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tomriddleslove · 10 months ago

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What’s left of me?

✩Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where your pursuit for excellence leads you down a path of self destruction, and you’re slowly loosing yourself. You didn’t expect a certain boy in your year would be your saving grace. Alternatively: Mattheo makes you realise you’re more than what you think you are.

A/N: I guess this could very easily be like a prequel to the other mattheo one shot ‘i’m here’. This is definitely a bit self indulgent but we all have our things 😻😻

Warnings: Allusions to overdosing (brief), mentions of not eating.

Songs: Nothings New - Rio Romeo

18 days.

18 days till you would be finished with all of this.

Technically, it would actually be 408 days till you finished school and graduated from this godforsaken place, but 18 more till you finished with exams.

You weren’t sure how many more hours you could spend hunched over indecipherable handwriting, pouring over text till your eyes stung and your back ached. Surrounded by a stack of books and rolls of parchment, you couldn’t even begin to figure out where you ended and the library began. You had taken up a huge table (that could seat at least 4) for the better part of 17 hours, sat on the same chair since 6:00 am.

You stifle a small groan of pain as you roll your wrist, stiff and sore from the hell that was ancient runes.

There are ink splotches all over your skin, and you’re sure the amount of work you were pouring into this stopped being effective nearly 5 hours ago.

Your eyes flicker up and scan over the once-packed library that had slowly dwindled down to a few students, half of whom were in the same boat as you.

To you, being the last person in the library was a huge sign of success. It meant you were more dedicated and more hard-working.

In reality, the truth couldn’t be any further from that, but in your mind, if you weren’t milking yourself over every last piece of work it simply wasn’t being done right.

The hushed murmurs and sounds of parchment being unfurled fade into the background as your quill scratches furiously against the parchment, mind running at a million miles an hour.

You ignore the pang in your stomach as you work; you haven’t eaten today. You didn’t want to get up at any point to get food, for fear of your place being taken.

Now, you didn’t want to get up for another reason. It was well past the library's open hours and Madame Pince was angrily fussing about, bustling around everyone as she got them to leave. A testament to how long you had been there, she didn’t even seem to notice you, and you were worried getting up and walking about would break this sort of invisibility shield you had going on.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t really drunk any water either. You brought your bottle with you but had forgotten to fill it up. It was fine though, the human body could last for 3 days without water - it could wait. Your upcoming exams were far more important.

In Scandinavia, the Elder Futhark remained in use until some time around the eighth century (the time of the Eddas), when drastic changes in the Old Norse language occurred, and corresponding changes in the runic alphabet were made to accommodate the new sounds. However, unlike the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the Younger Futhark (as it is now called) reduced the number of runes from 24 to 16, and several runes came to represent multiple sounds. The forms of the runes were also changed and simplified.

Gods, you couldn't take this anymore. You felt sick and exhausted. You ignore the hunger that gnaws at your stomach, rubbing a hand over your face as you contemplate finishing off and going to bed.

But every time you think of stopping a horrible feeling emerges in your stomach, consuming you with anxiety. The weight of impending exams and the fear of not doing well gnawing at your determination. You glance at the clock, realizing it's well past midnight, and the library is now completely empty except for you.

Madame Pince, finally noticing your presence, approaches with a disapproving look. "You know, the library does close at a certain hour. I can't have students staying here all night," she scolds, but her tone softens as she sees the exhaustion in your eyes.

“Sorry. I lost track of time” You mumble, haphazardly cramming your stuff into your bag. You get up, and the room spins for a second. You stumble but manage to catch yourself, holding onto the table as Madam Pince reaches out a hand to help you recover.

“You need to take care of yourself. No exam is worth this much stress,” She says, eyeing you with concern. If only she knew how far that was from the truth. You felt as though you had so little to your name. Performing well, overachieing. That was what you were known for. It was the only thing you felt was yours. Everyone else had character, they were distinctly themselves. They had hobbies, interests, and friendships that defined them. But for you, it was always about excelling academically. Without that, you became nobody. You were no more than the number on your papers, and the reminder weighed down on you like an unrelenting burden.

By some miracle you manage to stumble down the empty halls of the castle into the Slytherin common room, which seemed paradoxically warm considering its grandiose stone structure and dark, moody lighting. You carelessly drop your bag onto a table closest to the fireplace, trudging up to your room as you battle the sleep that threatens to consume you.

It's dark, and your roommates have long gone to bed.

“Lumos” You murmur, hiding the blinding light that emerges from the tip of your wand with the lining of your school robes, dimming it slightly. You grope blindly at your bedside drawer, stopping when you feel the familiar smooth glass bottle, that fits perfectly in your palm. You slip it into the pocket of your robes, slowly shutting the drawer as you make your way back down to the common room. You dismiss the light that shines from your wand, tossing it onto the sofa as you take a seat on the floor, in front of the low table. You read the instructions on the back of the small bottle as if you hadn’t been consuming this religiously for the past month.

Wideye potion User Guidance:

Take no more than one teaspoon every 6 hours. Effects will last for up to 8 hours. Excessive use of this potion may lead to adverse effects, and in rare cases, severe bodily harm. Users are advised not to use the maximum dosage for a consecutive 72 hours.

You’ve read it so many times, you were sure you could recite it by heart. Choosing not to heed any warnings, you pop open the cork and down the whole bottle in one go. The rancid taste of the potion burns, eliciting a shudder down your spine as you swallow down the bile that threatens to emerge. Pocketing the empty glass bottle, you stretch your arms before retrieving your books, ready to continue working.

If you were lucky, the potion might give you a boost of energy for about 3 hours or so. You had been taking it so much you had developed a sort of immunity to it, and the effects were not as potent as they used to be. The sacrifice of your well-being for the sake of productivity had become a routine, a desperate attempt to squeeze every ounce of time and focus out of your exhausted mind and body.

You have attempted to brew a stronger concoction, in the misplaced hopes that increasing the potency would counteract the effect of the immunity. However, the violent cramps and palpitations it had given you very quickly told you that wouldn't work.

You knew it was bad. It was causing irreversible damage to your body, killing you at worst. It simply wasn't sustainable. But you couldn't drag yourself out of that mindset.

Failure. Nobody.

You gritted your teeth and carried on working.

You managed to get through another potions essay, and the time on your watch read 1:00 am.

You could carry on for longer, right?

You zone out for a second, staring off at the orange embers that emerged from the fireplace, shining bright for what seemed like a millisecond before falling to the floor, turning into nothing but ash.

The orange embers flicker, and for a moment, you see yourself in them – a fleeting brightness that threatens to be extinguished. The battle between ambition and self-preservation rages on as you grit your teeth and carry on working, oblivious to the embers slowly falling into nothingness, much like your own fading sense of self.

“Why on earth are you up at this hour doing work?” A voice calls from behind you, and the momentary intrusion shocks you, sending a burst of energy through you as you spin around.

Flopping down onto the sofa next to you, leaning back with his legs lazily outstretched, was none other than Mattheo Riddle. Clad in a plain grey sweatshirt and black jeans, he eyes you with curiosity, smelling distinctively of smoke. He had most likely been out, as he so usually was at this hour. You shrug, turning back to your work.

“Exams. Need to revise” You mumble, voice cracking. You swallow, massaging your dry throat as you grimace, trying to get back to your writing.

“Revise? Merlin, you're the smartest person in our year. You don't need to be revising” Matthep leans forward, plucking a piece of parchment from your pile and examining it with a raised eyebrow.

You snatch it back, a protective instinct kicking in despite the fatigue. You hated that sentiment. Despised it, even. People always assumed your performance came naturally. That you were simply born with the ability to do well. No one seemed to consider what you had to do to get to that point, how you wore yourself down, day in and day out, till you either passed out from exhaustion or pain, neglecting your most basic needs.

"I might be the 'smartest' person, but that doesn't mean I can afford to slack off," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. The adrenaline from the sudden interruption starts to ebb away, leaving you feeling even more drained.

Mattheo leans back, momentarily caught off guard by your defensiveness. He had never seen you this on edge. He was so accustomed to seeing you as this familiar presence during the school day his partner for the many lessons that he didn’t have his friends in. The two of you would work together and on rare occasions, hang out with one another in the common room as well. It was a rather unlikely duo, the king of Slytherin and the academic prodigy. Yet, More often than not Mattheo found himself seeking out your presence. He never admitted it outright, but he hugely admired you. Your intelligence, your drive, it all captivated him. There were times when he hoped he could be only half the person you were.

How funny it was, for you felt the very same thing when you saw him. He seemed content. Happy. He was loved by nearly everyone. Popular, with a fun social life. He had everything you wanted without putting in any of the work.

You wanted to be like him. But you weren’t. And if you wanted anything like what he had, you had to work damn hard for it. So that's what you did. With a small sigh, you turn back to your work.

“Hey,” He says gently, his voice softening slightly. "I’m sorry. I say stupid things sometimes.” He apologies, brows furrowed as he looks at your back facing him.

“It's fine. I should be saying sorry. You didn't say anything, I just…. I’m just a bit tired, that's all.” You mumble, apologising as you get up. You stretch, a yawn escaping your lips as you wearily rub your eyes.

“I'm gonna run up to my room and grab some more parchment. I’ll be down in a second,” You say, shrugging off your school robe as you turn to walk away. You ascend the stairs leading to your dorm, tossing your robe onto the sofa next to Mattheo as you do so.

Your robe slides off the sofa and hits the floor, a faint clinking sound echoing through the empty room as you disappear.

Curious, Mattheo looks down at your carelessly discarded robe. He reaches down, picking it up. It weighs heavier than it should be, and Mattheo can't help but feel a twinge of curiosity, He eyes the now empty staircase before reaching into your pocket, fingers brushing against a smooth glass vial.

Not just one, but a few.

Frowning, he turns out your pocket, and four identical glass vials tumble into his lap. Picking one up, his frown only deepens as he reads the label.

“Wideye potion?” He mutters to himself, the confusion on his face morphing into something else as the pieces fit in place.

He had admired you for your intelligence and drive, and now he was confronted with the reality of your struggles. The contrast between your achievements and the seemingly carefree moments he sought with you becomes stark. He berates himself for not having noticed early, for having let you fall down such a destructive path.

Jaw clenched, he gazes at the piles of books you had been working through, rolling the empty vials between his fingers as the sound of your approaching footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts.

You pause in confusion, noticing the scrutinising depression plastered on his face as he looks up at you, rolls of parchment bundled in your hands.

"What's the Wideye potion for?" Mattheo questions, his voice cutting through the silence with an uncomfortable heaviness. He holds up the empty vials as evidence, his gaze piercing through the exhaustion in your eyes.

Caught off guard by the confrontation, you glance down at the vials and then meet Mattheo's eyes. A brief moment of silence hangs in the air, the crackling embers of the fireplace filling the empty silence.

“Research. For uh, potions.” You respond, internally berating yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse.

Mattheo's expression remains stern, a mix of frustration and genuine concern etched on his face.

"Don't bullshit me," he says, his tone direct and uncompromising. "I found these in your pocket, and 'potions research' is a shit excuse. I’m going to ask you again. What’s the wideye potion for?"

You shift uncomfortably, feeling small under his scrutinising gaze You clear your throat, speaking.

"It's just to stay awake, you know? To keep going. I only take it in extreme circumstances" you explain, your voice betraying the exhaustion that has settled in.

Mattheos jaw clenches, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he looks to the side with a sigh, visibly frustrated.

“Extreme? And what would that be, hmm? Because right now I'm looking at four empty bottles, and God knows how many more you’ve thrown away.” He snaps, his expression softening as he looks at you.

