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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Summary: Will's birthday party brings back some familiar faces and gives Eddie the perfect opportunity to make amends with Corroded Coffin, but an unexpected interruption might have him hurtling towards his old ways.

Warnings: some dirty talk (18+ only just in case), drinking/drunkenness (everyone is over 21), pregnancy and labor complications, mentions of past bullying

WC: 8.2k

Chapter 14/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special shoutout to @storiesbyrhi and @corroded-hellfire for helping with the fluffy sections and making this piece strong.

Afternoons at Hawkins Preschool are predictable: storytime on the carpet is followed by the kids’ pack-up routine, and once all belongings are shoved into their proper backpacks, they file out the door to go home.

Predictable is good. It’s safe. And it certainly doesn’t include a fire drill half an hour before dismissal.

Herding nine children through the bustling hallways and trying to ensure no one is left behind is overwhelming enough. Factor in the ear-splitting alarm and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through your students once they re-enter your classroom, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for chaos.

Instead of fighting a losing battle to keep the kids calm and quiet, you’d opted to plunk them down with myriad art supplies and called it a day.

Now, after the last student had been picked up, you and Will are left cleaning the mess they’d made. Broken crayons are scattered across the tabletops, there’s Play-Doh of various colors stuck to the floor, and gold glitter—when did you even acquire glitter?—dusts every surface.

“Seriously…who thought that that timing was a good idea?” Will grumbles, tossing a Crayola stub into the crayon basket. He adopts a nasal, mocking tone. “‘What would help out our teachers? Oh, I know—let’s interrupt their dismissal routines!’”

You laugh despite your own exhaustion. Somehow, you’ll have to muster up the energy to tutor Harris tonight.

Will reaches into the cupboard to grab his car keys, turning back around with a smile that he only offers you when he needs something. “Could I ask you for a little favor?”

There it is. “How little?” You cock one brow as you clip a stack of papers together.

“Eensy weensy. Miniscule. Microscopic–”

“The more you say it, the less I believe you.”

“Okay, okay,” Will acquiesces, twirling his keyring around his forefinger. “So, for my birthday thing on Saturday…a bunch of my childhood friends are gonna be there. Mike, Dustin, Suzie, Lucas, Max, Jane…” he lists them, ticking off each name on his fingers. “Anyway, I was hoping that maybe you could talk to Eddie about a Corroded Coffin reunion? I know they’re on a hiatus or whatever, but if anyone can convince him to play, it’s you.”

He’s not wrong; you’re the most likely person to get Eddie to do, well, anything. But asking him to make amends with Danny and Gareth and getting their band to play a gig three days from now seems like a mountainous task.

Will is staring at you, hands clasped together pleadingly. He’s too optimistic for his own good, and you can’t help but give in.

“Fine, I’ll try. But–hey, don’t get excited yet,” you warn when he pumps his fist in celebration. “‘Try’ is the key word here. I’m not making any promises.”

Your admonition goes unheeded as Will already considers it a victory. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You give him a small, tight-lipped wave as he dashes out the door. You and Eddie were already planning to attend the party; you’d spent part of last night scouring an art store for the perfect gift. And he and Jeff were back to being thick as thieves…maybe this could work.

“All right, Mr. Harris,” you say with a laugh, hurriedly placing tiles of various shapes in front of him. You need to make the most of the few minutes you have left until Eddie arrives. There’s a soft, familiar flutter in your stomach as you think about seeing your boyfriend, but you know you can’t compete with him for Harris’s attention. “Can you find the…trapezoid?” The inflection in your voice makes it sound like a much more exciting task than it really is, and you hope it’s enough to wrangle his focus.

Harris pokes out his tiny pink tongue as he assesses the tiles. He initially reaches for the blue rhombus, but as soon as his little finger touches it, he pulls away as though it’s on fire. “No…that’s not it.” You tuck your lips into your mouth to suppress your amusement as he thoughtfully taps his forefinger on his lips. A solid ten seconds pass before he triumphantly snatches up the correct tile. “Got it!” he beams, showing off the red trapezoid in his hand.

