phone and Steve could only imagine what you looked like with, could only dream about what you would like with his own cock in your mouth, bright eyes blinking up at him and spit dripping down your chin. Fuck, what Steve wouldn’t give to see that.

You whined down the receiver as your hand was preoccupied, leaving you to only be able to squeeze your thighs together. The sound of you sucking and slurping on the silicone cock made Steve impossibly harder, his cock now aching and throbbing, the tip angry and leaking precum.

Steve’s jaw went slack at the sound of the dildo hitting the back of your throat, gagging on the toy, a string of spit still attached to the thing as you pulled it from your mouth. You breathed heavy down the line as you regained your composure.

“Christ,” Steve groaned, his stomach tensing as he squeezing his eyes shut, “why don’t you stretch out that little hole for me?”

You gulped at his words, teasing yourself with the toy like you usually did. Letting the tip of the dildo brush over your clit a couple times before you pushed the head into your entrance, wincing at the sweet little stretch it created. You moaned loudly once you sunk the toy a quarter of the way in, moving it in and out slowly.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve cooed, “can you go a little faster for me? Wanna hear how wet that pretty little pussy is.”

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned before obeying his wishes, speeding up your movements, fucking the dildo in and out of your cunt faster now. In a deliberate attempt to tease the boy, get him real riled up, you pulled on the phone, stretching the cord until the receiver was closer to the apex of your thighs.

The loud sound of the wet slap of your pussy as you fucked yourself with the toy boomed over the line and Steve reacted as expected. Hand tugging on his cock faster now, his feet firmly planted on his mattress as he bucked his hips up into his hand, his breath getting heavier and his moans getting louder.

You brought the phone back to your ear so you could moan out the boy’s name, “Oh, Steve,” you whimpered, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten.

“You’re doing so well, honey, fuck–” Steve groaned, “taking that cock so well, huh? Can’t wait to see you take the real thing, shit, bet that pussy’s just the sweetest little thing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, yeah, Stevie,” you whined, bucking your hips to match the movements of the toy, “wish you were here. Need your cock so bad.”

Steve wasn’t even here and you were already so fucked out, so close to your orgasm, one you knew was going to wipe you out. The sound of his strained voice over the line, his unruly and raspy moans were driving you insane.

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” he cooed, “you’ll get it real soon, I’ll fuck you real good, nice and deep. I bet that’s how you like it, hm?”

Once Steve opened his mouth the words wouldn’t stop. There was no going back now, no hiding any feelings, no sparing himself of any embarrassment. The poor boy was drunk on you, drunk on the sweet little whines and whimpers that found their way down the phone receiver.

“It is, yes, fuck, it is,” you cried, “I need to cum, Steve, please?” You dropped your grip on the toy, your fingers resuming their circles on your clit, your movements becoming faster, “Oh, please can I cum?”

“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, his own orgasm around the corner, “yeah, go on baby, cum for me.”

The boy’s words pushed you over the edge, your legs shaking as you writhed on the bed. Your pussy fluttered as you came, moaning Steve’s name down the receiver like a song, the sweetest melody that Steve had ever heard.

“That’s my good girl, does that feel good?” Steve’s palm was slick with his own spit as it was wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping his fist harder and faster. Steve moaned loudly as you rode out your high, his own climax a stroke of his cock away.

“Fuck, baby,” he whined, toes curling into the sheets as he came, painting his stomach with ropes of hot cum. Babbling words of praise and incoherent moans into the phone, followed by heavy breaths.

The line went quiet for a beat, nothing to be heard but the both of you catching your breaths and regaining your composure. Your head became clear now, no longer tipsy, no longer desperate, suddenly realising what had just happened. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you went to speak, before Steve cut you off.

“I think I owe you a real date after that,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “pick you up at 7?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve Harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #k.fic

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cranberrv · 1 month

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so high school

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you run into your high-school sweetheart, darrel curtis.

( a/n : this isn’t my best work but not every piece has to be my fave! hope u cuties enjoy nonetheless, sorry i have no idea how to write darry )

his brown eyes met yours from across the classroom for the first time since grade 12.

your heart sank. you thought darry would’ve left by now, started his career as a successful football player or something even better, but he was standing in your classroom, still in tulsa.

your entire teenage years flash before your eyes — running on the field to kiss the quarterback, playing kiss marry kill, driving to parties, meeting his family. he looked the same.

darry’s eyes widen as he sees you. he elbows ponyboy. “you did not tell me that y/n l/n was your geography teacher.” he whispers.

“you’d of freaked if i had told you, man,” ponyboy whispers back.

tonight was parent-teacher interviews. one of your best students was ponyboy curtis, little brother of your high-school sweetheart. they were greasers, and you were a soc, but that never stopped you from going over to their house everyday, back when you were bittersweet 16.

“darry curtis,” you say softly, smiling gently. “long time no see.”

he avoids your gaze, his cheeks glowing pink. “yeah, nice to see you, y/n.”

“feel free to take a seat,” you offer, and they sit in front of your desk.

you begin talking about ponyboy — his incredible grades, your insistence on him participating more, assuring darry that ponyboy has a high chance of getting into a good post-secondary school.

you look at darry again. you have to address the elephant in the room — it would be weird not to. “this is weird, isn’t it?” you ask, voice soft. “i mean, we met in this school, and now i’m teaching your younger brother.”

“yeah, i guess so,” he agrees. “i honestly thought you would’ve left this dump by now, you always talked about wanting to move to new york city or toronto or somethin’.”

“yeah, plans changed.” you shrug. “i thought you would’ve moved by now, too.”

“plans changed,” he repeats, quoting you. you smile at him.

“what have you been up to since high school?” you ask him. “still play football?”

“i roof houses.” he answers. “but yeah, sometimes i fool around with football. not as much, though.”

“you were good,” you compliment.

“thanks,” he answers. he is never this awkward, what is happening? “you still into reading and history and stuff?”

“yeah,” you answer. “i mean, ponyboy can tell you, i never shut up about it when i’m teaching. always got a new book to talk about.”

and there we go. the conversation is back to ponyboy. “oh, that’s nice. pony only talks good about you. just never pieced together that it was you.”

“yeah, well, guess you thought i would’ve been gone by now.”

“guess so,” he agrees. “glad you’re not.”

you smile at him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

the following weeks, you’d notice ponyboy talking to you a bit more whenever he could in class, talking to you about darry. and when you walked into the DX, sodapop asked if you were “darry’s chick,” and you had no idea how to respond.

flowers started blooming at the local park in your neighbourhood, so you decided to take a walk and pick some to decorate your classroom and decorate them for spring.

everything reminded you of him — you walked past a small punch of pink tulips. he got you tulips for your grade 11 semi-formal. he got them for a discount at the gas station, it was all he could afford. they were beautiful.

while you were walking, you spotted a gang of greasers. darry was with them, he was the tallest and stuck out like a sore thumb among the pink and yellow flowers and blossoming trees.

sodapop and ponyboy spotted you instantly, catching your eye and then telling the rest of the gang that you were here. they all excitedly started pressuring darry to go talk to you. you overheard the giggles and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

darry walked up to you after a few moments of resistance. you looked stunning — your hair gently waving in the warm breeze, a handful of wildflowers in your grasp. and you were smiling at him!

“hi darry,” you greet. he starts walking beside you, leaving his friends behind.

“hey, y/n,” he says. his voice is deeper than it was when you knew him. “it was real nice seein’ you at ponyboy’s parent-teacher thing.”

you agree, and then he speaks again. “i just, uh, wanted to talk to you about something.”

“what about?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“okay, so i know we dated back in high school and stuff,” he starts. “it was real fun. we had some good times.”

“yeah, we did.” you agree.

“do you want to try again?” he asks you. his muscular body and his intimidating looks would be nothing if you heard how he was speaking now. it felt wholesome, shy, like how he asked you out in high school.

you take a second to think. you remember how you felt when he took another girl to prom 3 weeks after you broke up, you remember how that hurt you and how you wanted to kill him. but you remember watching shows with him on saturday nights, you remember kissing in the backseat, you remember his mom, mrs. curtis, kissing you on the cheek the first time you met her. you remember cheering when he got a touchdown, you remember him kissing tears off your face when he got hurt in a rumble. you remember the good and the bad. and when you look back up at him, you feel so high school.

“yeah,” you say softly. “i would love that, darry.”

#🎀 announcements #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders darry #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis #darry curtis fluff #darrel curtis fluff #darrel curtis #darrel curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #darry curtis x y/n #darry curtis x you

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 11 months

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Daryl watched as you downed the rest of the clear liquid in your glass. You winced at the burn and the pungent aftertaste of the moonshine on your tongue. You set down the jar with a clack. "Truth or dare?" you suddenly asked him.

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I said, 'truth or dare?'" you repeated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What, are we 12?" Daryl drawled, simply swirling the liquid in his glass jar.

"Come on. It'll help pass the time and distract me from the creeping existential dread," you said dryly.

Daryl couldn't help letting out an amused exhale and shaking his head. "I dunno..."

"Please?" you begged, reaching for the bottle again. Daryl's hand landed on the skinny neck of it first and he pulled it away while your fingers were still outstretched.

"I'll play if ya quit drinking so much," he drawled.