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you struggle to find the right words. Why on earth were you close to tears? Why did you feel like crying?

“I-” You start, trailing off as you stare at the floor.

Mattheo cuts through the silence, his tone still stern but laced with concern. "This isn't okay. You're smart, and you know better. You can't keep doing this to yourself. What if something happens? What if you collapse or get seriously sick? It's not worth it."

After a moment, Mattheo's expression softens, and he exhales deeply. "When was the last time you ate?" he asks, the concern evident in his voice.

Shit.

You pause, hesitating before admitting quietly, "Breakfast...yesterday."

Mattheo's features tighten at your admission, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration, anger, and genuine worry. He rises from his seat and strides towards you, his footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

"Yesterday? Are you serious?" he says sharply, his voice carrying a weight of both concern and disbelief.

You remain silent, unable to meet his eyes, feeling the shame and vulnerability washing over you.

“Seriously? Fuck, what’s wrong with you? Why would you do that to yourself?” He chastises you, and you snap.

“I have to! You don't fucking get it, do you? I don't have anything else to fall back on.” You start, dropping the parchment onto the table in front of you.

Mattheo's expression shifts from concern to confusion as you lash out. "What are you talking about? You have plenty more than just academics. You're talented, you're smart, and people care about you. Why are you reducing yourself to just grades?"

You scoff, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Talented? Smart? What does that even mean? It's just a facade, a cover-up for the fact that without these achievements, I'm nothing. I don't have friends; I don't have hobbies or interests. What am I without my grades?"

Mattheo tries to interject, "You're a person with-"

But you cut him off, "No, you don't get it! I'm just a number, a ranking, a test score. Everything I am is tied to how well I perform academically. Do you know what it's like to feel like the only thing you're good at is studying, and even that's slipping away?" You snap anger evident in your tone as you spin around to face him, your weary eyes meeting his.

“It’s the same thing every single day. I wake up, bury myself in books, and push myself to the brink just to feel like I matter. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I don't talk to anyone. I’ve spent my whole life isolating myself and neglecting my most basic needs for this! If I stop now, then what's left of me?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes, and you hate yourself for showing such vulnerability. Mattheo's stern demeanour softens as he watches you unravel.

"I can't stop, Mattheo. I can't afford to. Because if I do, what's left of me?" Your voice trembles.

Mattheo's heart drops at your words, guilt and hurt clawing at his insides. He can’t fathom the idea of you suffering so much, and him being blind to it. How could you not notice how incredible of a person you are beyond all of this? He’d give anything in the world for you to see yourself through his eyes. For you to feel the way he feels when he's with you, even for a second. To know that he’d do anything you asked him to because he cared for you. Not the one who gets outstanding on all their tests.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mattheo finally speaks, his voice softer, genuine concern written across his face.

You shake your head, a mix of frustration and desperation in your eyes. “Because you wouldn’t understand. No one does. They just see the grades, the perfect student. They don’t see the mess behind it all. And I can’t let them. I can’t let anyone see me like this.”

Mattheo moves closer, his expression shifting. “You’re wrong. I do understand. Maybe not completely, but I want to. You don’t have to face this alone.”

You scoff, wiping away a tear. “Why? What do you care? You have everything, popularity, friends, a life. I’m just the study partner, the smart one. I can’t burden you with this.”

Mattheo remains silent for a second, before he speaks.

“Every other Sunday, you go down to Hogsmesde and buy a hamper of sweets form Honeydukes. You take it to the children’s school and volunteer there for an hour. Everytime you visit, you make their day.” He starts.

"You're not just grades," he says, his voice gentle. "You have quirks that make you who you are. Like the way you absentmindedly tap your foot when you're deep in thought. Or how you always carry a small notebook, and I bet it's filled with more than just class notes. I've seen you doodle in the margins."

He continues, "You have a wicked sense of humor, even if you don't show it to everyone. I've heard you snort-laugh during our study sessions. And don't even get me started on your taste in music.How you call that dastardly jazz music, i’ll never understand, but you can’t resist humming along to the tunes of the Wizarding Wireless Network when you're studying. Your fondness for Chocolate Frogs and your inexplicable aversion to pumpkin juice.”

Mattheo's eyes light up, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls more details. "Remember that time in Charms class when you made your quill dance across the room just to see if you could do it? Or when you brewed a prank potion that turned the water in the Prefects' bathroom blue for a week? You have a mischievous side that not many people get to see." He continues, looking down at you sincerely. He remains silent for a second, eyes scanning over your face before he steps back, sighing.

“I don’t know how to do this emotional, sappy bullshit. I don’t do it. But with you, I do. I want to. Other people want to. That’s what you do.” He says, voice quiet.

You remain rooted to your spot, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude as you stare up at Mattheo. How did he know all that? Why did he know all that?

“You noticed?” You speak up, voice alarmingly quiet.

He looks at you as though you’ve just asked him whether the sky is blue.

“Of course i’ve noticed. It’s impossible not to.” He murmurs, and you know he’s being honest.

Tears prick in your eyes again, and it’s as though all that exhaustion and neglect has come crashing back down on you tenfold after Mattheo had called you out. You try blink them away but alas, you simply couldn’t. Before you can even say anything, Mattheo steps forward, pulling you into his chest as he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. He holds you tightly, not even entertaining the thought of letting go as your tears soak his sweatshirt, tentatively accepting his embrace. His heart clenches at every tear that falls from your eyes, and he can’t tell if he’s horrified or accepting of the fact that he’d give up everything to relieve you of your burdens, even if only for a day.

He rubs your back soothingly, and you can’t help but let it all out.

It’s rather cathartic, really, because you've held onto this weight for so long, and now, in Mattheo's arms, it feels like a moment of release.

As your tears eventually subside, you pull back, both embarrassed and utterly shattered. You look down, sniffling as you wipe away your tear stained eyes when Mattheo hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

People often said that the eyes were a window to the soul. You never really understood that, but in this moment, you felt as though you were gazing into the very depths of Mattheos being.

With a tenderness that betrays the boundaries of ‘just friends’ , he wipes away your tears with his thumb, looking down at you.

“Come on. Let’s get you up to rest, yeah?” He hums, quietly. You nod, having to tear yourself away from his touch.

He leans down to pack away your stuff, not letting you handle a thing as he throws your stuff over his shoulder.

“You can stay in my room, if you’d like. Theodore’s out for the night so I can take his bed.” Mattheo says.

You consider it for a second. You didn’t particularly fancy heading up to your room with Mattheo, for fear of your roommate awakening to see you in such a state. You nod, speaking.

“Yes please.” You say, voice embarrassingly hoarse from having cried so much. You pray Mattheo didn’t notice.

Of course he did. But, he chose not to draw attention to it, instead resolving to run down to the kitchen to get you a cup of tea.

You follow Mattheo into his room, which you were no stranger to. Having projects together meant endless hours of collaborating, and opting to avoid being pestered by your roommate and her friends (who had a rather amusing infatuation with Mattheo), you worked in his room instead.

“Help yourself to some clothes if you’d like. They’re on the right.” He says, carefully draping your school bag and robe onto one of the desks. You thank him, smiling softly as he cleans the mess he had left.

“Go lie down. I’ll be back in a second” He says, turning away as he exits his room. Swiftly walking down to the kitchen, his head is reeling with thoughts of you.

He chose not to confront the feeling gnawing at him in light of your breakdown. He didn’t want to deal with that just yet. In no less than 10 minutes he’s carefully treading up the stairs to the dorms once more, a cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some small crackers in the other.

You hadn’t been eating, nor drinking, and the idea of you neglecting yourself so much sent Mattheo into an uncomfortable state where he found himself riddled with anxiety.

Just friends, right?

He clicks open the door to his room with his elbow, precariously walking over with the tea and crackers in hand as he goes to set them down on his bedside table. His eyes flicker over to you, and a small smile tugs at his lips as he sees you already fast asleep, curled up under the covers. The sight of your slumber brings a warmth to Mattheo's heart. He watches you for a moment, taking in the soft rise and fall of your breath, the delicate features that are usually tense with stress now softened in sleep.

The sight brings him more peace than he wishes to admit, and the looming reality that he had to eventually confront only pressed down on him further.

But for now, he didn’t care.

Because in your peace, he found happiness. And he’s sure he’d never find anything else more beautiful.

Possessed by a wave of sentiment that betrays his usual self, he can’t resist reaching out to tuck a stand of misplaced hair behind your ear. Before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he leans down and presses a soft , brief kiss to your forehead.

He pulls back and finds himself slightly taken aback by his own actions. The quiet room, filled only with the soft sounds of your sleep, almost seems to amplify the beating of his heart.

Mattheo stands there for a moment, looking at you with a mix of tenderness and confusion. Then, shaking off the unexpected surge of emotions, he retreats to Theodores bed , slipping out of his clothes as he goes to lay down. He had to resist the urge to turn around and catch a glimpse of you once again, and lets out a small sigh as he shuts his eyes.

Mattheo Riddle was not a man of sentiment. He was not soft, and he most certainly did not go out of his way for others.

You had changed that. And he couldn’t figure out whether the prospect was one he was ready to welcome.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader comfort

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lightseoul · 1 month ago

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im surprised no one asked for this yet but please do no. 17 for the 2k milestone 💌 your works are amazing!!!! 🥰🫂

hello, elle! this ask gets a fast pass because SAME i was just waiting for someone to request this number, so thank you!!! and i just want to quickly thank you as well for all the love you've shown my works, i see and appreciate you sm <3

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

17. "DID YOU BUY ME FLOWERS?" (1.3k)

ping.

you startle ever so minutely at the chime that just reverberated across your car, briefly interrupting that one song that’s been on repeat for the last few days. as your speakers resume playing the familiar melody, you glance at the phone held in place by your handy mount, and you can’t help the smile that creeps up your face when you see the notification.

(6:54 PM) katsuki🧡 : Will be down in a sec.

you kissed him goodbye and called out a ‘take care’ just this morning before he left for work, but it feels like it’s been more than 24 hours since you last saw each other.

maybe you can chalk it up to your own workday being brutal and full of mishaps, but you’re lucky enough to have been able to leave on the dot instead of working overtime like the man who just texted you.

you were set to go on a dinner date, what with today being a friday and there being a new sought-after ramen shop that just opened earlier this week downtown. the plan was to meet back at your shared apartment so that he could drive you both to the restaurant, but a message from him at 4 in the afternoon saying he had to patrol overtime required you to do a little bit of adjusting.

which explains why you’re now parked right in front of the ground riot agency, essentially picking up your boyfriend.

tapping your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, you peer through the window to your right, eyeing the entrance to the building. true to his word, #4 pro-hero dynamight emerges from the glass doors, now wrapped in casual clothes instead of the hero gear he left home in this morning.

you barely make out him scanning the parking lot with that signature scowl on his face, but the angry expression instantly morphs into a look of recognition when he spots your car.

the man starts jogging toward you, and as he gets closer and closer to where you’re stationed, that’s when you notice he’s carrying what suspiciously looks like a bouquet of flowers.

but you don’t even get to react because, in a matter of seconds, he’s already opening the door to the passenger’s seat.

as he slides into the spot beside you, you’re instantly hit with the comforting smell of burnt caramel and that signature perfume of his that never fails to make you just a tad bit light-headed and, quite frankly, dumb.