“You did! You got the trapezoid!” You hold up your hand for a high-five, frowning when he shakes his head. His overgrown curls brush along his eyebrows, and you wonder if it’s your place to suggest that Eddie take him for a haircut. “No high-five?”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, now swiveling his whole body in defiance. “I want…tickles!” He holds his arms out, leaving his torso wide open.

Lips pursed in faux consideration, you lower your voice to a hushed whisper. “Hmm…I think that warrants a visit from the Tickle Monster!” You flex your fingers so they resemble claws; he instinctively scrunches up in anticipation, arms tucked into his stomach. You let out your silliest wicked cackle as your fingers dig mercilessly into his sides in pursuit of his most ticklish spots. Delighted peals of laughter emanate from his chest, and you don’t stop until the buzzer rings, signaling Eddie’s arrival.

Harris’s eyes get wide, mischief dancing behind his pupils. “Do you think the Tickle Monster should get Daddy?” he asks, keeping his voice low despite it only being the two of you.

“Oh, absolutely.” You buzz Eddie in while formulating the game plan aloud. “I’ll grab the pizza and you go on the attack. Once the food is secured, I’ll join you.” You stick out your pinky, and he wraps his own around it.

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His words turn your heart into a chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven, ooey gooey and destined to crumble if handled too harshly. “I love you, too, Harris,” you manage, blinking back embarrassing tears. The flood of emotion is absurd; he probably tells his stuffed animals that he loves them with the same fervor, but you can’t deny the adoration with which he looks at you.

He flings his arms around you in a hug, squeezing tight. Face pressed to your ribs, his words are muffled but still audible when he says, “I don’t know why Daddy says it’s hard to say ‘I love you.’”

He doesn’t have time to further elaborate before Eddie’s knocking on the door. “Special delivery for my two favorite people!” Your heart beats faster with the knowledge that he’s on the other side, that you’ll be able to sneak in a kiss or two.

You and Harris share devious grins, the little boy emulating your monster-esque stance from earlier. He creeps behind you on his tiptoes, and bites back a giggle when you slowly open the door, counting down from three under your breath.

“Hi–whoa!” Eddie stumbles back as Harris barrels into him, little fingers dancing across his lower stomach. You quickly snatch the pizza box from Eddie’s grasp and place it on the table before darting back to where his son has ambushed him. You start on his bicep and let your nails travel upwards until they reach the crook of his neck.

“I’m under attack!” Eddie yelps, twitching this way and that way in a meager attempt to protect himself. “I bring you pizza and this is how I’m repaid?” He easily scoops Harris into his arms, flinging him over his shoulder. Harris lets out an exhilarated squeal, carelessly kicking his sock-clad feet into his dad’s chest. “Jesus, little dude. You’re getting too strong.” Wincing slightly from the pinch in his back as he places the boy on the floor, he gives his tush a little pat and tells him to wash up for dinner, reminding him to use soap and water.

As soon as Harris scampers off into the bathroom, Eddie’s grabbing you by the belt loops of the wide-leg jeans you’d changed into when you got home. One hand slides around your waist and the other finds purchase on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, keeping a listening ear out for the telltale pitter-patter of Harris returning.

“Missed you,” he murmurs into your mouth, and you shiver at the intimacy this closeness brings.

You laugh quietly, biting your lower lip. “We just saw each other this morning,” you remind him, sneaking in another quick peck.

Eddie shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean. Can’t do this while you’re on the clock,” he counters, shifting his grip so both hands rest on either side of your face. You think he’s going to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you today.” He rests the slope of his nose on yours, only snapping out of his trance at the sound of Harris rapidly switching the faucet on and off. “Let me go check on him before this place is underwater,” he whispers, giving your own ass a smack as he shuffles towards his mischievous son, a cheeky grin deepening his dimples.

You do your best to compose yourself, heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Busying yourself by placing pizza slices onto paper plates does little to distract you; it’s as though every neuron is dedicated to flooding your brain with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The way the pads of his fingertips brush against your cheeks when he holds your face. The plush moisture of his lips when he kisses your forehead. The tickle of his brown tresses when he nuzzles into you and takes a deep breath, finally able to relax after a long day.

“Are you expecting a guest?” Eddie pipes up from the kitchen entrance. A perplexed frown overtakes your lips until he gestures to what you’ve laid out in front of you: four slices of pizza, two plain and two with olives, on four plates.