You smirked at him, your eyes crinkled in a smile. "Fine. Deal. So, truth or dare?"

Daryl gulped a little nervously. "Truth, I guess."

You paused for a long moment, all of the restless energy of a moment before draining out of you in an instant. You considered him, your head tilting slightly. "Last night, at the fire," you started.

Daryl gulped. His heart started hammering.

You bit your bottom lip for a moment, the whiteness of your teeth dimpling into the soft pillow of pink. "Did you want to kiss me?"

Daryl felt his chest flushing with heat. It spilled up into his face. He shook his hair down into his eyes like a curtain, hoping it would hide his blush. "Uhh... Can I change to—to dare?" he said, as if that didn't answer your question.

You smiled subtly, feeling heat in the apples of your cheeks. "Sure... Kiss me," you said matter-of-factly. Daryl's blue eyes shot up to meet yours.

"What?"

You laughed lightly. "That's the dare. Kiss me," you repeated.

Daryl's heart skipped a beat. "Yer drunk," he said softly, his eyes flickering over your face. His voice was so quiet he almost sounded unlike himself.

"Only a little," you said. "Just enough to ask you to..."

Daryl ducked his eyes again. "I dun—I dun think... for a first kiss—" he broke off abruptly.

"So, you're choosing truth then," you smiled.

His strikingly blue eyes met yours again. "Yeah. Guess I am." He hesitated just another moment. "I did wanna kiss ya last night. And I wanna kiss ya right now. Pretty much every moment of every damn day 'm thinkin' 'bout it."

"Then why haven't you?" you asked. It was your turn to blush and barely get the words out.

Daryl gulped again and shook his head. "I didn't think ya would want me too... I didn't think ya felt—felt like that 'bout me."

Your brow furrowed. "Daryl... I think about it all the time too. I wish you would. I've had feelings for you practically from the moment we met."

Daryl swirled the moonshine in glass again, staring into the shimmer as it spun around the edges. He couldn't believe his luck. He nodded. "Alrigh'. Then I will. But when the time's right..."

"You mean when I'm 100% sober?" you laughed.

He nodded. "Somethin' like that."

Prompt: "Truth or Dare?"

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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testingthewatersss · 5 months

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Hi! I'm still figuring the difference between messages/inbox tbh but as long as you send in the request I'll get to it. I'm trying to keep all requests anonymous when posted so sometimes I'll message a link to whoever sent it. If it's anonymous I might start replying to the message so the sender is notified (assuming that works)

thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy <;3 (last disclaimer- I'm British so my only context for 1940s America is from movies and anecdotes)

Date Nights Trigger warnings for?nothing v v lighthearted fluff? Bucky Barnes x F reader Oneshot 1500 words fluff & comfort 18+ MDNI

Bucky tells you what your dates would've been like in the 40s.

"I'm tellin' you, Buck" Y/N beams, "if it's got food and candles, it counts as a date night."

Barnes is still tugging at his boots in the door way, looking apologetic as ever, like him being late off a Quin-Jet is something he could've prevented.

Her eyes roll, "It's fine- you text me to let me know you where behind schedule, the pizza has been here for ten minutes, and- you've finally got your boots off-"

He cuts her off with a kiss, dipping her back dramatically like hoping that the corny gesture might add to the romance.

The feeling of her laughter against his lips makes him smile so hard that his cheeks ache, and then they're eating and drinking red wine that is too good to have with stuffed crusts from Albie's.

and that's when his mind wonders again,

to dance halls and evening walks in formal jackets and what it might be like to push her on a rope swing in a pretty sun-dress-

"what are you day dreaming about?" Y/N chuckles, quirking a brow at the pinkness in his cheeks.

"…date nights" is the reply he settles on after a minute, pressing a kiss against her cheek before settling back onto the couch.

"wow" she says, laughing again, "that's impressive even for you, sweetheart, can you even get sweeter than fantasising about date night while you're literally havin' a date night?"

He rolls his eyes, before melting down into her lap. Smiling almost smuggly as she recieves him more than eagerly, discarding her wine glass to card through his hair with her fingers.

"Wait" she says teasingly, "Before you get all this fussin'- the person you were with in this daydream was me wasn't it? because if it was Steve your puppy dog eyes are goin' to be about 12% less effective"

"88% is still pretty good" he says playfully, before shaking his head in response to her mock look of hurt, "of course it was you, darlin' it just that back in my day-"

"Back in my day?" Y/N mimics, beaming down at him like he's the best thing she's ever seen, "Did you really just say that, outloud?"

Her teasing is tempered with unwavering affection, but still it makes him laugh, a true soft chuckle bursting through his chest when he realises how it sounds.

"Still" he murmurs, feigning grouchiness, "goin' on a date meant somethin' different back then, it was more of an event..."

"Oh, yeah?" Y/N presses, seeing the trace of nostalgia in his eyes, "tell me about it?"

He blinks at her, before looking away, genuinely bashful again;

"You don't wanna hear me dronin' on about ancient history, Sugar-"

"Actually" she objects, "After missin' you for 2 days because you've been galivanting across Russia, I think that's exactly what I want."

He paws at his jaw before sighing, surrendering to the arm your holding him by snuggling into your front.

"Well, they didn't usually include this much touchin' for a start"

"Is that a complaint?" Y/N quips, raising a brow in genuine curiosity.

"No- never-" he's quick to tell her, "I just don't really know where to start, doll. It's all real different now."

She just smiles down at him again, letting her thumb brush his temple as his eyes flutter shut.

"What would our first date have been like, d'ya think?" she asks, "and don't just rattle off some Grate-Gatsby story, I know you and Rodgers didn't eat Caviar in tuxedos when you took girls out for the night"

"God" he scoffs dreamily, smile firmly on his face now, "Gatsby was more my ma's era, darlin'… I'd have probably taken you out for a walk first, asked you when I could pick you up and spent a couple of hours gettin' myself ready… I'd have brought flowers, -I might've had to pick them from the garden-" he allows, "-but I'd have brought ya' something, and then I'd knock for ya'…"

"And would I be wearin' one of those pin-up style dresses, victory curls and red lipstick style?"

"No" he snorts, "All the dames back then wore sweat pants"

"You're gettin' sassy in your old age" Y/N is quick to tease, "I meant for a walk… since that's where you said you'd be takin' me… is that the kinda thing ladies got all dolled up for back then?"

He's grinning like a fool as he hums, picturing exactly the kind of thing she might've been wearing.

"It'd probably have been some kind of dress" he allows, shyly at first "somethin' nice but not, not the whole nine yards unless you wanted me to be fightin' all the other men in town away all night."

It's her turn to laugh then, it swims through his head like music, making his chest flutter happily.

"We'd probably spend a while just talkin', darlin', and I'd have asked you for a second date before I took ya' home."

"Is that when you'd have asked me if I had any friends for Steve?"

He chokes on a breath as he realises that's exactly when he'd have done that.

"and I'd have said "sure, but don't be late"… and then, you'd have arrived together at least 10 minutes after we'd arranged, but- you'd have been so charmin' that I wouldn't have minded one bit."

"Maybe" he murmurs, not wanting to tell her just how well she's got him figured out.

"And where would this double date be?"

"Probably dancing" he says surely, "I got tired of trying to take girls to the pictures with Rodgers. He could never stay out of trouble."

"He still hasn't figured that out"

He grins again, eyes still shut but as her hands go back to soothing his muscles, she notices that they're definitely relaxing.

"You'd have been more dressed up for dancing- but so would I, it'd be full uniform, sugar" he murmurs, "and you might've even found some stocking with seams if you'd thought I was worth the trouble…"

"Oh, you're definitely worth the trouble" she whispers, loving the dreamy quality his voice has taken on, it seems so sweet, how content he is just talking about all this, "I'd have done my hair too, and put on that lipstick"

He smiles at her description, picturing it so vividly in his mind that he could reach out and touch her lips and his fingers would come away red.

"And my pretty friend would be takin' care of Steve…" she tells him decisively, "so what would we be doing?"

"I'd get us drinks, doll…" he says, "the band would be playing, not through speakers like now, but they'd have a singer, and a whole set up, we'd ditch our glasses and I'd ask you to dance… there were always so many people there, sugar, the room was so warm- and we'd be laughin' and I'd pretend that I didn't… but if it was you in my arms I'd have forgotten all about Steve by the time the music stopped."

The fingers in his hair are like magic, drawing every facet of tension from his body as she untangles the strands with ease. He hadn't even notice how tense he'd been before. The mission had been quick and easy and without complication until the end, when Tony's "un-freezable" engine had frozen, needing 30 minutes to warm back up before they could head home. He'd been wracked with guilt for the entire flight, hating having to tell you he was going to be late for date night. The date night he'd been looking forward too all week.

"I'd have taken you for a bite on the way back to your place" he continues, clinging to the fantasy like a blanket in the cold, "I'd have wanted more time with ya'- so I'd have insisted on a diner instead of a hot-dog stand or somethin'… I wouldn't have let you drink to much, we'd have gotten cokes in the glass bottles- I swear, it tasted so much better than it does now, even with the rationing-"

"Is that when I'd steal your hat and put it on over my pretty curled hair?" she asks cheekily.