“hey, babe,” bakugou greets you, before leaning over the console and placing a firm hand on the crook of your neck, bringing you in for a kiss.

despite yourself and the sheer number of times you’ve done this, you still flush when you feel his tongue brush over your lower lip just ever so slightly, which you’ve long identified as his way of asking for permission.

you’ve never been the type to deny him, and so you relent.

you barely stop yourself from groaning when the wet muscle enters your mouth, and for a moment you just sit there—brain empty—as he kisses you fervently, his grip on you unrelenting as ever.

bakugou katsuki doesn’t half-ass things, and that includes kissing you.

eventually, when you think he’s satisfied enough and aptly satiated, he pulls away, and it takes you a moment to ground yourself back to reality. he must’ve noticed, because the cocky son of a bitch only smirks to himself before moving again.

dazed, you watch your boyfriend as he stirs in his seat and grabs the bouquet you completely forgot about from under his feet, thrusting it toward you.

“here.”

your eyes dart back and forth between the bunch of pink tulips and the man, “are you being serious, right now?”

his eyebrows instantly furrow. “what? ‘course i am. picked them up during patrol. knew you’d like ‘em.”

at his mention of the item, your gaze drifts to the thing that’s been sitting in wait in your backseat.

bakugou studies you for a beat, probably wondering what the fuck is going on, before following your line of vision.

you brace yourself for his confusion or maybe even stunned silence in reaction to it.

but neither of those comes.

what does come, is something close to indignation.

“…who the fuck gave you that?”

you feel your face contort in confusion. “what?”

at that, bakugou turns even more toward the backseat, staring down the poor bouquet of orange lilies that absolutely hasn’t done anything wrong to be met with such disdain.

“which dipshit gave you those, hah?” he spews, evidently miffed. “was it that stupid coworker of yours who’s calling himself your fucking work husband?”

“what? no!” you exclaim, because why the hell would he think you’d even accept in the first place?

even with your denial, though, bakugou isn’t looking too pleased, now closely resembling a petulant child.

a cute, jealous, petulant child—

—holding a collection of tulips.

you try to tamp down the grin that’s fighting to take over your features, knowing better than to make him feel embarrassed for getting riled up over the idea of other guys being around you. reaching to the backseat, you take the assortment and quickly fix the areas that inadvertently got folded during the drive over, ultimately handing it to the man.

only the said man looks at you like you just grew horns.

it takes him a second to reply, voice gruff and low when he asks, disbelieving: “did you buy me flowers?”

you really don’t know how else to respond, so you nod. “got them on the way here. they were on display and they reminded me of you.”

at that, bakugou doesn’t say anything, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the bursts of orange.

but he doesn’t move to take them off your hands or something.

you feel your smile faltering just a little. “you don’t like them?”

he looks up at you, like your voice just brought him back from where he was deep in thought. “yeah—no, they’re nice.”

before you get to dwell on what nice means and if he really meant that or was just being courteous, bakugou wordlessly coaxes the flowers from your grip and sets them alongside the ones he got you.

once they’re secure in the tiny space beside him, he then leans over the console again, before planting a lingering kiss on your lips.

one that tells you all the things he can’t bring himself to say—at least at this exact moment.

one that’s definitely saying thank you and i love you.

and maybe, if you read into it close enough, an i love it—give me more in the future.

you eagerly return it before he can pull away.

you don’t think bakugou noticed, but on the silent drive to the restaurant (after you spent ten more minutes in the lot making out), you stole a glance just in time to catch him sniffing the flowers (the ones you got him) and seemingly fighting the upturn of the corners of his lips.

he also brought the bouquets with him to the restaurant, which he absolutely didn’t have to. when you playfully called him out on it, he told you off by saying you can’t just leave flowers in a car for various reasons. you listened to him as he went on and on about why that’s so, but the redness of his ears sort of gave him away.

and when you got home, the first thing he did when he thought you weren’t looking was grab two vases and get to work arranging the tulips and lilies together, placing them side by side at the center of your dining table.

it wouldn’t be until two weeks later, however, that you accidentally bump into his bedside table, causing the book he’s about halfway done reading to fall on the floor.

and when you stoop down to pick it up, you see that he’s on page 280, to be exact.

and marking that halfway point is a dried lily.

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theshitpostcalligrapher · 15 days ago

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COUNTDOWN to Open Askbox Event: Requests will be Open on November 17, 2024

time for the countdown to the next openaskbox event!

Openaskbox streams are when i get to the bottom of my request inbox, during which the askbox will open for the first time in months and everyone gets a chance to yeet up to three free requests my way. there’s a few rules you gotta follow for your request to be considered, but I’ll post more about that on the day of.

I will endeavour to write as many requests as I can during the event (which lasts around 6 hours) live on stream so people can hang out, chat, ask about calligraphy and the like whilst listening to some tunes.

When stream time’s up, the askbox will close again and I’ll use the remaining hundreds of unanswered asks to fuel my regular 4 posts/day card posting schedule until the next time we run dry.

See yall on tumblr and on the twitch stream then!

There are: 6 days left til we're open!

#calligraphy #holy shit im so tired i can't believe we're doing this concurrently #with holiday hell month #i think i will perish but here we gooooo

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hedgehog-moss · 2 years ago

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On the eve of planned nationwide demonstrations, I want to offer an overview of the ways the protests in France are being handled by the government so far (and if what you’ve heard is that this is over a 2 year increase in retirement age, please do take a minute to read this post to get a better idea of the context)

1. In Paris on March 21, a CRS (cop) threw a tear gas grenade in the air towards protesters (they’re supposed to throw them near the ground); the grenade landed and exploded on a protester’s head. (x)

2. Massive use of tear gas at every protest, on this vid from March 17 you can see the Place de la Concorde (largest public square in Paris) drowned in tear gas. (x)

3. In Paris on March 20, video of a CRS with a baton hitting protesters who are cowering against a wall (x)

4. CRS grabbing demonstrators in (illegal) chokeholds and dragging them by the neck (x)

5. In Strasbourg on March 21, police trapped about a hundred protesters in a narrow alleyway and tear gassed them from both ends of the alley so they couldn’t escape; an asthmatic person lost consciousness; people who lived there opened their doors and let the protesters enter their houses to get to safety. (x)

6. In Paris on March 20, a CRS shot a protester with an LBD riot gun (rubber bullets) and shouted at him “Pick up your balls now, fucker” (x) (an allusion to the several instances in recent years of protesters having testicle injuries from LBD guns - and non-protesters too, in 2015 a Muslim teenage boy lost a testicle after being shot by a cop with rubber bullets when he was shooting firecrackers in a park on July 14th / Bastille day). A few seconds later in the video another CRS tells the one who said that “careful there’s a camera”

7. In Paris on March 21, a group of 4 or 5 CRS who were dispersing demonstrators, threw a homeless man to the ground who had been shouting at them (hard to hear what he said, the first sentence is “How can you do this job?”), kicking him in the head while he was down and mocking him when he couldn’t get up, calling him a ‘fatso’ and ‘sack of shit’ (the woman you can hear at the end of the video is yelling at the CRS to help the guy get up and telling them “do you lack humanity to this point?”) (x)

8. That same day Macron gave a speech on TV in which he said “the crowd [= the protesters] has no legitimacy against the people, who express themselves through their elected representatives” even though he passed his reform without a vote from the elected representatives—and considering polls show the vast majority (>70%) of the country is against the reform, the “people” and the “crowd” are one and the same. Today (March 22) he gave another TV speech in which he compared what’s happening in France right now to the January 6 US capitol attack.

9. During today’s speech Macron also said “minimum-wage workers have never seen such an increase in purchasing power” which is a mad thing to say in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and he used the term ‘smicard’ in this sentence— the minimum wage in France is called the SMIC and smicard is a derogatory word for minimum-wage workers. He decried the “extreme, unregulated violence” of protesters but had nothing to say about the unregulated violence of his police forces, and instead stoked the fire with contemptuous language that angers people the day before a planned mass protest.

10. Hundreds of protesters (and even people who weren’t protesting but just nearby) have been arrested and taken into custody in “preventative arrests”; the vast majority were then released due to “absence of an offence.” Here’s a thread by a woman who was arrested in Paris along with 11 other women (one was a 17 year-old girl) for taking part in a peaceful protest. They spent 20 hours all in one cell, were only allowed to go to the toilet if they left the door open, were frisked and had their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. Also, in Nantes on March 14, four young women age 18-20 reported having been sexually assaulted by police during body searches while participating in a student protest.

And a thread by a 19-year-old Black student who spent 48 hours in custody last week along with 4 other people who were arrested in Paris as they were walking down the street. Lots of racist shit in this thread. He had already spent 14 hours in custody after a protest a couple of days before, and ended up being charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken.

This article in Le Monde from yesterday (it’s in French and unfortunately paywalled) talks about people who took part in last week’s protests having been handcuffed and searched in their underwear then released free of charges the next day; a lawyer comments how this is clearly meant to discourage people from demonstrating. The article also mentions two 15 year old Austrian boys who were on a class trip to Paris and were rounded up with a group of demonstrators, so the Austrian embassy had to intervene. (Journalist mentions sarcastically “We don’t know if these high schoolers’ DNA samples were taken.”)

11. There are videos from various protests of journalists wearing the press armband being threatened, hit, or shoved to the ground by police. In Montpellier yesterday, a journalist took this photo as a CRS was pointing his rubber bullet gun at his head and another was running at him with his baton telling him “I don’t give a fuck about your press card” —the photographer managed to run away. (x)

This is all from the past ten days (and mostly from the past two days) and far from an exhaustive list, there's so much outrageous stuff happening (like the Minister of the Interior lying and saying participating in an undeclared demonstration is illegal, when it’s not) but it gives a good idea of what French democracy looks like under Macron. The above photo says it all really. And thank you to all the people who continue taking part in the protests and strikes.

#frpol #police violence #not sure what to tag this as #i know it's very far from the usual theme of this blog but people should know what a shitshow this country is rn #all the photos are from the tweets that i've linked

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snowysosturn · 3 months ago

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Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 19

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 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start to mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, angst, fluff, tension, guilt, swearing, betrayal, confrontation

Matt's POV

Sitting alone on the couch, I ran my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of everything. Y/n had gone off to my room a couple of hours ago, completely drained from all the crying she’d done. I couldn’t blame her, the weight of what she’d just unloaded was enough to break anyone. But now, with the silence of the room hitting me, I was left alone with my thoughts. And they were spinning out of control.

The betrayal, the realization that Emily had been cheating on me, hit me like a punch to the gut. It was like I was suddenly seeing everything with a new set of eyes, and the truth was uglier than I could’ve imagined. She’d been using me and manipulating me, all while I’d been trying to keep our relationship together. And with Alex? That was the part that really stung.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. How did I not see this coming? All those times Emily had been so insistent on knowing where I was, who I was with, what I was doing - she’d been projecting her own guilt onto me and being honest all it did was push me away. I thought she was just insecure, maybe a little paranoid, but now I knew better. She wasn’t worried about me cheating. She was terrified I’d catch on to her own bullshit.

And Y/n.. She didn’t deserve any of this. She’d been so good to Alex, always supportive, always there for him. The fact that he’d betray her like that, with Emily of all people, it made me sick. But even more than that, I was angry at myself. I’d known something was off for a while, but I’d let Emily manipulate me, let her drive a wedge between me and Y/n when she was the only person who actually understood what I was going through.

My mind flashed back to the day we went skating. The way Y/n’s eyes lit up when she was on the ice, how she’d laughed so freely, how she’d looked at me with a kind of warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time. That day, something had shifted for me. I knew, in my gut, that things were over between me and Emily. But I’d been too much of a coward to face it, to really think about what that meant.

And now? To now know everything Y/n found out that day, gave me a new perspective on everything. Now, it was too late to pretend everything was okay. The truth was out in the open, and there was no going back.