Your vision gets a bit fuzzy with tears when you realize what you’ve done. “No, it’s, um…” Nostrils flare as you huff out a short puff of air, hot under your nose. “Force of habit, sorry.” You’ve been so diligent about only serving three slices, but your preoccupation with his touch had your mind drifting from the task at hand.

It takes him a moment to process what you mean, but when he does, his face falls. It was for Grandma. “It’s okay,” he says, cringing as the words leave his mouth. Because it’s not okay that you’re sad; it’s normal, but frustration still tugs at his heart that he can’t take it away.

It feels wrong to return the slice to the box, so you leave it where it is. Eddie balances the three plates, sliding a plain one in front of Harris. The boy digs in hungrily, sauce caught on the edges of his smile.

“How was work?” you ask Eddie, grabbing a napkin from the pile in the center of the table. It’s a simple question, one that people ask each other all the time, but it stirs up a warmth inside of him. It’s you asking him, fostering a domestic routine that he could follow for the rest of his life. He’d walk through the door of your house, wiping his shoes on the welcome mat you two had picked out together. The kids–Harris, plus another Little Munson or two–would practically knock him down trying to greet him, and he’d engulf them in bear hugs before reaching out to you, kissing your forehead with a murmured, “there’s my girl.”

“Eds?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was good.” He stumbles over the words, trying to clear his head of the fantasy he’d conjured up. “Lotsa paperwork, y’know.” He takes a bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “What about you?”

You shrug, watching amusedly as Harris sinks his teeth into his slice and manages to pull all of the cheese off of the crust in one fell swoop. “The usual. The kids are learning about springtime, so Will decided to do a craft making flowers using finger paint and their handprints.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you agree with a weary grin, “but it was super cute, and Will is great with all that art stuff.” You excuse yourself from the table to get the water pitcher and three glasses, stopping when you remember your TA’s request. “He also asked me if a certain local metal band could play his birthday party on Saturday…?”

Eddie pauses mid-chew, nearly choking on his food. The cheese seems to congeal in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Um, I don’t know about that,” he finally manages, nervously massaging the back of his neck. “I haven’t talked to Danny or Gareth since…”

“I know, but you said you wanted to make things right with them,” you point out. “Maybe Jeff can test the waters? See if they’re ready to talk to you?”

“Maybe.” He averts his gaze, staring at the pizza slice without taking another bite.

You don’t want to further push the subject in Harris’s presence; instead, you turn your attention to the little boy. “Anything fun happen at school today, Har?”

“Nah,” he responds automatically just a half-second before his eyes light up. “Actually, yeah! My friend Charlie ate a bug at recess today!”

“Ew!” you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in pure disgust, as Eddie simultaneously poses the question, “what kind of bug?”

“An ant,” Harris answers his dad nonchalantly, as though ant-eating is an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it is, which is even more unsettling.

“Did you eat any bugs?” You’re afraid of his response; you’re unsure why you even asked in the first place.

To your relief, he shakes his head, a forlorn look on his cherubic face. “No, I couldn’t catch any in time.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” you mutter, turning back to your original task of getting something to drink. Though if the topic of bug consumption continues, you’ll need something much stronger than water.

Could Corroded Coffin play again?

It’s a thought that consumes Eddie for the entirety of his drive home, barely able to listen to Harris yammering about how there’s a coin in his jacket pocket that he doesn’t remember putting there. He throws a few lackluster mhms his son’s way and hopes he’s too distracted by the mystery coin to catch on.

We’re getting the band back together. Well, if Jake and Elwood Blues could swing it, maybe he could, too.

He waits until Harris is asleep to call Jeff. Getting his son to do his bedtime routine is easiest on Wednesday nights; he’s usually exhausted after a full day of school and tutoring. The one time that Eddie could use an excuse to procrastinate, Harris is out like a light.

Go to voicemail go to voicemail go to—

“‘Lo?”

Shit. “H-Hey, man,” Eddie begins awkwardly. “How’s it going? Viv doing okay?”

“We’re good. She’s ready to have this baby already. I reminded her, ‘just two more weeks,’ but then she told me to ‘fuck off’ until I’m the pregnant one, so…” he chuckles, more nervous than amused. “Everything good with you? Harris?”