"hat?" he asks, opening his eyes to look at her curiously,

"You said you'd be in uniform- I've seen the pictures."

"Well, yeah, but-"He blinks, still not understanding "Why would you take it, doll?"

"Isn't it like cowboys?" Y/N presses warmly, still carding through his hair

"Cowboys?" Bucky echoes, confused.

"Mhmm" she hums in confirmation, "plus, if I ran away with your hat, you'd definitely follow me home wouldn't ya?"

"I'd have walked you home anyway, m-maybe even kissed ya' at the door if I was feelin' brave" he stammers, still caught up in the mental image of the most beautiful girl in the world wearing an outfit that would've put Marilyn Monroe to shame and his hat.

"Well, yeah" she agrees, "but this way you'd have to chase me inside."

Suddenly, a flush fills his cheeks as the imagined dress vanishes, leaving him with a fantasy that does more than make his face hot.

"It's your birthday in March" Y/N says coolly, "I'll see what I can do".

Masterlist

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im-a-marvel-ous-hoe · 6 months

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Baby, Please Come Home | Bucky Barnes (1st Day of 🎄)

(Credits to the owner of this gif!)

Hello hello hello! Alondra here! I haven’t written anything in a long time, so I apologize if this is shit lol I’m doin a 12 days of Christmas sort of thing and I’m praying that this doesn’t flop 😅

Christmas Masterlist <- check out my other holiday fics! ✨

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“Merry Christmas, doll.” I heard Bucky’s voice through the phone, his tone in a slightly higher pitch than usual. I smiled to myself as I sat down on the couch, startling Alpine for a moment as she was just starting to fall asleep. She yawned and stretched out her little white paws in front of me, her claws peaking out as she started to climb onto my lap. The princess has spoken. Looks like I’m gonna be stuck here for a little while.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.” I spoke. The realization that we’re not spending Christmas together this year comes fluttering to the front of my mind no matter how much I've tried to ignore it these past few weeks. The only sense of warmth I have of him in our house is some old shirts he left behind and our baby Alpine. She’s quiet and craves cuddles, just like her dad. “It uh… it doesn’t sound as good on the phone as I was hoping than in person, does it?” He chuckled out, trying to find a way to lighten the mood. I shook my head, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see me. “No, it does not.” I replied, clutching my phone close to my ear trying to imagine that he’s here right in front of me and his voice isn’t so staticy.

“You want to say hi to Alpine? She’s right here.” I looked down at the small animal on my lap as my hand began softly scratching her head. “Of course I do! Put her on.” I placed my phone on the arm rest and pressed the speaker button on my screen. “You’re on speaker, baby.” I heard him shuffling on the other end of the line before speaking up. “Alpine? You there?” The cat’s ears turned up and looked towards my phone. “You takin’ good care of your momma?”

She stood up and leaned closer to my phone, inspecting it. It’s like I could see the cogwheels in her head turn as she wondered how she could hear her dad’s voice if he wasn’t here. “She’s been keeping me company.” I smiled and heard him laugh on the other end. “Really?” He said. I could almost picture him smiling. “Yeah! We’re best buddies now. We have so many intellectual conversations.”

“I can’t wait to see it in person. I gotta get Sam to help me figure out how to take a video so I can just do it without messing up when I get home.” I chuckled at the thought of poor Sam having to deal with Bucky’s lack of phone knowledge and the constant bickering they’re bound to have. I swear, sometimes he really does act like a 100-somethin’ year old man. “Sergeant Barnes, you are something else.”

“Hey, you know I still have trouble understanding! I didn’t grow up with this kind of thing.”

“Then how is it that my grandmother is able to figure out Facebook better than you?” I laughed as he grumbled. “Your grandma had more time to figure it out! It’s not my fault she’s hip.”

I could just imagine what his face looks like right now. His eyebrows are probably scrunched up, his gaze is on the floor and his lips are pouty and just waiting to be kissed. I let out a chuckle and looked around our house. The decorations were put up soon after Thanksgiving. We played Christmas music in the background as we both decorated our tree, Alpine seeming to think this is another place for her to climb and make hers. Once Bucky put the star on top, everything just felt perfect, even though I knew I wouldn’t see him on the day of. “I’m really sorry that I wasn’t able to be there this year.” He said. “I tried my best to – ”

“Bucky, don’t worry about it. It’s okay, I completely understand. Our line of work doesn’t exactly allow us to have vacations, sort to speak. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I know, doll, but still. I thought I would at least be home for Christmas.”

“I know, baby, I know but there’s nothing else we can do about it. We’re in two different places and flights are backed up, so I guess we’ll just have to make due with what we’ve got.” I could feel tiny vibrations on my leg as Alpine purred against me, my hand not stopping to show her love. She seems content. He sighed and spoke up once again. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I smiled. “I know you will.”

He cleared his throat as if he was trying to mask the sound of something. “Bucky… was that.. were you in a – ”

“Baby, did you get the thing that I sent you yet?” He cut me off as I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. “Um.. no, no I haven’t. I haven’t gotten anything.” He let out a groan. “No? Are you sure? FedEx promised me it would arrive in time for Christmas.” Alpine leaned in closer to my hand as I scratched the top of her head. “Doll, can you please do me a favor and keep an eye out for it? It could be arriving any minute.” I smiled to myself as I nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“I wanna hear as you see what I got you for Christmas.” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Bucky, you know I will love whatever you got me, but what I really want is you and I don’t think FedEx can send people over like that.” He let out a laugh. “Maybe they’d let me if Steve was to put in a good word.”

“You’re such an idiot.” I laughed and Alpine stirred in my lap, a quiet reminder for me to not move or else she’s gone and she’s the only thing in this house keeping me company. I could hear him huffing on the other line as I tried to figure out what he’s doing. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

“What do you mean where am I? You know where I’m at.”

“No, I mean are you outside? I could hear you huffin’ and puffin’. Are you trying to keep warm?”

“Maybe there’s another reason why you can hear me breathin’ so hard. I’m talkin’ to a pretty girl on the phone and she misses me just as much as I miss her.”

I stayed silent for a moment as I processed his words and gasped. You cheeky little fucker. “James!” My outburst along with Bucky’s laugh startled Alpine once more as she got up and left. “No! Kitty come back!” I could hear him practically wheezing in the background as she left to God knows where in our house. “What happened?”

“You made me scare Alpine out of my lap!” I whined as he continued to laugh at my expense. “Hey, you were the one who got the joke late and yelled, scaring our poor baby Alpine! That’s not my fault!”

“It is too! If you hadn’t made that joke, I wouldn’t have reacted that way!” I’m sure my face must be red from embarrassment as he continued on. “And to answer your question, with no hidden dirty jokes, I went out for a walk. I couldn’t stay in that hotel with Sam trying to find ways to decorate my arm with holiday decorations. Note to self, don’t let Sam buy tinsel and say it’s for the “tree at the Stark Tower”.”

I smiled at the thought of Steve being in the middle of these two teasing each other like children and not knowing which side he should take. Hearing his voice, even if it’s not crystal clear, makes me forget for a moment that he’s not here. There’s almost this sort of echo in the house that really makes you feel like you’re alone. It still breaks my heart, but I wouldn’t tell him to make him feel even worse about it. He’s trying his best and that’s all I could really hope for.

But I do wish he was here. Wherever Bucky goes, that’s home.

“Hey, I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that you didn’t take the trash cans in like I asked you to.”

I was silent for a moment as I thought about what he said. “You didn’t, did you?” I shook my head and spoke. “Um no, I’m pretty sure I did.” I tried to lie and pretend like I didn’t forget, which in fact I know I did.

“Oh, really? Hmm… are you sure? ‘Cause something is telling me that you forgot.” I smiled and leaned back more into the couch and got comfortable. “I know I tend to be forgetful, but I’m pretty sure I already took them in.” I heard him chuckle. “Alright, alright I’ll believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, baby..”

“Trying to put the guilt trip on me even when you’re not here, baby?” I laughed and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. “I’m just stating the facts.. oh, hey, one second! I’m getting another call. I’ll be right back.” I waited for him as he placed me on hold and began to browse through Netflix to look for some good Christmas films to watch.

Before I could go to my suggestion list, I heard the doorbell ring.

“Weird, wrong number…” I heard his voice once again as he took me off hold. “Hey, I just heard the doorbell ring.” I spoke as I went to stand up. “It’s probably FedEx. Go check it out and take me with you!” I stood up, grabbed my phone and went to go and find a sweater to quickly put on. “Just uh do me a favor.” He requested. “Sure, baby. What is it?”

“I know you’re lonely at home, but try not to check out the delivery man too much, okay? Even if he is very handsome.” I laughed and shook my head. “Ohh, I don’t know Barnes. I gotta see what kind of a package I’m lookin’ at here.” I joked as he laughed. I walked over to the front door and opened it. My body stood still as my phone fell out of my hands.

“Delivery, for Mrs. – ” Before he could even finish the sentence, I jumped up and wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me. I could feel and hear him laughing against me as his arms embraced me tighter into him. I could feel the cold air from outside come into the house, but I didn’t care. He was warm and he was standing at our doorstep.