I glanced toward my room, where Y/n was asleep. She had no idea how much she meant to me, how much I cared about her.. how much I was starting to fall for her. But I couldn’t help feeling guilty. We’d crossed a line. Sure, we were both in these fucked up relationships, but that didn’t make what we did right.

Or did it?

Alex had betrayed her. Emily had betrayed me. Did that mean we had a free pass to do the same? Part of me wanted to justify it that way, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple. What Y/n and I have, whatever it is, felt real. It wasn’t just a reaction to being cheated on. It was something that had been building for a long time, even if neither of us wanted to admit it.

But where did that leave us now?

Emily didn’t know that I knew. Alex didn’t know that Y/n knew. We were sitting on this massive secret, and sooner or later, it was all going to blow up. I just wasn’t sure how to handle it. Should I confront Emily? Break things off before she could try to worm her way out of it? Or should I let it ride until she and Alex got back, confront them both at the same time? But they were my own thoughts, I knew I had to respect the way Y/n wanted to go about it too.

I stood up and started pacing, the silence of the room amplifying the chaos in my head. I’d been in tough situations before, but jesus, nothing this messy.

One thing was clear. I couldn’t keep pretending. Not to Emily, not to myself, and definitely not to Y/n. She deserved better than that. We both did.

The thought of losing Y/n, of her thinking that everything we’d shared over the last week meant nothing, was unbearable. I needed to be honest with her, but I also needed to protect her from more pain. I didn’t want to rush into something just because we were both hurting, but I also couldn’t deny what I felt for her.

My heart raced as I tried to make sense of it all, knowing that whatever decision I made, it was going to change everything. One way or another, the next few days were going to bring things to a head, and I had to be ready for it.

I just hoped Y/n would still be by my side when it was all over.

I opened the door to my room quietly, the soft creak of the hinges barely audible in the stillness of the night. Y/n was sprawled on the bed, cuddled up to Mr. Wrinkleton, my old stuffed animal that sits on top of my bed. The sight was almost too peaceful, and for a moment, I was tempted to slip under the covers next to her, just to hold her and forget about the chaos waiting for us. But then I heard the front door opening and the muffled voices of Nick and Chris coming through.

I sighed and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. Nick and Chris were coming in from Tara’s party, and I needed to make them aware of my nights events without giving away too much.

“Hey, Matt!” Nick called out, his voice a bit louder than necessary, probably from a few drinks. “What did you and Y/n get up to?”

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my tone casual. “Ssh ssh..” I gestured. “We just chilled out. Y/n got a bit emotional during the night, so she went for a lie down in my room. She’s still asleep, so let’s keep it quiet.”

Nick nodded, but I could see the concern in his eyes. “I hope she breaks up with that piece of shit when he gets back tomorrow night” he said, his voice dripping with venom out of pure backing for his friend.

I felt a bit of awkwardness at his words. The weight of everything I’d learned about Alex and Emily was still heavy on my shoulders. How could I answer that? I had to be careful, especially with everything I knew now. I settled for a neutral response. “Yeah, I hope so too. I know she’ll be fine. She’ll find someone who’ll treat her right, I know it for sure.”

Chris, who had been listening quietly, offered a supportive smile. “If Y/n is still sleeping, you can crash in my room tonight.”

I hadn’t even considered sleeping elsewhere, as much as I wanted to sleep beside Y/n, I knew I couldn’t. I agreed with a grateful nod. “Thanks, Chris. I’ll be down in a bit.”

Nick and Chris went off to their respective rooms, and I walked back to mine. I glanced at the closed door, my mind full of conflicting emotions. I crossed the room and gently pulled the blanket up over Y/n, tucking her in to make sure she was comfortable. I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, my heart aching with the desire to make everything right for her.

With one last look at her peaceful face, I left the room and headed for Chris’s room. As I settled into the bed, my mind was a whirl of thoughts, about Y/n, about Alex and Emily, about what the next few days would bring. Tonight had been a whirlwind, and as I lay there in the dark, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change.

Y/n's POV

I woke up feeling slightly disoriented. I blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings, only to remember that I was in Matt’s room. I was still in my work clothes from yesterday, and as I looked around, I noticed that Matt wasn’t there. The other side of the bed was untouched, and disappointment hit me. I had hoped he’d be there, but I understood why he wasn’t.

I stretched and rubbed my eyes, feeling the remnants of last nights emotional rollercoaster. I decided to get up and grab some water, feeling dehydrated from all of last nights crying. As I stepped out of the room, I noticed that the kitchen was already occupied.

I reached the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Chris, who was shockingly cooking breakfast. “Six little mini sausages in the paaaan” he sang out in a strained voice, completely absorbed in his culinary performance. Chris’s antics never failed to make me smile, no matter how exhausted I was.

“How was your night last night Chris?” I asked.

“It was great, but the whole internet is dying to know why Matt wasn’t at Tara Yummy’s party.” Chris joked.

Matt was at the counter, I laughed as I looked at him. Our eyes meeting, I felt a rush of relief. His gaze softened as he took in my disheveled appearance. “Hey” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I gave him a small, grateful smile. “Better. Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

He nodded and motioned for me to take a seat at the kitchen table. “No problem. Just sit down and relax. I’ll sort out breakfast once Chris finally decides to stop playing with his sausages.”

Chris looked up from his cooking with a grin. “Oh, come on, you know this is the most important part of breakfast!”

Matt rolled his eyes, but his expression was full of amusement. “Sure, sure. Just don’t set off the smoke alarm again.”

I chuckled softly and took a seat, watching the scene unfold. It was oddly comforting to see Matt and Chris interacting so casually. The chaos of the past few days seemed to fade away for a moment, replaced by the normality of their morning routine.

Matt joined me at the table, his eyes still holding that tender concern. “I’m glad you’re here” he said quietly, we knew Chris couldn’t hear a thing as he now had his headphones on. I could hear the faint sound of Ken Carson in the distance. “I didn’t want you to be alone last night.”

I felt a warm flutter in my chest at his words. “I appreciate that. Last night was.. intense. I didn’t expect to end up staying here, but I’m grateful I did.”

Matt gave me a reassuring smile. “Well, you’re welcome anytime. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad we had that talk. I know things are messy right now, but I think we’re heading in the right direction.”

Before I could respond, Chris clattered his pan onto the stove and turned around with a triumphant grin, removing one side of his headphones. “My breakfast is served ohhhh yeaaah.” he announced, holding up a plate of what looked like a decent breakfast of some sort.

Matt and I laughed as Chris took his plate off the counter, giving us a casual wave before he headed downstairs to eat in his room. The kitchen was now just Matt and me, and I felt a sense of calm as Matt moved around, preparing breakfast.

“What would you like for breakfast?” Matt asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Pancakes, waffles, french toast?”

I didn’t have to think twice. “Pancakes, please. They’re my favourite.”

Matt smiled and began to get everything ready. As he started mixing the batter, he glanced over at me, his mood slightly shifting, “I have to go pick up Emily and Alex from the airport later.”

The mention of Alex and Emily reminded me of the awkwardness and tension I had been trying to push to the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.

Matt’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts. “Do you want to come with me? Or do you think that would just cause more issues?”

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. The idea of all four of us in the car, with Matt and I aware of the truth while Alex and Emily remained clueless, felt almost unbearable. The thought of facing Alex and Emily with Matt by my side overwhelmed me. It might be best to take some time for myself, to clear my head and prepare mentally for everything that was about to happen.

“I think it might be best if I stay home,” I said slowly. “I have work in a couple of hours anyway, so I should head back home after breakfast, I’ll need a new set of work clothes since I slept in these last night.”

Matt nodded, understanding. “Thats understandable, but I’ll bring you to work if you like? You can change into some of my clothes if you want, and I’ll throw your work clothes in the wash while you eat your breakfast.”

I appreciated his thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Matt. That would be really helpful.”

After changing into Matt’s clothes while he cooked, we chatted casually about the upcoming day. He did his best to keep the conversation light, focusing on everything but the looming confrontation with Alex and Emily. It was clear he was trying to ease my nerves, and I was grateful for it.

When breakfast was ready, Matt served me a stack of fluffy pancakes with a generous helping of syrup. We ate together, the conversation flowing easily.

The drive to workt was quiet but comfortable. Matt's presence was soothing, a reminder that even though things were complicated, I wasn’t alone.

When we arrived at Target, I thanked Matt for his kindness and for making the morning a little easier. He told me he’d update me when he collect Alex and Emily later to keep me in the loop.

I walked into work and checked the planner for the day, shocked to see that today I was on checkouts. It had been a while since I had last been on them but the interactions with customers kept me occupied, providing a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in my personal life. Each scan of an item, every exchange of pleasantries, was a momentary escape from the anxious thoughts about the confrontation with Alex that awaited me later.

During a brief lull in customer activity, I decided to tackle the mess that was my hair. I had a hair tie on my wrist, so I fumbled with my fingers to claw my hair back into something presentable. The process wasn’t as smooth as I’d hoped. As I tried to gather my hair, I felt my fleece catch in one of my hoop earrings, the wool snagging on the tiny faux diamonds. The earrings were a bargain, just $8 on Amazon for a pack of six. I used up all six earrings, to fill the three lobe piercings in each ear.

Despite my efforts, my hair remained a hot mess, mirroring the mess I felt inside. It was one of those days where the internal chaos seemed to transfer over to the external one. It wasn’t just the hair, it was everything. The uncertainty of the upcoming confrontation, the strain of keeping up appearances, and the raw emotions that I had been trying to keep at bay.

I took a deep breath and tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing on the tasks at hand. The time at work passed in a blur of customer interactions and routine tasks, each beep of the register was a step closer to the evening. All I could do was try to stay grounded, deal with the present, and prepare myself for whatever came next.

I arrived home just after 7pm, a half an hour before Alex and Emilys flight was due to land, giving me just enough time to take a quick shower. The warm water helped to ease the tension in my muscles, but it couldn’t wash away the anxiety chipping away at my insides. I knew I had to face him soon, so I wanted to look presentable, to feel like I had some control over the situation, so I focused on the small things like washing my hair.

When I stepped out of the shower, I felt a little lighter. I wrapped a towel around myself and approached the mirror, brushing my wet hair. That’s when I noticed it, one of my hoop earrings was missing. The first lobe piercing on my right ear was bare, the hoop lost somewhere during the day. I must have lost it at work, probably when my fleece snagged on it earlier.

I stared at the empty space where the earring used to be, feeling an odd sense of loss. It was just a cheap earring, easily replaceable, but in that moment, it felt like more. I almost related to that missing earring - lost, unsure of where I belonged, not knowing where or when I would find myself again. The earring was a small thing, but it symbolized the uncertainty I felt about everything in my life right now.

But I knew I couldn’t dwell on it. The whole situation. I had to focus on the positives, on what could come from all of this. Moving forward with Matt was a real possibility, a chance for something good to come out of the mess that Alex and Emily had created. I needed to remind myself of that, to hold onto the hope that this confrontation would lead to a new beginning, not just an ending.

As I finished getting dressed, my phone buzzed with a message from Matt.

They just landed. I’m sitting outside arrivals waiting for them. I’ll try to text again when they’re at the car.

I stared at the message for a moment, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Matt was out there, waiting for them, and soon they’d all be in the car together, blissfully unaware of what was coming. Or at least, Alex and Emily would be. Matt and I were on the same page now, united in the truth that we both knew but hadn’t yet confronted.

Taking a deep breath, I put my phone down and focused on getting ready. I couldn’t control what was going to happen next, but I could control how I faced it. I needed to be strong.