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just, um,” he struggles to find the words, blurting out the first ones that enter his brain. They come out in a rush before he can stop them. “Do Gareth and Danny still hate me?”

Jeff takes a sharp breath in; his reaction does nothing to temper Eddie’s nerves. “They never hated you. They were just…disappointed? Jesus, I sound like my mom.”

Eddie misses his friend’s anecdote, too wrapped up in his head to fully pay attention. Somehow, disappointed stings worse than the prospect of being hated, especially when the people he’s let down are ones who used to idolize him. “Do you think there’s a way they could be…undisappointed in me? Like, enough to forgive me and maybe play a gig this weekend?”

There’s an extended pause, and then a one-word response: “Christ.”

Eddie can picture Jeff rubbing his eyes in exasperation, and he scrambles to explain. “Will Byers–you remember him? He was in Hellfire; had that weird bowl cut thing going on?”

“Mhm.”

“He’s having a birthday thing at the Hideout on Saturday and asked if we could play. Just a coupla songs.”

Jeff thinks for a moment; Eddie can hear him drumming his fingers on a nearby surface.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night around…6?” he ventures. “I’ll invite the guys and we can…I dunno, figure something out.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.” He’s about to hang up when he remembers to ask, “Can I bring Harris?”

“Of course.”

“Har, slow down!” Eddie’s barely unbuckled his son’s car seat before Harris has wriggled out of the sedan, bolting straight for Jeff’s door.

“But I haven’t seen Uncle Danny and Uncle Gareth in forever!” he laments, reaching the house far faster than Eddie. He stands on tiptoes and rings the doorbell like a madman, forefinger jamming into the button at warp speed. “Uncle Jeff! It’s me!”

Jeff opens the door with a huge smile. “Mini Munson!” He scoops the boy up into a hug. “What’s new with you, little dude?”

“I got a wiggly tooth!” Harris exclaims, jutting out his jaw and pressing his tongue against the front center of his mouth. Sure enough, the baby tooth moves slightly forward, and he giggles. “Daddy says the Tooth Fairy’s gonna come and leave me a dollar,” he matter-of-factly reports. He peeks his head over Jeff’s shoulder, squealing and squirming out of his grip when he spots the two men sitting on the couch. He flings himself onto the sofa and plunks himself down into Gareth’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Gareth chirps. “You’re getting so big.”

“‘M five now. I had a birthday party because I turned five.” He splays out his palm to offer five fingers.

“Did your friends go?”

“Yup!” Harris beams at the memory. “An’ Daddy an’ Grampa Wayne an’ Ms. Sweetheart.”

Danny furrows his brows. “Who’s Ms. Sweetheart?”

“She’s my almost-mommy. Daddy has to fall in love with her first.”

“Is that so?” Gareth smirks at Eddie. His teasing look is the first crack in the wall that has separated the men for the last six months, and though Eddie is thoroughly embarrassed, it alleviates some of his anxiety.

“Uh, Har Bear, why don’t you go hang out with Auntie Viv while I talk with the guys?”

Viv holds out her left hand, looking utterly exhausted. Her right hand rests on her bump, eyes sending a telepathic message to Jeff that they have five minutes—ten minutes, if Harris behaves well—to come to a solution before she needs a break.

Silence filters into the room as Eddie fumbles to address the mess he’s made. If Danny and Gareth are here, they’re at least willing to listen to him, which is honestly farther than he’d assumed he’d get.

He remembers what Harris said about apologizing; technically, what you’d taught him about apologizing: the act of saying sorry, not merely implying it, makes a world of difference.

“I was an asshole,” he starts. It’s not his most eloquent statement, but it certainly gets the point across. “Not just that night at the Hideout, or at our last practice. I was an asshole for a long time before that. And…I’m sorry.” It feels good to say it; it feels even better that they’re nodding, seeming to believe him. “You guys didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Of the rest of the band, Gareth is the one to speak first. “I guess I’m just wondering, why? Why be an asshole to us? We’ve always been there for you.”