He pulled me back so he could look at me and I could see a sheen of tears in his baby blues as he leaned down for a kiss. Both hands cupped my cheeks as he held me in place, his cold lips meeting my own. He’s grown out his stubble and it lightly tickled my top lip. I reached my hands up to tug at his hair and felt him smile against me as soft moans of content left his mouth. He pulled away too soon for my liking and looked down at me and laughed.

“Did ya miss me, doll?” I pulled him in for another kiss as he mumbled against my lips. “I can hardly tell.” His metal hand moved a strand of hair away from my face as he continued to smile at me. “But… how are you here? You’re supposed to be in – ”

“I know I know but we managed to finish the mission early and catch a flight. Turns out, Steve doesn’t mind using the Captain America card to get on a plane while running late.” He chuckled. He rubbed small circles on my cheek as I leaned into him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He leaned in to grant me one more kiss before pulling away to make a comment. “I know it seems hard to believe, but I made you a promise that I will try to be home for Christmas and I keep my promises… unlike someone I know who didn’t bring in the trash cans.”

Fuck…

“Oops? You’re not upset, right?” I asked as he shook his head. “No, baby I’m not upset. I could care less about them. I’ve just gone and gave myself the best present a guy could ask for… the love of his life, crying and cheeks reddened in his arms, clinging to him with all the might they can muster..” He laughed as he held me against him.

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere… now let’s get inside, get a warm drink and see if we can warm ourselves up with each other.” He winked as I playfully slapped his arm. “Let’s go surprise Alpine.”

“Ahh! That’s right!” He walked in and yelled out. “Alpine? Daddy’s home! Where are you sweetheart?” I closed the door behind us and smiled at the thought of him finally being home. He took off his jacket just as she came out from wherever she was hiding. He crouched down as she walked up to welcome him home. “Hey, you. Ya missed me?” He chuckled as he looked up at me.

“Doll?”

“Yeah?” He smiled up at me, his cheeks rosy as he uttered, “Merry Christmas.”

~~~~

I hope y’all liked it! Please let me know your thoughts! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #christmas imagine #Bucky Barnes christmas #Bucky Barnes Christmas imagine #12 days of christmas #12 days of ficmas #please go easy on me #i haven't written in so long #i hope y'all like it #✨🎄✨🎄

196 notes · View notes

majesty31 · 2 years

Note

Heyyy, I know you haven't done anything for Divergent yet but I saw it on your list and was wondering if you could do a haters to lovers/Rivels to lovers where the reader joins dauntless to get away from peter but peter ends up joining to because he is in love with reader idk something like that

𝙰 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚂𝚘 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕

𝒂/𝒏: 𝑯𝒊𝒊 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕<𝟑

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏 𝑫𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔/𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: 𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟑.𝟕𝒌

You wouldn't say you were used to his 'bullying' you would call it but to him, it 'was all in good fun'. It had been years since you met Peter Hayes and that was the biggest mistake of your life. Since you two were kids he would tease and insult you whenever he got the chance and even now you still wanted to rip his head off.

It was just little things back when you were kids, but since the two of you hit 12 he would go above and beyond. Christina and Al thought you'd be used to him by now but you weren't. You'd still be surprised at some of the words he threw your way but you'd say you got better at handling him and matching his energy.

Ever since you met Peter you wanted nothing more than to get away from him, but it seemed impossible when he would always come seek you out or you two just happened to bump into each other.

So when your brother joined dauntless a couple of years ago you got the idea of joining as well, and just to confirm you had asked Peter what he thought of the faction and you remember him saying something along the line of 'they're crazy,'

You didn't know if you'd be strong enough or crazy enough to join dauntless but that was what this test was for, and you were praying to God that this test would show dauntless.

"Hey. So, all the food that we're not getting, you guys are giving away to the Factionless," You heard Peter say from beside you. You had seen him make his way towards the Abnegation line and this behavior wasn't a surprise to you.

The group of boys Peter was interrogating, nodded looking nervous and a little scared. "Yeah," One of the boys spoke, his eyes finding yours but only shifted when he saw that you were also Candor.

"You're a liar. Why are you lying to me? Everybody knows you keep it for yourselves. So why don't you just admit it? Huh?" He shoved a little closer making the boys back up. They kept their mouths shut and looked down. "I'm talking to you. Are all you stiffs deaf or somethin'?"

Having enough of him, you moved forward, grabbed Peter by the back of his jacket, and pulled him towards you and away from the group of boys.

"Hey!" He shouted, pulling away from you. "What the hell!"

"Stop messing with them they're nice people. Just because your fat ass is hungry all the time doesn't mean you can go around and blame people for keeping the food for themselves," You state making Peter raise his eyebrows before scoffing.

"If they're so nice why don't you go and join the faction? You look like a stiff anyways,"

"Oh, and you look much better? If anything you're gonna stay with Candor and spend the rest of your life making people hate you,"

"Ouch. Good insult Y/N, if that's what it suppose to be in the first place," You rolled your eyes, shoving away the urge the punch him in the face, and focused on the line in front of you. "I don't care if people hate me for telling the truth, plus who says I can't do that in a different faction,"

"You belong in Candor Peter, it's written all over your personality which reeks from here," He turned to you, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, so you can smell personalities now? And at least I belong somewhere, you wanna know where you belong?" He put his hands on your shoulders and spun you around, pointing towards a factionless who was limping across the street, a bag in hand. "Say hi to your new boyfriend oh and family,"

"Leave her alone Peter. Asshole," Christina who was in front of you said, glaring at Peter. You shoved away from him, biting your tongue and letting the insult fade away. It wasn't worth it.

"No need to get your panties in a twist, Christina. If anything you'll be right next to her fighting for the best piece of garbage-" Unlike you, Christina couldn't take criticism that well, along with Peters's personality. Or she just hated him. Either way, this brought her to lunge at him leading Al to step in and stop her from doing anything.

He pulled her away and moved further up the line. "I'm fine, he's just an ass," You heard her say as Al let her go. Peter looked at them then at you, looking clueless.

"Was it something I said?" He asked, making you roll your eyes before following Al and Christina further up the line.

~~~

You sat in your chair, fidgeting with your fingers. Your mind kept going back to yesterday, the day you took the test that told you what faction to pick. You had gotten in after many insults from Peter, some of them saying he wouldn't be surprised if the test showed you being a stiff.

You were nervous that day, but it didn't compare to what you feeling today. No matter what the test showed you still got to pick what faction you wanted to be in. And the choice you were going to pick and also what the test said would break your mother's heart.

She wanted nothing more than for you to pick Candor, it was already really hard for her with one of her children gone and for you to leave would leave her bedridden. But she needed to understand that you just wouldn't ever be happy in Candor and you needed to get away from Peter.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your eyes met dark green ones, his eyebrows lifted, a smirk playing on his lips along with challenge in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, giving you a look that made your stomach flip. But you shoved that feeling away and glared at him, only leading him to laugh quietly.

"Y/N L/N!" Your nerves tightened at the sound of your name being called out. You blew out a small breath, slowly standing up and shifting your eyes towards your parents. Your mother gave you a smile, as if knowing what faction you would choose, but your father gave you a sad smile as if knowing you would follow in the footsteps of your brother.

You slowly made your way towards the front, towards the platform. Eyes shifting to Peter who was watching your every move, as if trying to figure out what you would pick before you had the chance.

You made your way up the small set of stairs and onto the platform. You looked at the different bowls, and soon took the knife that was on a table. You held it to your palm, your eyes sifting between Candor and Dauntless.

You let out a breath and slit your hand, pain shooting up your arm but you forced it down, not letting a gasp leave your lips. You slowly moved it towards Candor, thinking of your mother as the blood slid down your hand but before it had the chance to drop you moved it towards Dauntless.

The blood dropped into the bowl, making a sizzling sound. "Dauntless!" The man shouted. You closed your eyes as you heard a cry knowing it was your mother, but it all got drowned out by the cheering of the Dauntless group.

You turned, finding your mother in the arms of your father, her head was barred in his chest as she shook, cries escaping her lips. Your father padded her shoulders, trying to soothe her. His eyes found yours and nodded, a small smile on his face.

You made your way down the small set of stairs, feeling eyes on you, you turned your head, seeing Peter staring at you, he wasn't shocked tho. You didn't even know what you saw, but the way his eyes held yours made it almost impossible to look away. Your breath shook, the same nerves finding their way back to you.

"Welcome to Dauntless," A girl said giving you her seat. You thanked her and took your place, feeling pats and welcomes from all around you. Everyone got quiet when you heard the all too familiar name being called out.

"Peter Hayes!" Everyone's eyes found Peter as he stood up, his eyes finding yours for a brief moment before he made his way to the platform. He grabbed the knife and made no hesitation as he cut his hand and placed it over Dauntless.

Your eyes widened, breathing stopping altogether as you sat up in your seat, hoping to God that you saw wrong. But when the man shouted Dauntless you let out a breath, anger filling your blood when his eyes found yours, a smirk on his face.

The whole reason why you joined was to get away from him and now you had to spend the rest of your life with him? It was absurd and you hated it along with him more than ever.