At 8pm , I found myself perched at the front window, my heart racing with anticipation. I needed to be ready, to hear when cars pulled in and out of the complex. I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to handle this confrontation, but I knew one thing. I wasn't going to mention Matt. That part of my life, our connection, needed to stay out of this conversation. It was too personal, too raw, and it wasn’t time for that yet.

A few minutes passed, and then I heard a car pulling into the complex. My breath hitched as I carefully pulled back the corner of the window blinds, just enough to get a glimpse outside. Matt's car sat there, idling quietly. My stomach twisted in knots as I watched Alex slide open the back door. The sight of him, sitting in the same spot I had occupied just a few nights ago when everyone went to Top Golf, felt painfully ironic.

Emily's voice rang out as she hopped out of the passenger seat, her tone light and cheerful as she ran around the back to help Alex with his luggage. She threw her arms around him in a quick hug once he had retrieved his cases from the boot.. My chest tightened at the sight, a part of me wondering what Matt was thinking seeing this, knowing everything we did now.

I hoped he felt the same way I did, that this display of affection between Alex and Emily was as jarring for him as it was for me. They said their goodbyes, their voices low but friendly, and then Alex started making his way up the stairs to our apartment, his cases in hand.

I quickly released the blind, making sure I wasn't seen. My heart pounded in my chest as I took a step back, my mind racing with everything that was about to happen. This was the moment. The moment that everything was going to change. There was no turning back now.

I could hear the faint clink of his keys as he unlocked the door, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The air felt thick with tension, the weight of the truth pressing down on me.

It was time to finally put an end to the lies, the deception, the charade we'd been living. And in doing so, I would set the course for whatever came next, whether that was with Matt or on my own.

The door swung open, and Alex stepped inside, looking tired from the flight but otherwise as composed as ever. His eyes met mine, and for a split second, it was like nothing had changed. But I knew better. I knew that this was the beginning of the end.

I stood up as Alex dropped his bags and made his way toward me.

"Hey baby, I missed you" he said, his voice casual, giving off a warm welcome as he pulled me into a hug and lifted me off the ground.

I forced a smile, every muscle in my body tense, bracing for what was to come. "Hey," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. "We need to talk."

Alex set me down, his face shifting from casual to concerned. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.

"No.." I responded, my tone unwavering. "You might want to sit."

The shock on Alex's face was undeniable. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, wondering if he should come clean about something or if this was about something entirely different. We both sat down, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I took the armchair, while Alex sat on the two seater sofa, staring at me from across the room.

"The board of management emailed." I began, my voice stern. "I thought it would be best to tell you in person."

Alex's eyes widened in alarm. "What did they say?"

"They’ve suspended you for six weeks.” I said, watching his reaction closely. "And your captaincy has been revoked. Permanently."

"What?!" Alex exploded, his voice filled with disbelief and anger. "It was a stupid fight! I didn’t even start it.. i-it didn’t have anything to do with me! It didn’t even happen on campus grounds, and they’re going this extreme with it?!"

Alex was distraught, but not distraught enough.

"I got to speak to the board myself.." I added, bluffing to see how he'd react. "When they greeted me, they greeted me as Emily. Emily, Alex Jenkins' girlfriend."

I could see the color drain from his face as he struggled to find the words. He was cornered, and he knew it. It may have taken a few lies to get there, but it’s what I needed to do.

"Emily was out the night the fight happened, t-there’s obviously a mix up," he stammered, trying to cling to any thread of denial he could find. "I swear, that’s all it is."

But his voice trailed off, his earlier anger shifting to a frantic desperation to justify why this punishment was unfair, to shift the blame anywhere but where it belonged.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before continuing. "Emily was with you that night, yes you're right. But are you sure the fight wasn’t because you two were.. holding hands? Because your teammates didn’t like that you were cheating on your girlfriend?"

The accusation hung in the air, heavy and damning. Alex flinched as if the words themselves had physically struck him. His face paled, and his eyes darted away from mine, desperately searching for an escape.

"I-I.. don’t know what you’re talking about" he stuttered again. He sounded defeated, his lies crumbling around him.

"Don’t lie to me, Alex." I said, my tone sharp. "I’m not stupid. I know what happened, and so do you. Your teammates saw it. They saw you with Emily, and that’s why they confronted you."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his composure slipping further with each passing second. "It wasn’t like that.. They.. they misunderstood."

"Did they?" I shot back, my anger flaring. "Or are you just trying to convince yourself that what you did wasn’t as bad as it really was?"

Alex had no answer. He sat there, staring at the floor, not able to maintain eye contact with me as his hands clenched into fists on his knees. The room felt suffocating, the truth finally laid bare between us.

His face turned a shade paler, the blood draining from it as my words sank in. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. The silence that followed was deafening, the truth hanging heavily between us.

I took a deep breath, my voice cold as I continued. "When you were gone I decided to clean a few things around the apartment." I said, forcing myself to stay composed. "You know, to keep myself busy.. And guess what I found? The condoms we bought last year together. The unopened ones. Unopened because we haven't fucked in over a year."

I watched his expression shift from confusion to horror as he realized where this was going.

"Yeah Alex, I found them." I said, my voice hardening. "Except they weren’t unopened anymore. Would you like to tell me why they were opened? Why would a box of condoms we never used, would suddenly be missing some?"

Alex’s hands were trembling, his eyes wide as he looked at me, desperately searching for something to say, some excuse to get himself out of this. But there was nothing. He was caught, and we both knew it.

"It’s not what you think" he finally managed to choke out, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"Then what is it?" I demanded, my anger boiling over. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been fucking around behind my back and now you’ve been found out.”

Alex's eyes darted around the room, his mind clearly racing for a way out, but there was no escape. The truth was laid bare, and no amount of backtracking could undo the damage he’d done.

"You don’t understand.." he whispered, his voice hoarse. "It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was a mistake. A mistake Y/n I promise."

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "A mistake? A mistake is hitting the curb and getting a flat tire. A mistake is forgetting you have plans. But what you did, Alex? That’s a choice. A deliberate choice to betray me. And now you have to live with that choice."

He sat there, defeated, his shoulders slumped as the weight of his actions finally seemed to hit him. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him, seeing him so broken, but then I remembered the lies, the betrayal, the hurt.

And any sympathy I might have felt disappeared.

"I took care of you for those four weeks." I continued, my voice trembling with a mixture of rage and betrayal. "I was there for you every single day, doing everything for you. And all that time, you let me believe you were the victim, that you were just unlucky to be in that position."

His head dropped, eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet my gaze.

"But you weren’t unlucky, Alex," I spat, my anger bubbling over. "You were in that position because of the consequences of your own actions. You got yourself into that mess, and you let me clean it up for you. How could you stand there and lie to my face every day while I bent over backward for you?"

"I didn’t want to hurt you.. I can't believe I done that to you." he mumbled, his voice barely audible, as if that could excuse what he had done.

"You didn’t want to hurt me?" I repeated, incredulous. "Well, guess what? You did. You hurt me more than you could ever imagine. And not just because of what you did with Emily, but because you let me carry the weight of your lies, all while pretending to be someone you’re not."

Alex’s silence was deafening, his guilt hanging in the air like a thick fog. He had no defense, no excuse that could undo the pain he’d caused.

He finally looked up, his eyes filled with regret, but it was too little, too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

"I’m sorry" he whispered, but the words felt hollow, empty. They didn’t change anything.

"Sorry doesn’t fix this. It never will." I said quietly, my anger giving way to exhaustion.

"I want you out of this apartment right now." I said, my voice cold and unwavering. "I pay for this place, so you have no say. Get your shit and leave."

Alex stared at me, his mouth slightly open “Where do you expect me to go?” He said, as if I’m meant to feel pity for him.

“I couldn’t give a fuck Alex, maybe Emily might let you stay with her.” I said abruptly. The shock of the situation was starting to settle in when he realized there was no room for negotiation.

"And, I’ll be needing your car key." I continued, holding out my hand. "It’s now back under my name. You do not have access to anything I was providing before."

His eyes widened, but I didn’t flinch. He slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out the car key, and placed it in my hand. The weight of it felt like a final seal on everything I was reclaiming. My space, my dignity, my independence.

Alex walked into our former shared bedroom to gather his things, stuffing clothes and personal items into his bag. The silence between us was heavy, but I didn’t let it get to me. I was done letting him walk all over me. I was done letting him take advantage of my kindness.

When he finally came back out, bags in hand, he looked at me, his eyes filled with something resembling regret. But it was too late for that. He had made his choices, and now he had to face the consequences.

Without another word, he walked to the door. As it opened, he paused, as if waiting for me to say something, to stop him. But I stayed silent, my expression hard, until he stepped outside and the door clicked shut behind him.

I stood there for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in. It was done. He was gone, and I was finally free.

Matt’s POV

I pulled out of LAX and the car ride felt like I was walking on a tightrope. Alex sat in the back seat, his face unreadable, while Emily, who was sat beside me, kept glancing at her phone. The silence was palpable, and every passing minute seemed to stretch out like an eternity.

When we finally stopped in front of Y/n’s building, I saw Alex’s shoulders slump as he prepared to get out. Emily hopped out of the passenger seat to run around and give Alex a hug. The way she interacted with him was so weird to see now knowing everything I do. It made me wish Y/n could see it too, knowing we’d have the same thought process.

As Emily slid back into the passenger seat, the weight of what I was about to confront hit me hard. I started the engine, and we set off towards my place. Nick and Chris were home, but at this stage, I couldn’t give a fuck if they overheard what was about to go down. This was more important than any of their opinions or any sort of eavesdropping.

The drive was excruciatingly quiet. Emily seemed lost in her own world, staring out the window, maybe the jet lag getting to her, but it was almost like I could almost see her mind working, trying to piece together her next move. When we finally reached my place, I barely registered the usual small talk. I just needed to get this over with.

I let Emily use the bathroom and told her to put her cases in my room before we had any sort of conversation. The silence of the house rang loud. I sank into the couch in the living room, ironically the same spot I sat in when Y/n unveiled all that had transpired between Emily and Alex. I tried to collect my thoughts but the room spun with the weight of the truth I was about to unveil.

Before I could formulate a plan or even begin to think about how to confront Emily, I heard the door to my room burst open. Emily stormed out, holding something up in her hand. Her face was flushed with anger and confusion.

"Matt, whos earring is this in your bed?"

a/n: two parts in a few hours.... you'll have to wait a day or two for the next chapter to let people catch up...

a/n 2 : also sorry can we talk about how the reader stood on BUSINESS with alex

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

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

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine.

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close.

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say, “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail.

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon.

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him.

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?”

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos.

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click.

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys.

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious.

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.”

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. ��Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you.

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly.

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you.

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life.

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife.

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris.

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns.

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted.

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before.

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light.

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution.

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat.

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out.

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin.

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths.

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.”

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth.

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants.

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you.

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans.

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned.

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body.

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening.

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means.

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them.

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door.

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions.

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over.

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him.

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway.

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish.

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris.

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing.

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known.

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to.

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means.

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail.

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap.

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over.

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message.

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger.

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t.

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out.

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers.

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.”

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up.

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth.

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat.

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now.

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him.

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad.

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding.

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found.

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it.

A stretcher carrying Harris.

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside.

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris.

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now.

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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lunaris1013 · 1 year ago

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It's Moon Landing Day!

On this, Tumblr's first celebration of Moon Landing Day, my insomnia and I bring you this humble, barely researched post of fast facts!