“I know.” Eddie fiddles with a thread hanging from his t-shirt, pulling on it until it snaps off. He shoves it in his jeans pocket, not wanting to mess up Jeff and Viv’s place. “Honestly…I’m not sure, but I think it’s because you guys are everything I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny asks, tone heavy with disbelief.

“In high school, I was the one you looked up to. The person you wanted to be like. And then I had a kid with some random chick I thought I knew but barely did, gave up my dreams of being a musician, and started selling weed again just to scrape by. And here you guys are. Jeff,” he motions to the friend leaning against the sofa’s arm, “you have a baby on the way with the love of your life. And all of you have goddamn college degrees and jobs that you don’t despise and don’t require you to hide from the law.” He shoves his ringed fingers into his jacket pockets, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “And I was nothing.”

Gareth scratches at the upholstery with one finger, absorbing everything he’s just heard. “You know we never stopped looking up to you, right?” He gives a short laugh when Eddie’s eyes widen. “Yeah, man. Leaving Chicago so you could take care of Harris? Putting your kid before yourself? That’s pretty badass.”

Danny nods. “Ed, if there’s someone here to look up to, it’s you.” Both he and Eddie visibly relax. Shoulders drop from their hunched positions, thin lips unfurling into smiles. “No matter what you went through, you never gave up. Even if it almost killed us,” he adds wryly, referring to all of the sleep-deprived Corroded Coffin practices fueled by black coffee and pure adrenaline.

“No fancy diploma can teach us how to stand up for ourselves, or how not to take shit from people, or how to be a dad,” Jeff pipes up from where he’s standing. “We learn from you, man.”

Eddie’s cheeks burn at the compliments, unsure how to accept them. He’d walked in expecting to have to beg for forgiveness, and they were the ones reassuring him. It’s now or never, and he forges ahead while he still has the courage. “Do you…can we get the band back together?” Can we be friends again is the underlying plea, but it’s too vulnerable a statement to make. “We’ll keep it low-key, I promise. Work, family, anything comes up…we can cancel or reschedule. And I won’t be a dick about it.”

The three other men look at one another, nod and turn back to Eddie with smart grins and mischievous glimmers in their eyes.

“On one condition.” Gareth crosses his arms over his chest, smirking as he sinks back against the couch. “You tell us all about this ‘Ms. Sweetheart.’”

The Hideout, normally dingy and coated in a film of sticky ale, has been decked out for Will’s birthday party. Helium-filled balloons in every color bob along the low ceiling, vibrating with the thumping bass of the old sound system. Crepe paper streamers–purple, Will’s favorite color–sway gently with the air that rushes in from opening the door. This has to be Marshall’s handiwork, and it brings a smile to your face. If anyone deserves a partner who fawns over him, it’s Will.

You spot him surrounded by a group of people as the bartender slides a row of tequila shots across the bar and into their eager hands. While they’re distracted by alcohol, you take the opportunity to dart towards the backstage area.

Eddie’s there, digging around for his lucky pick. You wrap your arms around his waist, fingers pressed into the soft dough of his tummy.

“Hey, Rockstar,” you murmur against his neck, kissing just below his earlobe.

He turns around, jaw dropping when he sees you in a maroon slip dress. The heels on your feet have you two inches taller than usual, and he has to shift where his gaze normally lands to meet your eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby,” Eddie practically growls, kissing you deeply. One hand presses against the small of your back while the other grabs the plush of your ass, kneading it in his palm. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. How’m I gonna go out there and play with you looking like that?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.” You giggle when he offers up a bemused smile. “If you do a good job tonight, I’ll give you a reward.” You let your fingertips graze over the metal teeth of his pants zipper, feeling him twitch at your light touch.

“You’re dangerous,” he winks, delivering another kiss; this time, he gives your lower lip a little bite when he pulls away. His kohl-rimmed eyes draw you in just as they did that first night you’d met, but now you dive into them without the fear of drowning.

A tactful “ahem” from the now-open doorway startles both you and Eddie, having been floating in an embrace that’s equal parts comfort and desire.

“Sorry to interrupt the lovefest, but we’re on in five,” a man’s voice calls from the doorway. You turn around to see the other three Corroded Coffin members standing there, amusement evident in their expressions.