You were fuming when he took his seat behind you. You felt breathing on your neck and turned to see Peter's face mere inches from your own, all of your anger slipped away and into the air that was slowly getting a little too hard to breath in. Peter caught your gaze, a smirk plastered on his face,

"Looks like getting away from me won't be that easy," He whispered, his eyes glancing at your lips before he pulled away. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, looking back to the front. He knew all along, that's why he wasn't surprised, it just confirmed what he was thinking.

Damn him.

~~~

Your hair blew out of your face as you raced after the train, Christina right at your heel along with Al in front of you. You were surprised when Christina and Al joined dauntless but happy that you had two of your closest friends with you. This way you won't go insane with Peter always around.

Your breathing started getting heavier and heavier the more you ran. Your eyes caught the sight of Peter as he climbed onto the train and pulled his body on. He soon peaked his head out, his eyes finding yours before pointing a ways in front of you, a smirk on his face.

Knitting your brows together you tried your best to look in front of you but you didn't see anything. You pushed it away, thinking it was probably just to distract you.

Clenching your jaw you forced yourself to run faster before you pushed away all fears and grabbed the handle that was on the train and hoisted yourself up and on. You pushed forwards and fell onto the floor, eyes going towards Christina who was sitting with her back to the train wall, a smile on her lips.

Your attention was taken to a girl who climbed onto the train, from the looks of if she was a stiff or in other words from Abnegation. You were surprised that she made it but put a smile on your face when she gazed at you, breathing hard.

"You made it," Christina breathed, making the girl shift her gaze toward her. "I'm Christina,"

"Beatrice," She introduced, her eyes finding yours, waiting for you to say your name.

"Y/N," You smiled. But that smile was short-lived, your eyes catching a glimpse of Peter who was talking with Al a little ways away from you. You shot up, Christina already looking concerned as you made your way toward him.

His eyes met yours right as you grabbed his jacket and pinned him against the train wall, he let out a surprised gasp but it quickly turned into a smirk.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" You asked, glaring at him. He only chuckled, his eyes shifting towards your lips as he spoke.

"Nice to see you too," He didn't try to get out of your grasp, letting you pin him to the wall. His eyes landed on your own, a kind of challenge in them. "Didn't think I would let you leave without me did you?"

"You should have," You said, pulling away from him, feeling eyes on you.

"You thought I wouldn't pick Dauntless is that it?" He asked, evening out his jacket, a smirk plastered on his face. "Huh? Is that what you thought?" He moved closer toward you until he was mere inches from your face. He moved a piece of your hair from your shoulder, waiting for your reply. "Hm?"

"Yes, I did. You're a coward and you won't last," He chuckled his eyes finding your lips, before darkening.

"Let's see who'll last longer. I bet you'll be factionless by the end of the first corder," He paused. "If you even make it that far," His voice was lower and raspy, making your breath hitch and something go off in your stomach.

"Get ready," A woman said, leading both you and Peter to shift your gazes toward her before he moved away from you. Your eyes widened when you saw people jumping onto the roof of a building.

"Your kidding," You whispered.

"What happens if you don't jump," Al asked from beside you. You locked eyes with him before he turned to Peter.

"What do you think? You'll be factionless. You'll fit right in Y/N," He answered his eyes shifting towards you, a playful grin on his face before he turned to Al. "Good luck Al," He paused, eyes finding your own. "If you stay on, the train will bring you to your people,"

You didn't even have a chance to say anything before he turned away from you, ran, and jumped. A surprised gasp left your lips, seeing as his body hit the roof of the building, only thing was he sat up straight away, turning his body towards the train as if waiting for something, worry covering his face.

"We have to jump," Al said, shaking his head. You blew out a breath then sucked one in, shaking away everything that would hold you back.

"Together," You shouted, giving him a smile. He nodded, looking back at the boy who was behind the two of you. "Now," You wasted no time and ran, jumping as far as you possibly could, hoping you would hit the roof and not the ground down below.

You landed with a thud on the roof, falling on your hands and knees before rolling over onto your back from the impact. You let out a gasp of pain but pushed it down and away. Al and the boy who was behind the two of you landed next to you, both groaning at the impact.

Your eyes met Al's, a smile making its way onto both of your faces. He got up first, holding his hand out, and helped you up. "We did it," You laughed, wiping your hands on your pants, excitement filling your body. "That was such a rush," He laughed in agreement, shaking his head.

"All right, listen up!" You heard a voice say. You looked towards the rest of the group, seeing a man who must be one of the leaders standing on the edge of the roof. You made your way towards the rest of the group, with Al next to you.

"I'm Eric. I'm one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in. And if you don't have the guts to jump, then you don't belong in Dauntless," He motioned towards the edge.

"Is there water at the bottom or something?" The boy who jumped with you and Al asked.

"I guess you'll find out," He paused, a smirk on his face. "Or not,"

"Someone's gotta go first. Who's it gonna be?" He looked around. Everyone stayed silent, waiting for the other to jump in and say they'll do it. Seeing as no one was stepping up you did.

"I will!" You shouted, everyone's eyes found you, along with a shocked Christina who shook her head when your eyes met hers. You looked away and slowly made your way towards the front, regret filling your bones as you reached the man with a lot of tattoos and piercings.

His eyes shifted down your body before motioning towards the edge. You sucked in a breath, carefully getting on the edge, your eyes peering over trying to see what was at the bottom if you didn't hit the roof that was.

Hearing the words of Peter in the back of your head, all the insults of you being weak and not having the guts to do anything made you turn around, eyes locking with Peter's, a smirk on your face before you fell backward, a surprised laugh leaving your lips at the sensation.

Your back hit a net, a small gasp leaving your mouth and relief flooding into you, thanking God you didn't die. You bounced up a couple of times before you felt a dip making you shift your gaze toward a man who seemed to be waiting for you. You slid off the net, with the help of the man.

"Name? You can pick a new one if you want," He said, voice low. You cleared your throat.

"Y/N,"

"First jumper Y/N!" He shouted to the others who cheered. "Welcome to Dauntless,"

~~~

It had been a little since you joined Dauntless, and one thing you could say for sure is that you regretted joining with everything in you. Not only was Peter saying everything and anything to get you down, but it was also the fact that he was right about everything he said, you would be factionless with the way your name was right below the line.

You were starting to really panic and the words Peter would always say made it so much worse. You had even started working overtime, in the middle of most nights you were training, but it seemed to just make things worse because of how tired you were. But that didn't stop you.

That's how you ended up here, repeatedly beating the punching bag in front of you, lending your fits to hurt and small cuts to form. But you pushed through the pain and kept punching and sometimes kicking.

"You're doing it wrong," You heard an all too familiar voice say, causing you to roll your eyes and dread to form. You ignored him and continued to punch the bag with more force, imagining the bag was his stupid face. "Here,"

You flinched as his hands found your waist. You turned toward him and pushed him away, breathing out heavily as your eyes connected. You didn't know what he was doing but the feeling of his hands on your waist made your stomach twist and you hated that.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Chill the fuck out Y/N, I'm not trying to grope you I'm just trying to fix your poster," You knitted your brows together, confused as to why he would even care.

"Why?"

"Do you want my help or not?" He asked, ignoring your question. As much as you hated him you did need his help. He was first on the list for a reason. You swallowed your pride and nodded your head. "Okay,"

He moved toward you as you turned back to the punching bag. "Punch the bag like you just did," You did as he said punching the bag once, letting Peter's hands move towards your hips. He moved them as his foot kicked your legs further apart. His hands moved toward your arms causing him to move closer, his front coming in contact with your back.

Your breathing got heavier, and your stomach twisted with nerves, you knew you shouldn't but you just couldn't stop yourself. You looked back at him, your faces inches apart. His eyes connected with your own but soon moved down toward your lips causing his hands to loosen on your arms.

"Try now," He whispered moving away from you. Your body got cold the second he stepped away, but even with him away from you, it was like you still couldn't breathe.

You turned your eyes toward the bag, trying to calm your nerves, along with your hands that were shaking slightly, and punched it. It already felt different and the bag went further, you felt stronger.

"I did it!" You smiled, letting the happiness overtake lending you to jump up and down. You felt relief and finally, you could breathe. You stopped short when you remembered who was in the room, turning around to see Peter with a small smile. "Why did you help me?"

"Because even tho I hate your guts." He paused, eyes finding yours, a real smile coming on his face. Something you've never seen on him, causing you to melt at the sight. He really needed to smile more. "I still don't want to see a girl so beautiful dig through the trash for food,"

Before you could even react he moved toward you, one hand on your waist, the other on the back of your head, and his lips connecting with your own. You were too shocked to even kiss him back. You didn't think you'd ever see the day when Peter Hays would kiss you, but here you two were. You had dreamed about this moment and still, you weren't kissing him back.

As he was about to pull away you put your hands in his hair and kissed him back with everything in you. It was like your lips were made for each other, moving together like puzzle pieces. His hands gripped your waist tighter and pulled you closer.

You two pulled away from each other after your throat begged for oxygen, causing you to breathe heavily, still in a daze and in shock. You were still in his arms and inches apart, you did not plan on moving anytime soon.

His head moved to yours, signing as your foreheads connected. You smiled, thinking back to the words he said. "So you think I'm beautiful huh?"