On July 20, 1969 at 4:17 p.m. EDT Apollo 11 becomes the first manned spacecraft to land on the moon.

Neil Armstrong (commander), Buzz Aldrin (lunar module pilot) and Michael Collins (command module pilot) were the crew.

The Apollo 11 spacecraft consisted of the command module, Columbia, and the lunar module, Eagle.

The crew traveled 240,000 miles from the Earth to the moon in 76 hours.

1:47 p.m. EDT Armstrong and Aldrin, in the lunar module Eagle, separate from the command module. Collins remains onboard the Columbia orbiting the moon.

4:17 p.m. EDT - The Eagle lands.

4:18 p.m. EDT - “Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed,” Armstrong reports. When the lunar module lands on the moon’s surface at the Sea of Tranquility, it has less than 40 seconds of fuel left.

10:56 p.m. EDT - Armstrong says, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” as he becomes the first human to set foot on the moon.

11:15 p.m. EDT (approx.) - Buzz Aldrin joins Armstrong on the moon. The men read from a plaque signed by the three crew members and the president, “Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the Moon, July 1969 A.D. We came in peace for all mankind.”

11:48 p.m. EDT - President Nixon speaks to Armstrong and Aldrin via radio from the Oval Office, “(it) certainly has to be the most historic telephone call ever made.” They speak for two minutes and the call is televised on both ends.

Armstrong and Aldrin spend over two hours collecting moon rock samples and data, and spend the night on board the Eagle.

Text from CNN, image from USA Today

#moon landing day #of course I'm celebrating #armstrong meant to say #one small step for A man #happy moon landing day to all who celebrate

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bruhnze · 5 months ago

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BOXING LESSONS - Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Fluff with a bit of smut, inspired by these pics cause holy hell their arms uhggg, they are fs in boxing lessons together. (imagine watching that, pff id die on the spot).

Summary: Lucy gets a substitute coach for her boxing lessons, but now it's a women, Ona gets jealous.

Wordcount: a very long one sorry; about 3600

Warnings: 18 and up, minors dni, fictional story.

BOXING LESSONS - Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

/// 13:04 ///

Lucy and Ona came back from morning training to eat lunch at home. It was one o’clock and they had a rare free afternoon. Usually they wouldn’t be done until three, four or even five in the afternoon.

While eating lunch they discussed their activities. Lucy had her boxing lesson, what she tried to do atleast once a week and Ona wanted to go to the beach with Coco and Narla.

‘’So you have a substitute teacher today?’’ Ona asked.

‘’Yep, got an email from Mateo, him and his wife are dealing with some personal difficulty’s and that’s why someone else will come today, and he said if i like them, i could continue my year with them otherwise it’ll still be Mateo but then we’ll have to make effort with the scheduling’’. Lucy stated.

‘’Well maybe the sub is better than Mateo, cause you said you needed more challenge, no?’’ Ona said.

‘’Yeah’’ Lucy sighed ‘’i didn’t have the heart to tell him, he seemed so distracted lately, so maybe it is for the better, i’m curious about the replacement tho, hope their good’’.

Ona laughed, ‘’i cant wait to hear your stories when we’re back’’

/// 13:48 ///

While Ona got the dogs leashed up and gathered some stuff to take to the beach, Lucy cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen. She tried to keep up with chores now that Ona practically lived with her, when she lived on her own ,she sometimes left the dishes for a day until she got to them.

But Ona liked the kitchen to be clean and Lucy knew that a happy wife, meant a happy life and it helped that she seemed to earn points with Ona everytime she did something around the house.

After the kitchen was spotless she walked to the bedroom, Ona was changing into a bikini. Lucy stripped aswell, but only to change into her gym clothing.

They looked at eachother while getting dressed ‘’it’s a shame we have to go’’ Lucy swooned while closing the gap between her and Ona, now both fully clothed again.

‘’ I can reschedule my appointment with the beach’’ Ona kissed Lucy briefly ‘’but it is probably better that you’re not late with your potential new coach’’.

Lucy kissed her back and sighed ‘’Yeah probably’’.

They gathered their stuff and walked to their cars. Lucy carried the bags while Ona held the leashes with the dogs.

Lucy helped her girlfriend settle everything in her car and gave her one more kiss ‘’see you in few, don’t forget to relax and maybe take some cute pictures of our little ones’’.

Ona smiled ‘’ I will, good luck with your lesson, don’t act too tough, watch your knee and also have fun’’

‘’Thanks mom’’ Lucy laughed causing Ona to push her away. ‘’Sorry that i care about you, stupid, no go before you will be late’’ with that Ona closed her car door.

Lucy waved and then sprinted to her own car, chugging her sports bag on the passenger seat. She connected her phone to the car to put some music on and drove off.

/// 17:04 ///

Ona had been tanning for a few hours almost ready to go back home again, the dogs were still playing with eachother in the sand, until she rembered Lucy asking for some photos.

She put her clothes back on and snapped some pics of the dogs from different angles. When she thought she got some decent ones she packed her stuff and leashed the dogs.

In the car the dogs layed passed out on the backseat, completely worn out by their beach adventure. Ona got behind the wheel and took a selfie of her with the dogs in the background.

She went through her photos and selected one of Narla, one of Coco, one of them together and the picture she just took to send to Lucy.

@Ona: *shared 4 pictures*

@Ona: we had a great time🏖️🏖️

@Ona: we''ll be home in 25

/// 17:58 ///

After Lucy stepped out of her second shower that day, she had put on a black tanktop and grey sweats and got her phone from her bag. Her and Valentina, as the substitute turned out to be called, had lost track of time a bit.

Her phone was full of incoming messages like usual and as usual one name stood out, Ona, she had sent something a while ago. Lucy opened the message and saw the photos, she read that Ona would be home in 25 minutes, she checked the time and realised how late it actually was.

She texted back.

@LucyB: hi bb, cute pics, they look exausthed

@LucyB: did you have them do laps up and down the dunes😂

@LucyB: anyway i’ll be home soon x, just showerd, sry we lost track of time.

Ona answered right away.

@Ona:nw, im making dinner, i think it will be done when you are here

@Ona: so new coach is good?

@LucyB: yeah she’s great, ill tell u bout her when im back

@Ona: drive safely , see u soon

Lucy was tempted to reply -yes mom- but instead she went for a simple heart emoji.

/// 18:43 ///

Lucy stepped in to their apartment and she immediately put her sports bag in the hall closet and threw her dirty sportswear in the laundry basket. Then she walked to the kitchen. ‘’Hola’’

‘’Hi’’ Ona smiled up, she was on her phone standing next to the oven ‘’a few more minutes until its done’’.

Lucy stepped into her girlfriends space ‘’I have experienced better greetings, I don't even get a kiss?’’ Lucy pouted.

Ona looked up now and had to laugh ‘’ofcourse you get a kiss, sorry i was just watching something a-

Ona became silent and blushed, her eyes landing on lucy's upper body, specifically her arms.

She put her phone on the counter and held out her hands and took a bicep in each.

‘’Meu forta guapa’’ she grinned appreciatively.

Lucy looked at her confused but smiley, her spanish was okay but her Catalan not yet ‘’what? guapa i know but forta?’’

‘’I called u fit, forta is like strong’’ Ona said while tracing her hands over Lucy’s shoulders and biceps. ‘’I like this top, it looks nice on you.’’

Lucy grinned ‘’Fit hmm, soc de teva núvia forta y sexy?’’ (am i your strong sexy girlfriend) she tried in her broken Catalan.

Ona smiled, Lucy knew it got her weak in the knees when she talked, or atleast tried to talk in catalan, or spanish.

‘’Yeah’’ Ona said ‘’almost, its sóc la teva núvia forta i sexy?’’

‘’Yes you are, meu teva núvia forta i sexy’’ (my strong and sexy girlfriend) Lucy tried seductively.

Ona laughed ‘’Nice try but then its: la meva xicota forta i sexy’’.

Lucy groaned and looked up ‘’ugh i wish i would pick it up quicker, i want to be able to talk to you in your mother tongue’’

Ona held Lucy’s face ‘’I think you’re doing good, very good, you put in effort, and i mean, we have our whole lives to practice, right?’’

Lucy kissed her now, smiling into the kiss she talked as their lips were still connected ‘’are you asking to spent the rest of our lifes together?’’ then she pulled away and looked at Ona ‘’because, yes’’

Ona looked at her girlfriend with a wide smile on her face, ‘’no wasn’t a question, it was a promise, you will never get rid of me’’

‘’I dont want to, i’ll never will’’ Lucy cupped ona’s face and went in for another kiss, as the kiss became deeper and more heated, Ona pulled away suddenly.

‘’Lucy!’’ ona called out ‘’you distraced me, don’t you smell the oven?, quick!’’

They pulled out the tray with vegetables and chicken, it was a bit dark but they could stil eat it. They put everything on the table, including two bowls of rice and Lucy poured two drinks. Sparkling water with lemon and ice.

‘It looks good bub, thanks for making dinner’’ Lucy said as they took place at the table.

‘’no thanks, i'm happy to do it, would've been better if you hadn't distracted me, but okay, now tell me about your new teacher’’ Ona said as she started her meal ‘’If she is as bad as you at losing track of time in the gym i dont know if yous two are the best match’’ she laughed with her mouth full.

Lucy rolled her eyes and chewed until her mouth was empty before she spoke ‘’Valentina is her name, she was a professional, but because of injury she became a coach instead, the session was actually really refreshing, wayyy different from Mateo’s style. We first talked about my goal with boxing, she knew i’m a soccer player and then we talked about injurys for a bit and..,, yeah i don’t know actually, the time flew by, she got called actually, she had to go, so then i showered and saw your messages, but next week we planned a session together again.’’

Ona listened to Lucy, she was happy that Lucy had enjoyed herself but that the new coach was a women, that was something Ona was less happy with, she didn’t know why, but the way her girlfriend said -Valentina- got her feeling jealous.

‘’So how old is she’’

‘’huh? Who, Valentina?’’

There it was again, Ona felt it in her bones.

Lucy sighed ’’hmm, i don’t know actually, i guess about my age or something, maybe youger?’’ .. ‘’why’’ she said as she looked Ona straight in the eyes.

Recognising the fiery pupils that only came up when One was jealous.. wait.. was Ona jealous? Lucy thought by herself, why, how, she hadn't even seen Valentina.

‘’okay’’ Ona said poking at her food.

‘’Is someone a bit jealousss’’ Lucy laughed and stood up from the table standing behind Ona, she tickled her and kissed her neck ‘’You’re crazy Ona, my crazy little girlfriend’’ she kissed Ona’s cheek a few times and then flopped back in her chair.

She changed the subject by asking ‘’How was the beach’’

/// 20:03 ///

‘’So you didn’t even swim huh?’’ Lucy asked

‘’nahhh’’ Ona laughed ‘’It’s nice out, but the sea is still wayy to cold’’

‘’did you know that Valentina swims in the seawater whole year round’’

‘’Does she now’’

‘’Yeah, i talked about my icebath, she said she wish she had space for an icebath but that her house is too small and thats why she just does morning plunges in the sea’’ Lucy said

‘’amazing’’ Ona couldn’t prevent the sarcastic tone it came out in.

Lucy laughed ‘’you don’t even know her, how are you already spiting the women’’

‘’well she seems to have made quite an impression on you, you hardly met her yourself and here you are Valentina this Valentina that’’ Ona couldn’t help pronouncing the name angry, she almost spat it out.