“You must be Ms. Sweetheart,” one of the guys, soft curls resting atop his head, pipes up. His tone is teasing, but not mocking; the nickname is said with admiration and affection. “I’m Gareth, by the way.”

“Danny,” the one with tight, wiry curls offers, giving a small wave.

Jeff just shrugs. “You know me.”

Eddie grabs his guitar, slinging the strap across his body. His pants’ fly is tight, and he wills himself to calm down before it’s time to perform. He hasn’t worried about being hard on stage since he was nineteen, but thoughts of your bodies perfectly melding into each other has him subtly adjusting himself as he turns his back to his bandmates.

“See ya out there, baby,” he says before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The brief contact between you has you biting your tongue in self-beration for suggesting that the band play tonight. All you want is to dance with him, allowing the steady flow of alcohol to dull your inhibitions as you pull him impossibly close. Not caring who sees or what they think.

But this night isn’t about you or Eddie. It’s about Will, your TA-turned-friend who has kept you sane amidst your adorably chaotic students and their decidedly less adorable and more chaotic parents. He wanted Corroded Coffin to play his party, and that’s the least you could do for him.

Will’s already teetering between tipsy and inebriated, breath tinged with the scent of tequila as he introduces you to his friends.

“This is my amazing boyfriend, Marshall.” He smacks a wet kiss to the man’s cheek. “And these are my friends from growing up: Dustin and Suzie, Lucas and Max, and Mike and Jane.” His face melts into a sappy grin as he leans on Marshall to hold him up. “You guys! We’re all in looooove!”

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin mutters, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before turning his attention back to you. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Will raises his empty glass. “I’ll take another–”

“Not you.”

You manage to sneak in a quick conversation with Max, Suzie, and Jane before Corroded Coffin starts their set. Max is finishing up her Masters in English literature at New York University, set to graduate in two months. Suzie programs for NASA, and though Florida is a far cry from her home state of Utah, she loves her job. And Jane is a social worker at a local adoption agency, the cause close to her heart, as she was adopted by Chief Hopper years ago.

“Damn,” you laugh, taking a small sip of your vodka soda. You’re having so much fun that you don’t even care that it’s been watered down. “You’re all such badasses!”

Your admiration of their collective girl power is cut short by the sound of Corroded Coffin taking the stage. It’s as though they’d never taken an extended break; just picked up right where they left off. You cheer so loudly that there’s a pinch in your throat, but you push past it. It’s more than applause. There’s so much tucked away in your yell: I’m proud of you; you’re a rockstar; you’re my person forever, if you’ll have me.

“Hello, Hawkins!” Eddie bellows into the mic. There’s no missing the grin on his face. He’s happy. He’s in his element. He’s where he belongs.

“No way!” Lucas exclaims, awestruck as he turns to Will.

“Dude, you got Corroded Coffin?” Mike mirrors his friend’s excitement. He slings an arm around Will’s shoulder and pulls him in for a side hug. “This is fuckin’ awesome!”

“The first song of the night goes out to our guest of honor, Will Byers!” Everyone hoots and hollers as Eddie plays the opening chords to The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go. Eddie told you he remembered that the song was one of Will’s favorites growing up; his older brother had gotten him into the band. Sure enough, Will’s bopping to the rhythm, singing every word, albeit quite off-key.

Corroded Coffin plays a few more songs from their usual setlist, nerves dissipating with each note, before Eddie speaks into the mic again.

“This next one is for my beautiful girlfriend,” he announces, eyes gazing into yours. “Baby, if my teachers looked like you, I actually would’ve gone to class.”

He nods at Gareth, who starts playing an incredibly complicated beat. As soon as you hear it, you feel your cheeks heat up. The rest of the guys join in on their own instruments, and Eddie oozes bravado as he sings.

“T-Teacher stop that screamin’ Teacher don’t you see Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.”

Max leans in to you and whisper-shouts, “I’ve known Eddie for years, and I’ve never seen him so…happy.”

Lucas overhears his girlfriend and adds his two cents. “That’s because we’ve never seen him in love.”