#divergent #divergent x reader #peter hayes #miles teller #peter hayes x reader #peter hayes divergent #peter hayes imagines #peter hayes x you #peter hayes fluff #fluff

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chickenoptyrx · 4 months

Note

You do so right by z Broly, you understand his potential. Your au with him and Trunks is a delight

Glad we all appreciate my blatant misrepresentation of the character 😌 im partly joking but man fr, 12 year old me would hate that instead of him bein a badass edgy monster, I draw him as.. *checks notes* .. an immature loser with bad coping mechanisms uwu

Ok but in true ask tradition! :U im hijacking this ask to talk about a dumb theory thats been rolling around in my head for like 2 years now: android 16 and broly similarities:

Ok so. If you aren't aware. The android arc of dragon ball was originally going to focus on the androids 19 & 20 and trunks even names them specifically

But Toriyamas former editor, Kazuhiko Torishima, didn't like them as the main antagonists and so Toriyama changed it to focus on 17 & 18 as the bad guys and introduced 16 as a sort of mystery

Now. This gets almost completely dropped once that same former editor ALSO doesn't like these androids and cell becomes the main villian for the arc (yeah yeah, the bomb thing is technically *there*, but its so inconsequential most people forget its even a thing :T )

So. Idk exactly when movie 8 went into production, but we know Brolys LSSJ form was inspired by trunks SSJ grade3 form that appears several chapters after cell has been introduced and the androids have become power-up fodder, so im gonna argue its safe to say the decision to move away from their story had been made

(side tangent that I find absolutely hilarious btw- despite gokus commentary in the HTC, SSJ grade 3 was the strongest form of ssj we saw at this point, so its pretty appropriate to use it as the basis of the strongest scariest ssj form.... rrriiiiiiiiggght up until toriyama introduced SSJ2 on Feb 2, 1993- near exactly 1 month before the first Broly movie hit theaters. Completely undermined what, up til then, looked like a trend in stronger form = bigger and beefier right as the big beefy strongest guy ever movie came out 🤣 absolutely love it!)

So anyways. The movies overall also tend to have varying degrees of similarities with recent arcs in the show and Toriyama, while not overly involved, would give the studio designs and story notes. And. Idk. Yall can tell me im reaching if ya want, but: A guy who's made into a weapon by his father who's on a quest for revenge and has this conflicting view of his son as both someone he feels he failed to protect, someone he cares about, but also as a tool for that revenge, and someone who's destructive power hes become deeply afraid of.. now where have we seen somethin like that 🤔 may be an extra reach but I also think its neat that despite their different face shape, Toriyamas gave em the same expression

Lol they're also both just ridiculously tall bastards. Like for no gd reason. And yeah, to me atleast, it explains why hating goku specifically gets shoehorned into brolys backstory (listen I can absolutely do the mental gymnastics to make it make sense! I'm fine with it! Its fine! I actually like it! ... but it IS a dumb shoehorned plot point! Both things can be true D:< ) look just lookit these tall ass shits

Anyway. My last note is just this statement from Toriyama about 16 and Gero. The way gero is presented is really in line with how I see Paragus as this tragic failure of a father- honestly caring about his kid, but letting grief and revenge drive him into conflicting corners where he wants revenge FOR the life denied his son, but also actively shaping his son into such a terrifying weapon that ultimately hed rather his kid just never be conscious cause thats the 'only way to keep them safe'

“Dr. Gero’s son who died young a long time ago served as the visual model for Android 16. He was a high-ranking soldier for the Red Ribbon Army but was shot down by the enemy. Dr. Gero reserved special feelings for 16 as “his son,” and although he equipped 16 with immense power and a frightening destructive device, he didn’t want to see him be defeated on the battlefield and thus programmed him to have a gentle personality. 16 was consequently considered a failed creation.” The smaller caption below Toriyama’s quote reads: “Was the reason Dr. Gero didn’t want to activate 16 perhaps because of his parental love to not see him destroyed?”

#asks #rant barely related to the ask :D #i just think its neat #if 16 wasnt such a pain in the ass to draw from MOST angles #id probably draw him more #but broly just sparks so much joy to draw #really cant beat it #just a fun design #android 16 #broly #dumb nothing theory that means nothing #ask

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agirlcandream84 · 10 hours

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Absolutely obsessed with your writing <3

Can we get a bf Frank upset about your increased partying / self-medicating ways because he just wants you to take care of yourself? Maybe you keep getting too drunk, taking unnecessary risks at night, doing drugs- literally whatever you want up to you! Your diet one helped sm🤍🤍

❤️ thank you SO much. This took me a min because I'm SO straight-laced and afraid of self-medicating that I raw-dog every human experience but I actually love how this turned out.

Angsty!Frank Castle x Self Sabotaging!Reader

"Why do you keep lyin' to me sweetheart?" Frank rumbles, the question pointed but his tone soft. He turns to face you, the heat of his eyes boring a hole into your profile.

You feel your stomach plummet to your feet, your heart hammering in your ears, but you force your face to remain neutral, feigning unbothered confusion.

"Lying about what Frankie?" you ask, even adding a small chuckle to the question. Of course you couldn't meet his eye so you busy yourself with fluffing the pillows on the couch. You hated yourself for gaslighting him but the idea of Frank finding out felt worse.

"Don't do that baby," he counters, a small hint of warning in his tone.

"Do what?" you asking, painting confusion on your face as you turn to finally face him. His brows are stitched in that cocktail of concern and determination and his arms are folded across his chest. You hated yourself for lying to Frank but you were terrified that the truth would have you lose him for good.

Then and there you promised yourself that tonight was the last time. Just one more night and you'd somehow get it under control.

"Yeah, alright sweetheart. Maybe it's nothin'" he replies, swiping an agitated hand down his face, his nostrils flared in frustration. He didn't believe you and you didn't blame him. You almost would have preferred him to explode on you and bring this whole unstoppable runaway train to an end.

He turned to lift his coat from the rack and shrug it on, his hand landing on the door as you manage to ask, "Are you heading out?"

"Yeah, gotta take care of somethin' " he grumbles before letting the door slam behind him.

You rush to the small pouch under the bed and extract the orange prescription bottle, tumbling out 3 pills for tonight and carrying the bottle to the toilet. Your hands are already shaking at the thought of it but you force yourself to hold the small bottle aloft above the open toilet, your hand poised to let them tumble in.

But of course they don't. The abject fear coursing through your veins keeps your wrist locked in place-- the pills rattling in their container.

"fuck, just do it, fucking do it," you mumble to yourself, goading your brain into destroying the very thing you thought was keeping you alive and upright. Those fucking white pills that dulled every sharp edge but had your life by the throat. The same pills that seemed to work less and less until you needed more and more. The pills that were your only ticket to an acceptable night's sleep as long as you took it with a shot of vodka too. Those pills that made you feel like you'd been hit by the M6 bus every morning. Those pills that kept the memories from creeping in. Kept the shame from rearing. Kept the fear from winning.

"Fuck!" you shout, tears already pouring down your face as your hand caps the bottle, pills still safely tucked inside. The bottle gets returned to it's pouch under the bed and you spend the afternoon with shame and fear roiling in your stomach.

You were gone by the time Frank returned home, which happened more often than not these days. In an effort not to be caught swilling vodka to welcome sleep, you often "went a friend's house" in the evening, coming home late enough to avoid questions and head straight for bed, sneaking 3-4 pills before you did.

At 12:15am, perhaps a bit later than your normal night, after three generous shots of vodka, perhaps a shot more than a normal night, you stumble home from the dive bar six blocks away and promptly twist an ankle navigating some busted sidewalk. You manage to fumble your way to a nearby bus bench and inspect your knee, blood already pricking through the skin while your head feels that buzzed gentle spin.

You sit splayed on the bench, suddenly aware of just how colossally fucking tired you were. What poetic justice that the pills and alcohol that had become your tailspin of a life were all in an effort to get better sleep (or on some nights, any sleep at all) but were also the singular source of your exhaustion and misery.

You sat unmoving for minutes, or an hour, who knew-- until a dark van screeches to a halt in front of you and a familiar silhouette rushes out.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're hurt. What the fuck happened sweetheart?" he says, rushing to squat in front of you and inspect your knee.

"Frankie?" you ask incredulously, the vodka making you feel like you were moving in slow motion. What was Frank doing here? How did he find you?

"Why didn't you call me sweetheart? Been worried sick when you didn't come home. How the hell did this happen?" he rambles a bit, eyes still on your knee as he presses a bunched up napkin to the wound.

"I.. oh uh... I was.." you mumble, your brain incapable of making an excuse. It occurs to you that Frank hasn't noticed your inebriation and you're paralyzed not to reveal yourself. "How did you know I was here?" you ask, taking every word deliberately slow.

"Curtis was drivin' past and though he saw you. Called me up right away. Did someone do this to you doll?" he asks, locking eyes with yours, pleading to understand why you were alone and injured past midnight on a bus bench.

"No, no, nobody-- I tripped, I just tripped," you mumble, your heart racing now and your hands shaking. "I just tripped," you add again when Frank's eyes meet yours. You see him see you -- crumpled on the bench, tiny streams of blood caked to your shin, your hair disheveled and your makeup worn. You look at each other for an extended breath and you realize it's not rage or anger but fear in his eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah ok sweetheart," he answers placatingly, "let's get you in the car, yeah?" he says, his arm looped behind your back as he guides you to keep the weight off your twisted ankle. The ride home is silent, only the truck's blinker and his steady breathing fill the tiny space.