Lucy looked amused at her sputtering girlfriend ‘’why don’t you come with me, next week, then you will find out that you are worrying about nothing’’

Those words sparked Ona’s interest, next to meeting this mystery coach, she also had an opportunity to watch Lucy box, something she was farley interested in. She agreed ‘’yes, that could be fun’’

‘’Good’’ lucy said ‘’now, no more crazy talk’’

‘’Okay, but no more saying other people's names when!’’ One said sternly

Aha, Lucy thought, that was what had bothered Ona, she smirked, ‘’but i like saying Ona’’ she cheekily said, knowing full wel that was not what she meant.

‘’Other people!’’ Ona kicked Lucy under the table, ‘’im not other, im yours’’

‘’Hmm, damn right you are, come here’’, lucy said as she patted her lap.

//// The next week //// 19:16 ////

This session was at night, in the context of the other things they had that week Lucy had planned it that way deliberately. Lucy had sent a message to Valentina asking if it was okay if Ona came along for their session, to which the coach had reacted enthusiastically.

They stepped foot in the gym that Lucy was now a regular at since 2022, in the car Lucy had talked Ona through some of the basics but she had said that she was sure Ona would be a natural.

''Hello guys!'' a low voice called out.

''Hey Valentina'' Lucy said.

Ona stopped in her tracks as she faced the women, she had a completely different picture in her head than the woman with the high bun and undercut who stood in front of her. The woman had two tatted sleeves and she was wearing a muscle tee.

Lucy laughed not understanding why Ona had frozen up, she put a hand on her girlfriends shoulder and said: ''This is Ona, it's actually her first time boxing''. thinking perhaps Ona maybe went shy because she only now realized that she knew nothing about boxing.

Valentina walked over to the pair and put out her hand to shake Ona's ''Hi, im Valentina, you can call me Vale btw, and dont worry i love teaching rookies''

Ona put on a smile ''Good, I can't wait to learn''.

Ona laughed out loud on the inside, oh how she had misjudged this!

As they were warming up Vale was mostly giving attention to Ona, Lucy hadn't thought anything off it, after all, Ona was the beginner. Ona thought it was strange, she could do a warm-up.

Ona started to wonder if Vale was flirting with her when she felt her hand on her lower back for the umpteenth time this warming up and Vale kept coming close to explain things.

She tried to eye Lucy, who was completely caught up in her lunges.

''So are you a soccer player too?'' Vale asked.

''Yeah'' Ona anwsered ''Im with Barca, like Lucy, we're on the same team''.

''Ah so that's how you know her?''

''No, she, well it's a long story but Lucy is my girlfriend also'' Ona laughed akwardly ''It's kinda private though, that's why not everyone knows, but with the fans it's better that way''.

''Ah, thats a shame'' Vale smirked

''What'' Ona frowned, finding the smirk weirdly out of place.

''That the fans can be invasive'' ..''and that you have a girlfriend'' she quietly added, but loud enough for Ona to hear.

Ona knew she had not imagined it and was now stopping completely with the exercise she was doing..

Lucy walked over to them ''ah are you guys also done warming up, now we can start with the fun part'' she said while punching the air.

Ona and Vale laughed, Ona hoped Vale would get the hint and stop with her stupid behavior and they could just box.

While Lucy helped Vale get some gloves and wraps and two hand targets from the storage closet, Vale suggested Lucy and her could give Ona a demonstration of boxing first, a little sparring session, before teaching her.

Lucy agreed, as she liked the idea of Ona watching her and last week she and Vale had also finished with a friendly boxing match, which went quite well as Vale adapted to her pace.

Lucy showed Ona how to put on the wraps and gloves, while Vale helped her a bit. After that Valentine also put her gloves on and she explained the idea.

When they had been dancing around each other for a while and Lucy had done some blocking and hitting and Vale had dodged it and attacked back, going back and forth, things started to get a bit more intense.

Lucy was sweating and had a hard time keeping up with Valentina, she couldn’t help but think Vale was trying to show off. But if you knew Lucy at all, you knew she wasn't going to give up.

Ona had watched it all from the sidelines and couldn’t help but admire her girlfriend working hard in the ring, it was maybe even hotter than watching her play soccer.

A few minutes later, when she was forced into the corner and dived to avoid a blow, she thought it was enough and spoke up. ‘’Right, well I think we have showed Ona what boxing is like’’.

She looked at Ona and smiled, noticing concern on her face but also admiration.

Vale smiled ‘’yup, that was good, well done Luce’’, and held up her fist with the glove around it for Lucy to bump, Lucy looked back and gave in to fist bump her, even though she thought it was weird how Vale was behaving.

‘’Okay lets head over to the bags, and practice some punches’’ Vale said as she stepped out of the ring. She got her gloves of and took the hand targets in one hand and she put an arm around Ona to guide her to the punching bags.

Now Lucy was irritated, did Vale think Ona was just a friend of her or something, she should’ve clarified it when texting about bringing Ona. She quickened her pace to join the other two.

Valentina said to Lucy that she could start with Jabs on the brown bag and then do a drill of crosses and hooks.

Lucy sighed ‘’I think I still need to recover a bit from our session just now, I will do the drills in a second, maybe I can watch how my girlfriend does for a bit’’. She stared at Vale with those last words.

‘’Okay’’ Vale said without reacting ‘’Lets start with some easy drills for you’’.

//// 20:32 ////

Lucy was watching Valentina’s every move, it seemed as if she had completely ignored Lucy's comment and Lucy didn’t like it one bit.

Vale walked away for a second to grab some more attributes and Lucy got close to Ona, ‘’Hey, are you okay?’’

Ona smiled ‘’yeah the boxing is nice, I really like watching you box as well’’

‘’Do you think Valeria is acting strange?’’ Lucy questioned

Ona looked straight into Lucy’s eyes, ‘’Yeah do you notice it too? it kinda feel like she is hitting on me, I even told her you are my girlfriend and you just said it again’’.

Now Lucy's blood was boiling, at first she had thought it was all in her head, that she was just jealous, but now that Ona said she didn't feel comfortable, she felt like she could beat up Valentina. ‘’Do you want to stop? Do you want to leave?’’

‘’I don’t know, I want to do this with you Lucy, I get why you like to do this sport and it’ll be nice to have a hobby together’’

‘’Yeah, we can continue to train together, I’ll just teach you for a few weeks, while I'll search for a new coach and when I find one we will be more on the same level, hmm?’’ Lucy came closer to Ona and whispered ‘’This coach kinda sucks, she’s wayyy to comfortable around my girlfriend’’.

Ona laughed ‘’and I was the one who was worrying last week’’

‘’yeah, but I told you then already that it was not like that, and this is your proof , she has good taste but she should know when to piss off’’

‘’Who should piss off?’’ Valentina asked when she came walking back with some rubber bands and other stuff.

‘’We -, we are’’ Lucy stated, ‘’we just got a call and sadly we have to go..’’

‘’But your phones are in the dressing room?’’ Vale asked suspiciously.

‘’Yup’’ Ona said ‘’It was nice training with you, but we really have to go’’

As they walked away Lucy grabbed Ona’s butt and looked back, seeing that Valentina had seen her do it she slipped her hand under her girlfriends shirt and kissed Ona's cheek and head.

In the dressing room they got their bag and Lucy wanted to get her stuff to take a shower, but Ona grabbed her wrist, ‘’No, we’re supposed to be in a hurry remember, let’s go home’’

‘’No I think she got the part where it was just an excuse’’ Lucy grinned and cupped Ona’s face to kiss her.

‘’I want to go home Luce’’ Ona said softly ‘’let me show you how much I love being yours’’

Lucy gulped ‘’damn, lets go then’’

//// 21:41 ////

Ona quickly opened the door, Lucy following behind her with their gym bag. In the hallway Ona pushed her girlfriend against the wall, ''I liked how you showed her I’m yours when we were walking away'' she said while she kissed her neck, already breathing heavy.

Lucy laughed as she looked up ‘’hm, yeah, well I hated watching her be so up in your space and I will not be working with her again’’

‘’thats a shame because it was kinda hot when you two were sparring in the boxing ring’’ Ona said against Lucy’s ear. ´´Your so muscular´´ she said as she felt Lucy's shoulders and arms.

Lucy lifted Ona up, holding her up with her hands just below Ona´s ass. She always got very horny when Ona adopted such a worshiping position.

Ona straddled her legs around Lucy´s waist and as they were kissing Lucy walked them to the bedroom, when they bumped into the doorframe, Lucy broke their kiss ´´Oh sorry baby, didn´t -

Ona didn't let her finish, ''Sshh, I didn't feel it , you know im a bit of a masochists anyways '' Ona smiled cheekily.

Lucy gulped, she knew Ona liked it rough but it was always special to hear again that Ona really thought it was such a turn on, Lucy herself was more of someone who got off on being praised, maybe that's why their dynamic worked so well.

She threw Ona roughly onto the bed and told her to undress. Ona immediately obeyed and undressed clumsily ‘’wow so well behaved’’ Lucy smirked. ‘’Don’t even have to direct you further, immediate follow-up, let's keep that up, right bub? Are you gonna listen to me really good?’’

‘’Yeah’’ Ona said, voice raspy from being so turned on.

(sorry for edging, but i don't know how to continue so that was it😘)

unless maybe someone has some ideas and sends them my way

#lucy bronze #ona batlle #lucy bronze x ona batlle #ona batlle smut #lucy bronze smut #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso imagine

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finnsbubblegum · 2 years ago

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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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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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Right Kind of Wrong (18)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n resolve their feelings. wc: 3k A/n: You have no idea how happy I am being able to write fluff after seventeen parts. SEVENTEEN. Only happiness from now on (which isn't much because sadly there are two parts left)

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

THE FIRST THING she became aware of was the constant noise ringing in her ears. The soft hum of the room greeted her as she slowly drifted into consciousness. Feeling slightly disoriented, she blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the muted light filtering through the half-closed curtains as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Hospital. She was in a hospital. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as a sudden wave of panic threatened to engulf her, but then a gentle, calm voice cut through her confusion. Her gaze shifted to the side, and relief washed over her as she spotted Spencer sitting on a nearby chair, engrossed in the book he was holding.

For a moment, she observed him—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the strands of hair that fell across his forehead, and the intensity in his eyes as they traced the words. His soft-spoken tone was soothing, and after a moment of listening to him, she realized he was reading the book aloud for her.

"...and with that, Sherlock Holmes deduced the mystery, much to the amazement of Dr. Watson," his voice filled the room, and she couldn't help but smile faintly at the choice of literature. She shifted in the bed, and the quiet rustle of sheets prompted him to look up from his book.

"Hey," he greeted softly, placing the book on the bedside table. "You're awake."

She responded with a nod, accompanied by a small, appreciative smile. "Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

"I found a copy in the waiting room. Someone must've left it," he explained. "Thought I'd borrow it before giving it to Lost and Found."

Her gaze lingered on the tired lines across his features. "And you decided to read when you could have slept?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up again."

A soft smile adorned her face but her brows twisted into a frown as she registered his words. "Again?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "The doctor said it's common among patients suffering from dehydration."

Her frown deepened, and the weight of the situation began to sink in as she processed his words. Her fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the thin hospital blanket for comfort.

"Is Eric..."

"He's injured, although not fatally. My shot wasn't aimed for anywhere vital," he explained, shifting his chair closer. "But he's in custody. You're safe now."

Relief washed over her, but a flicker of fear remained in her eyes. "I don't remember much after what happened."

"That's understandable," he said gently. "Your body and mind went through a lot. It might take some time to process everything."

She managed a weak nod and her eyes traced the outlines of the IV line snaking into her arm. "How long have I been here?"

Spencer glanced at the clock on the wall, his brows furrowing slightly. "About a day."

"A day," she repeated, the concept feeling both distant and immediate. The realization settled in and a pause hung in the air before her gaze shifted to him again, seeking clarification. "As in twenty-four hours?"

His face twisted into a frown, uncertainty clouding his features. "...yes?" he replied, unsure where she was going with this.

"And I've been sleeping for most of the time?"

"Well... yes."

"And you? How much have you slept?" When she was met with silence, her expression softened as her eyes took in his weariness. "Why are you still awake, Spencer?"

He sighed, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "I just... I didn't want to leave your side."

She studied him, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion that clung to his face. Deep lines etched across his forehead and the shadows underneath his eyes spoke volumes about everything he endured. The fading bruises, the slouch in his shoulders, and the tousled strands of his hair all painted a picture of someone who had weathered more than their fair share.

It was evident that even the hospital room had taken its toll on him, and the subtle change into a fresh shirt was his small attempt to regain a pretense of normalcy. But who was she to judge? Here she was, lying on the bed, all weak and worn out. She couldn't deny that she, too, must be presenting a less-than-picture-perfect image.

With a gentle sigh, Spencer eased into the chair beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"

She took a moment, assessing the sensations in her weakened body. The dull ache in her limbs, the lingering throbbing in her head.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," she finally responded with a smile, trying to ease the tension. But his head suddenly seemed to be elsewhere. He absentmindedly nodded, and it was clear to her that something was on his mind.

"Hey," she spoke softly. "What's wrong?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and she waited for his response. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally found the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Confusion clouded her eyes. "For what?"

"For... everything." He let out a sigh. "For hurting you, for not being there when you needed help, for not realizing what was happening sooner. For not seeing the signs."

She shook her head. "You can't blame yourself. You were there when it mattered, and you saved me."

"But I should've protected you from the start," he insisted, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I should've stayed with you—"

"It's not your fault. Don't apologize for something that he did."

"But I could've prevented it from happening if I didn't leave your house in the first place."

She studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Look, if you're going to keep on apologizing, might as well do it in comfort." She shifted over on the bed, making room between them. "Come here."

His gaze flickered between her and the mattress. "I'm not sure that's allowed."

"What? Do hospitals have a policy against sharing a bed with visitors?"

"Well, technically—"

"Spencer," she interjected. "Just lie down with me. Please."

He hesitated for a moment, but after a brief internal debate, he relented, deciding that being close to her trumped any hospital regulations. Slowly, he settled onto the bed, careful not to disturb any wires or machines. But then she suddenly sat up and Spencer frowned. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Outstretch your arm."

"What?"

"Outstretch your arm," she repeated.

He followed her instructions, and she laid back down, resting on his arm. As she nestled against his side, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through him. He simply looked at her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement when she kept pressing herself against him. His hand instinctively fell on her waist. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Testing a theory. I read somewhere that lying on someone's arm can regulate their heartbeat and help with stress. And given your guilt-ridden apology, it seems you could use a bit of stress relief." She then settled a hand over his chest. "But it doesn't seem like it's working, your heart is beating really fast."

He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as her fingers traced gentle circles over his chest, the warmth of her touch sending ripples through him. "Well, you're lying unexpectedly close to me, I wasn't exactly prepared for that."

She laughed softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Just... try to relax. You've been through a lot too. You don't have to hold yourself together for my sake."

He slowly nodded, letting himself sink into the moment with her. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against his side, the gentle pressure of her hand over his heart. But guilt still rippled through him when he studied the weariness in her eyes, or the IV line sticking into her arm, or the bandage wrapped around her hand. He hated seeing her so weak that he couldn't help but blurt out another apology.

"I really am sorry."

She shifted slightly, turning to look at him. "I know you are."

"I wish I could have done more to protect you," he continued.

She reached up, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You did what you could with the information you had. No one could have expected what happened."

He sighed, and she continued to trace gentle lines across his face as they fell into a comfortable silence. But much to her dismay, it didn't last long when he suddenly interrupted their moment. "I... I have another apology."

She was the one who let out a sigh this time. "What is it now?"

"I..." he hesitated, searching for the right words as his eyes wandered around every corner of the room but on her. "I-I want to apologize for being rough on you that day when we... when we—you know."

She raised an eyebrow, amused at where this conversation was heading. "You mean when we had sex?"

He nodded and diverted his gaze away from her, looking slightly embarrassed. She laughed and cupped his face, forcing him to look back in her direction. "Why are you suddenly so embarrassed?"

His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he met her gaze. "I'm not used to discussing these things so openly, especially when I feel like I mishandled the situation."

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. "Spencer, we were both in a difficult place that day, I wouldn't say you mishandled anything." She leveled her gaze on him. "I trusted you. I knew you weren't going to hurt me, which you didn't, and I can assure you that I enjoyed the sex very, very much."

"But I-I tied you," he insisted. "I used handcuffs on you. Handcuffs."

"Well, did it ever occur to you that I liked being tied? That I like it when you're in control?"

He studied her, and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he fully registered she was being serious. "You do?"

She chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Yes, Spencer, I do. I thought it was very obvious." She gave him a smile, fingers tracing soothing patterns on his cheek. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can come up with a safe word."

"What's a safe word?"

His brows furrowed in confusion, prompting her to burst into laughter. She couldn't help but find his innocence endearing.

"It's something you say to stop or slow down during sex, especially if things get uncomfortable or overwhelming," she explained, her laughter subsiding.

"Oh," Spencer said, a hint of realization dawning on his face. "That makes sense."

She nodded, still smiling. "So the next time we explore our sexual needs, we can use our safe word."

There was a pause before he murmured, "Next time?"

Her smile faltered at his question. "Do you not want a next time?"

Noticing her sudden withdrawal, he placed a hand behind her, pulling her closer to him. "I want there to be a next time," he confirmed and sighed in relief when he felt her relaxing again. "You know, I just want to spend more time with you in general."

Her smile returned, warmed by the sincerity in his words. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I want to take you to dinner."

"Dinner sounds lovely."

"And take you out on a date."

Her smile widened. "What kind of date do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking of the museum. Or maybe the library." Then his eyes lit up with a hint of excitement. "There's also this planetarium I've always wanted to visit. Did you know that the planetarium nearby has one of the most advanced digital projection systems? It's supposedly a state-of-the-art projector that can simulate the night sky with incredible accuracy."

A genuine smile graced her lips. The excitement in his voice brought a sense of relief to her. It wasn't just a reaction to his enthusiasm about their planned date, but also the subtle transformation in his demeanor. He seemed more relaxed.

"That sounds amazing." And just because she couldn't stop herself from flustering him, she added, "But the real question is, will there be sex in this future date?"

Spencer's reaction was immediate, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm serious," she laughed, thoroughly enjoying his momentary discomfort. "I want to know what I'll be expecting."

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "I guess... If you want to, then yes."

"Of course, I do, but I want to hear it from you." She grinned when he gave her a pointed look. "Spencer, you've given me more orgasms than I can count, why is it so hard for you to say the word sex?"

Spencer shook his head, attempting to brush off the embarrassment that lingered. "You're unbelievable."

Despite his attempt to resist, there was a subtle twinkle in his eyes that betrayed the amusement he couldn't fully conceal. A reluctant smile stretched across his lips, and he finally conceded, "Yes, Y/n, we will have sexual intercourse in the future."

She laughed, the sound echoing in the room. "How romantic."

Her teasing expression softened into a warm smile, and Spencer couldn't help but be captivated by the warmth in her eyes. Feeling a surge of affection, he gently pulled her closer. There was a subtle shift in the air. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she nestled into his embrace. But it was hard to fully linger in his arms when her IV line seemed to be getting in their way.

"Hold on, I think I have to turn around," she said, her fingers tracing the thin tubing connected to the IV. Spencer released his hold. "I should probably get off the bed."

"Don't you dare," she threatened, and turned to the other direction gracefully, adjusting herself without much difficulty. Once settled, she pressed her back against his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her again.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

She nodded, a contented smile on her face. "So much better."

Spencer held her a little tighter, and somehow, his hand found its way to hers, softly intertwining their fingers. He held on to her as if he didn't want to let go, as if the simple act of holding her hand offered a sense of grounding in the aftermath of everything that had happened. And with a contented sigh, she leaned back into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. She reveled in the moment because life had taken them through twists and turns, and yet, here they were—finding solace in each other's company. The warmth of his hold enveloped her like a protective shield, and for a fleeting moment, the worries that had weighed on her seemed to dissipate.

Gratitude swelled within her—a deep, heartfelt acknowledgment of this moment, of being alive, and of the shared embrace that grounded her to the present.

"Hey, Spence?"

"Hmm?"

Her fingers gently traced over his hand, still intertwined with hers, savoring the connection that seemed to defy the odds. "Thank you for staying with me."

She felt a reassuring squeeze from his hand.

"I'm here for as long as you need me."

"Don't you think this is a little too much?"

Garcia threw Morgan a glare as they walked down the hospital corridor, her heels echoing in the narrowed space. Her eyes then shifted to the balloons in her hand, the container of freshly baked cookies she made in the other hand, and the bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers dangling from Morgan's arms.

"She deserves a warm welcome after what she's been through," she countered. "And it's my first time meeting her in person, I can't come empty-handed. That's so unlike me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, sure, but we're just visiting. It's not a party."

Garcia huffed. "I believe in spreading happiness wherever I go. And besides, who wouldn't want flowers, balloons, and delicious cookies after being stuck in a hospital bed?" She looked over to the rows of the door down the hallway. "What room did Reid say she was in?"

Morgan glanced down the corridor lined with identical-looking doors. "Room 108."

Garcia led the way, her heels clicking purposefully as she cradled the balloons and cookies with a determined air. Morgan followed, still holding the bouquet, and couldn't help but shake his head at Garcia's unwavering commitment. As they approached the door, she paused to adjust her cookies and then knocked lightly on the door, only to be met with silence.

She turned to Morgan. "Do you think she's asleep?"

"I don't know." He pulled out his phone and tried to dial Spencer's number, only to be met with a constant line of ringing. "He's not answering."

"I think we should just go in."

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Garcia took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room beyond was dimly lit, with the curtains drawn, followed by the soft hum of medical equipment filling the air. It seemed like an ordinary hospital room, but what seemed out of place was the sight before them.

Because Spencer lay on the bed with her, both peacefully sleeping.

"Oh my god," Garcia gushed, stepping further into the room. “Oh my god.”

Morgan couldn't help but wear a surprised smile. "Well, that explains why he wasn't answering his phone."

Garcia carefully placed the balloons at the foot of the bed and Morgan followed behind her, setting the bouquet on the bedside table. She then motioned for him to place the container of cookies there as well before she held her hands together, watching the scene before them. "This is like a scene straight out of a romance movie."

Unable to contain her excitement, she took out her phone and snapped a discreet photo of them. Morgan shot her a disapproving look, but she just waved her hand dismissively and whispered, "It's for the memories."

"Come on," he insisted, grabbing onto her arm. "Let's leave these two to rest."

"One more picture!"

Garcia's voice echoed in the room, and Spencer stirred in his sleep. Morgan and Garcia stilled for a moment, holding their breath. They waited for another second, and thankfully, the couple seemed to be too deep in slumber to hear the commotion in the room.

Morgan gave Garcia a pointed look. "That's enough, Garcia. Let's go."

"Give me a minute,” she lingered. “Let me take one last video."

Morgan shook his head. He took her phone out of her grasp, ignoring her protest, and finally dragged her out of the room—leaving the two lovebirds behind.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: that last scene is kind of a bonus, I just thought it was cute

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