Frank tends to you like a patient, expertly helping you up the steps, getting you into your pajamas, taking a washcloth to your face, handing you a readied toothbrush and you obey-- compliant and silent.

You're sat on the bathroom sink while Frank cleans the gash on your knee properly, his hands competent and quick. He finishes and tosses the bloodied napkin in the trash and turns to stand in front of you in the tiny bathroom.

"It's gotta stop," he says directly, jamming his hands in his pockets. You can't meet his eye so he does the work for you, bending slightly at the knees to find your ducked head and says, "Gotta look at me sweetheart."

"Frank, this was one time. It's not a problem or something," you reply, risking a quick glance to his eyes. The lie like acid on your tongue.

"Don't do this. Don't fuckin' do it doll," he says shaking his head, agitation painting his face.

"I'm not doing anything. I-- I don't have to listen to this," you answer, anger masking the fear of being found out. No-- not found out. The fear of being accountable for change. For facing the hard things the alcohol and pills were supposed to mask.

You make to push off the height of the sink but Frank's hands land on your hips to anchor you in place.

"Nah, that's it. We're not pretendin' anymore," Frank says, is voice shifting into something like authority.

"I'm not pretending anything Frank. Let me fucking go," you reply, matching his intensity but fueled instead by the consuming fear of this being the moment you lose him.

"You gonna storm away on your bum foot, huh?! You gonna go get that pouch of pills from under the bed? Is that it!?" he shouts, his tone determined but his eyes pleading-- begging-- for you to listen.

You're frozen at his accusation. The pills. He found them. You felt the room melting off the foundation. Your stomach sinking to the floor. Your heartbeat raging in your ears.

"I don't know--" you mumble but he cuts you off.

"Yes you do sweetheart," he says, his tone hushed, as his hands navigate to either side of your face to cup your cheeks. He tilts your face up towards his, his touch so nurturing you could choke on your own betrayal of it. "Please. I can't lose--" he stops, unable to finish the sentence, "help me understand what's goin' on sweetheart."

You choke out a strained "I don't know how it happened Frankie," before a sob catches in your throat and you collapse on his chest, your hands making fists in his shirt. He hugs you to him with a strength you hadn't felt before, your breath squished from your lungs as you chant "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry frankie. i'm so sorry."

"You're alright. Sshhh ssshhh, you're alright," he responds, stepping an inch closer to the sink so that your legs are on either side of his frame and he hooks his arms under your thighs to lift you from the sink, your arms clinging to the column of his neck as he moves you both to the bedroom.

He places you gently in the bed and climbs in behind you, his shoes and jacket still on, as he cups your body within his. And in the darkness of the room you tell him everything-- speaking your shame and fears into the black stillness -- and he sees you through the other side.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fanfic #frank castle x you #frank castle smut #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fluff #frank castle angst

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lu-vin-it · 1 year

Note

could I request Carl Grimes soulmate au where their marks/works/whatever you choose shows up at a certain age and his soulmate is like Daryl's sister or some kid he took under his wing and he's Living when it happens?

Sweet on You

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Pairings: Carl Grimes x Reader

Pronouns Used: None mentioned

Word Count: 1164

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you to @yesland for proofreading! Ihy! Also, R calls Daryl “Daddy” because as a southerner, I wouldn’t dream of calling my Dad anything else to his face (even when I visit his grave I call him Daddy 💀) and it isn’t mentioned whether or not R is biologically related to Daryl!!

Up until you were 12 you only really had your Dad, Mom, and Uncle Merle. Your Mother homeschooled you and that was that. When the breakout first happened, you were terrified, clinging to your Dad no matter what. You and your family barely escaped your town, and it wasn’t until a couple hours after you all were on the road that your Mom admitted to being bit. Your Uncle Merle took her down to the woods and shot her at her request.

You guys came across a camp at a quarry and quickly came to the decision to stay there for a bit. You liked it there. You made friends with the other kids there, and overall, had a good time.

But now it’s years later and most of the people from the quarry have died. You still have your best friend, Carl, and you have a few other friends that you met when you arrived at Alexandria, though.

Over the years, you lost count of time, you weren’t sure how old you were, or more importantly, when your soulmark would show up. You knew your birthday was September 27th thanks to your Dad having it engraved in his mind, but you had no way of knowing when that was.

You also knew that Carl’s birthday was three weeks before yours, so when his mark showed up, you’d know that it’d be soon.

And his finally did. It was a messed up heart on his wrist, it was green, his favorite colour, and purple, coincidentally, your favorite colour.

You counted down the days until your birthday. It drove your Dad mad.

“Why the hell are you scratching up the walls?” He asks as he walks into the kitchen and sees you carving a line into the wall with your knife.

“To keep count of how many days till my birthday.”

“Just do it in your head. Ain’t no need for all that.” He says with a chuckle.

“If I do it in my head I’m bound to lose track! Not everyone’s got the memory of an elephant, Daddy.” You tell him, placing your hands on your hips. “‘Sides, I already told Rick and Michonne. They were fine with it.”

“Mhm.. How old you gonna be? Sixteen?”

“Yup!” You grin.

“Big age. Excited to get your mark?” You nod. “Yeah.. It’s a big day. Hey.. uh.. maybe you and I go do somethin’ together? For ole’ times sake?” Your heart soars.

“Course we can, Daddy. Wanna go campin’ like we did for my fifth birthday? We can do it just outside the fence.” He nods.

“I’ll get the supplies ready. When is it?”

“In about two weeks.”

“Alright. You tell me two days before and I’ll get everythin’ ready.” You nod in agreement and walk over to your Dad, placing a kiss on his cheek before going upstairs to yours and Judith’s room.

The night before your birthday came around quickly, and you and your Dad spent the entire day getting ready for your camping trip. At about noon, you both left Alexandria, and set up camp. You set up a fire and then sat with your Dad, talking about your Mom and what she would think of all this. Your Dad didn’t talk about her often, so you soaked it all up.

You both stayed up until midnight, and when the moon was finally in the center of the sky, you and your Dad stared at each other, just waiting for the burning sensation.

“Daddy, I think I feel it!” You looked down at your wrist, and sure enough, a messed up heart was appearing on your skin. He rushed over to look at it too, and you both watched in awe as the mark was finally there. Wait. What? Your jaw drops.

“That.. Ain’t that the same mark Carl has?” You nod. Your Dad breaks out into laughter.

“What’s funny ‘bout that?”

“Nothin’.. Just that you two have been attached at the hip since the farm.. makes sense is all.” You thought about it for a second, yeah, it sure does make sense. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t relieved that it was him. Now you wouldn’t have to look for your soulmate, you’d just go home and show him and everything would be fine. Right?

You barely slept that night. You were terrified that Carl would be upset that it was you. How would you even tell him? Just.. walk up to him? Show him your wrist and say “Haha looks like we’re soulmates!”?

The next morning, you were quiet. Your Dad noticed it. He kept trying to tell you jokes, or show you a bird, or something. But you didn’t really budge.

“Okay kid, what’s got you so.. down?” Your Dad asks as you guys walk home.

“Hm? I’m not down.”

“You are too.”

“No I’m not!”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not down.”

“Y/N.. I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself. I know when you’re down.” You sigh.

“I dunno.. I just don’t know how he’s gonna react.” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“He’s gonna be over the moon. Why wouldn’t he be? Shit, he’s been sweet on you for years.” You stop and look at him.

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” You shake your head. “Didn’t know I raised a dumbass.” You smile and punch his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up.” You start walking again. “And never say ‘sweet on’ again. You sound like you’re a thousand years old.”

When you get to Alexandria, you take a deep breath before going inside. Carl and Enid were waiting for you at the gate.

“Show us!” Enid yells as her and Carl jog up to you.

“Show you what?” You ask, feigning ignorance.

“Your mark, come on!” Carl grabs your wrist. They both see the mark and you anxiously rock back and forth on your heels.

“Say something.” You say with a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t your marks match?” The brunette girl asks. Carl nods.

“Yeah they do. We’re soulmates?”

“Looks like it.” You take your wrist away and look at your feet. “Um.. I better go put my stuff away.” You walk off before they can reply.

You do end up putting away your things, and as you’re putting away your blankets, Carl barges into your room.

“Why’d you run away?” He asks, panting.

“I.. why are you so out of breath?”

“I asked first.”

“You seemed.. upset. I don’t know. I wanted to give you space.”

“Well I don’t want space.”

“Well how was I supposed to know?”

“Well you didn’t really wait for me to say something so you didn’t know.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m listening now.”

“I don’t want space.”

“Yes.. I think we’ve established that.”

“Ever. I’m happy you’re my soulmate.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

“I’m happy you’re my soulmate too.” You say with a smile. Carl breaks out in one as well, and before you know it, he’s walking towards you and kissing you.

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader

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alittlebitofloveliness · 25 days

Note

For the ficlets - 12, for Darry!

Here's part two of my Outsiders prompt ficlets. For anyone wondering I'll be writing them in order they've been submitted, so I'll be jumping between comments on the post itself and asks in my inbox. Hope you enjoy anon!

*****************

“Wanna do something stupid?”

Darry raised an eyebrow, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t considering it. Mom and dad really didn’t ever get too mad about him getting into trouble as long as he didn’t drag his brothers into it, and ever since Soda had met his friend Steve the amount of time he spent following Darry around had decreased dramatically. Darry wasn’t complaining- him and Two-bit couldn’t do anything really fun with a six year old following them everywhere.

Two-bit’s eyes were bright in his freckled face, red hair bleached a bit by the sun. School had let out three weeks ago, and Darry couldn’t be happier. He didn’t mind school, but he’d much rather be hanging out with Two-bit or helping mom with Ponyboy. Ponyboy was only four, so he was still cute and fun to mess with.

“What are we gonna do?” Everything Two-bit did was stupid. He’d cut one of Elena Mariello’s pigtails off in class once, and just last week he’d gotten busted trying to steal bubblegum from the dime store and now his mom was making him help out there for free for the next two weekends. As much as he was Darry’s best friend, Darry didn’t want to get in any real trouble, the trouble Two seemed to find delightfully entertaining.

“You’ll see,” Keith said, and for all he was only a year younger, sometimes he seemed just as young and excitable as sodapop, “now are you gonna come with me or not?”

“...yeah.”

He checked over his shoulder that mom wasn’t watching them from the window- she didn’t mind if they left the yard to walk downtown, but she also seemed to just know when they were going to cause trouble so they were caught before they even did anything- and followed Two out of the yard and past the lot, copying him when he hopped the fence behind the liquor store. Eventually, Two stopped at the old bridge over the river near the outskirts of town.

Darry eyed the bridge with distaste. It wasn’t all that high above the river but the water underneath was swift and the wood rotted and slick from the rain they’d gotten earlier.

He wasn’t supposed to go near the bridge. Mom and dad had drilled it into him from a young age that it wasn’t safe.

“Rory Delmar said he walked the bridge railing twice over last week and didn’t even wobble,” Two-bit informed him.

Rory Delmar was a hook nosed kid a year ahead of them in school and the biggest idiot Darry knew.

“Rory Delmar is a liar.”

“I’m still gonna try it.”

“No,” Darry grabbed his arm, because he knew his best buddy well enough to know he would make a run for it given the chance, “you ain’t.”

“Aw, c’mon Dar!”

“Let’s go,” Darry shook his head, hauling Two-bit along with him as he stomped back towards town, “I said I’d do something stupid not somethin’ deadly.”

“Well what’re we gonna do instead then?” Two pouted. Sometimes, Darry thought, he needed more entertainment than Soda did. “C’mon Darry I wanna do something exciting.”

Darry thought about it for a second.

“Let’s go beat up Rory Delmar. I’m gettin’ tired of him tellin’ stories.”

#the outsiders #darry curtis #two bit mathews #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #steve randle #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders prompts #lovelythoughts

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kayleighwinchester · 11 days

Text

So, I've really been debating how I want to post my fics, if I wanted to start posting them at all. Kayleigh's been my brain-child for 12 years now - since I was 14! - and the idea of putting her out there is much scarier to me as an adult than it was as a high-schooler. Much love to @zepskies for encouraging me to post some of the less episode-centric bits as one-shots; I don't think anything would ever end up posted otherwise! (And a big shout out to the Pond for the prompts that finally got me to write something substantial again!)

This is the first of (hopefully) many smaller snippets. I'm hoping to get more of the important bits posted soon, and those will have a lot more context for what you see in these! So, here we go: ya'll's first glimpse into my favorite dumpster-fire of a ship! These will be tagged by season.

Dean’s got a stupid grin on his face a mile wide as the familiar chords began to play over the Impala’s speakers - it’s blatantly clear exactly how hard he’s trying not to look at Kayleigh’s face as Night Moves begins to play - and, more importantly, as he leans over to turn the volume dial higher, higher, higher still. Kayleigh leans forward from the backseat, arms crossing over the back of the front seat, her chin against the vinyl beside Sam’s head. “Is it still murder if I give him a heads up?” She stage-whispers to the younger Winchester brother, her own eyes cutting to Dean as she speaks. His grin only widens, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“That’s called a threat, Kay.” Sam informs her, hardly glancing up from his book, but there’s a grin beginning to tug at his lips, too - he glances briefly to Kayleigh, and then to Dean, as Kayleigh hisses out a soft, playfully disappointed ‘damn’.

“Oh, come on, Leigh, you know you love this song.” Dean taunts, leaning over just slightly to be that little bit closer to her, their heads nearly touching - his eyes remain on the road, but flit to hers now and again. He has to speak up a bit to be heard over the radio, but even so, Sam’s snort of amusement is still audible as the younger of the three shifts to lean against the door, putting a bit of space between himself and the elder two. Even after just over a decade of watching their on-again-off-again romance, it felt just a little like intruding on something private, something secret; but maybe that was just that residual instinct - that unspoken rule from high school to keep things under John Winchester’s radar.

“Do I?” Kayleigh asks sarcastically, but she can’t pretend to be annoyed long - she turns her head just slightly to let her lips press briefly to Dean’s cheek. He scoffs, but that grin stays plastered onto his face like it was painted there, even as his face starts to go faintly red.

“Yeah! You know every word.” He reminds her, finally laying his arm across the back of the seat in front of her.

“Yeah. Kind’a like I know half the shit that’s gonna come flyin’ outt’a your mouth, Winchester. ‘S called Stockholm Syndrome, or somethin’ like that.” She comments dryly, but she can’t help the grin that’s beginning to curl onto her own lips.

“Gee, thanks, Sweetheart.” Dean snorts out as Sam begins to laugh. “Really feelin’ the love there. Really.” He rolls his eyes as Kayleigh shifts to sit more directly behind him, her arms draping lazily over his shoulders and her chin resting on his arm. He can’t keep the grin off of his face for long, however, as Kayleigh begins quietly humming along under her breath. Absently, he reaches up, fingers playing with the end of her ponytail, twisting the curls between his fingers, other hand on the wheel. “‘Sides, murder’s not on the agenda for today.”

“It’s never supposed to be on the agenda, Dean,” Sam reminds him dryly, hardly glancing up from his book - if he could press himself any further against the door, any further away from them, Kayleigh’s sure he would. “‘S on mine,” She offers cheerfully, “just not ‘til tomorrow. We’re gettin’ to the Roadhouse tomorrow, right?”

Sam's grin widens as Dean groans quietly, hand leaving Kayleigh's hair to scrub over his face.

#my writing #supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester x oc #I am going to vibrate out of my fucking skin #this is terrifying how do yall just POST YOUR FANFICS #season 5

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updatingranboo · 11 months

Text

ranboo was in offline earlier! (time in pst)

[transcript: 12:03: peepoArrive 12:04 (replying to negitave_b: "DinkDonk ranboolive" replying to squiggly_uwu: "someone tell ranboo that he can slowly take off the bandage with running saline water scuffedCry"): Yeah i got it off by soaking it hurts bad as hell now though OMEGALUL 12:04: I did see the towel as i was packing it yes 12:04: I have enough cool scars 12:04: I dont need any more OMEGALUL 12:05: I have this scar on like the side of my lip from when I bit part of it off as a kid and it is visable from time to time 12:05: cool ranboo fact WICKED 12:05: its not like big or anything its only noticeable to me really 12:05: I also nearly bit off like a third of my tongue too 12:05: I was a hungry kid 12:05: I fell and hit my chin OMEGALUL 12:07: OMEGALUL happy disability pride month 12:07: Ill be alright though 12:07: other from the pain the only thing is my legs just get really tired really fast now so i mustve like pulled a lot of muscles or somethin 12:07: I have wicked bruises ones like a super deep purple WICKED 12:10: i think i just broke my camera OMEGALUL 12:10: I have a replacement worry not 12:11: beats me its just not workingh 12:20: (replying to tazariagaming: "I'm so hype for everyone to see the Box you have no idea") the box is currently in transit OMEGALUL I could not fit it in my suitcase without crushing it 12:21: BUT I have everything that was inside of it! 12:30: miku mcc 3 years old today peepoWow 12:31: miku mcc 8 years ago peepoWow 12:31: first birthday stream 29 years old peepoWow 12:31: (replying to negitave_b: "RANBOOLIVE I HAVENT EVEN BEEN IN OFFLINE 3 YEARS, MIKU MCC WAS NOT 3 YEARS AGO"): wrong 12:32: firsxt mmccc 3 bc peepoWow 12:34: I was going to make the joke here but it was too good 12:42: Im crying at my tweet 12:42: its so funny ot me 12:43: (replying to whiteriiiice: "YARFING IS THE OPPOSITE OF EATING") I invented the word yarfing so i can use it whenever I want however I want ranbooFinger 12:44: Did I not 12:44: well 12:44: screw you guys its funny ranbooFinger 12:46: (replying to bioloveds: "@/RanbooLive, why do you have grammarly) to spell 12:54: who we banning? 12:54: nah]

#sorry was gonna post this b4 stream but my laptop was imploading trying to watch stream and transcribe #bc my laptop hates having chatterino and twitch open at the same time #and then i forgot #ranboo #twitch update #offline chat

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