Warmth spreads all over your body, but it’s not from embarrassment. Allowing yourself to believe that Eddie loves you—is in love with you—opens a door you’d deadbolted until the time was right. You hadn’t wanted to rush things, but the jolt of exhilaration following Lucas’s statement means you can’t deny it any longer: you love Eddie Munson. You’re in love with Eddie Munson.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad I'm hot for teacher I've got it bad, so bad I'm hot for teacher.”

Will takes the opportunity to twirl you around, and you laugh as you spin amongst new friends, your drink threatening to spill over the sides as he turns you faster.

“Hey! Thank you, by the way!” he shouts, probably a bit louder than he needs to.

“For what?”

“For getting Corroded Coffin to play!” He jerks a thumb towards the stage, stumbling a bit as he does. He’d managed to sneak another tequila shot when his boyfriend left him unattended to use the restroom, and it definitely shows. “And for, like, being there for me.”

You give him a hug, immediately understanding the full implication of his statement. “I’ll always have your back,” you promise, filled with the mingled buzzes of alcohol and belonging.

“I think of all the education that I've missed But then my homework was never quite like this!”

Eddie jumps off of the tiny stage and into the crowd of nine twenty-somethings, each at various levels of tipsiness, and reaches for you to pull you close to him. He’s sweating from constantly moving around and the stage lights, his fingers slick with perspiration as he laces them with yours. Jeff picks up the rhythm for the lead guitar while Eddie kisses you, soft and slow and sensual. He loses himself for a moment before hopping back up to join the rest of the band.

As Corroded Coffin wraps up their Van Halen cover and stops for a quick sip of water, there’s a small commotion behind the bar.

“Is there a Jeff Reynolds here?” the bartender calls out, phone receiver in hand.

Jeff gives a little wave, eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s me.”

“Someone named Jess on the line? Says your girl is in labor and you need to get to the hospital.”

“Holy shit!” Danny claps a hand to Jeff’s back and grins. “C’mon, man! Let’s get you outta here!”

Jeff freezes up; hands clammy as he grips the guitar’s neck. “Can you drive?” he asks Eddie.

Eddie recognizes the fear in his friend’s voice. The selfish part of him wants to refuse to take Jeff to Hawkins General. He could easily plant his feet on the stage and keep playing, claiming that ‘the show must go on.’

No, he silently chastises himself, Jeff needs me. He needs me and I’ll be damned if I let him down again.

“Of course,” Eddie says, trying to force a relaxed disposition. It doesn’t matter; Jeff is too overwhelmed to notice the obvious effort.

“Take my car,” you offer, keys already dangling from your fingertips. “Eds, I can take yours and pick up Harris from Wayne’s tomorrow.” It’s easier to swap rides than to uninstall and reinstall the carseat, so you’re perplexed when Eddie shakes his head.

Two words slip through his lips, soft but pronounced: “Need you.”

Dustin catches wind of the situation and insists on watching Harris until you and Eddie can come back home, claiming he needs to squeeze in as much uncle-nephew bonding time as possible before returning to Florida.

“Henderson, it’s late; don’t let him stay up,” Eddie warns as he tosses over his car keys.

Dustin tries catching them in one hand, but they hit the center of his palm and fall to the ground. “But the best part of being an uncle is breaking the rules!” he laughs as he scoops the keys off of the floor. “By the way, I’m not drunk; just a shit baseball player.” Still, Eddie’s sigh of relief is audible when Suzie plucks the keyring from Dustin’s hand.

With Harris taken care of, you turn your attention to your boyfriend. Eddie’s face is flushed pale, and you’re worried about him behind the wheel. “Want me to drive?”

He nods and grabs onto your hand as you lead the two men to your car. Eddie’s doing his best to keep Jeff calm, reminding him that the doctors and nurses have everything under control until he gets there.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Jeff murmurs, a disbelieving chuckle permeating the otherwise silent car. “Holy shit.”

Eddie can’t help but smile back. “It only gets crazier from here.”

The bright lights of the hospital’s waiting room are anything but soothing, especially compared to the dimly-lit bar you’d just left. You speak to the receptionist, an older woman with a tired smile and red-rouged cheeks, explaining the situation as she pages Jess while Jeff and Eddie take a seat.

Jeff’s voice is nearly impossible to hear despite the stillness of the room. “The baby was breech at Viv’s last appointment.” He clocks Eddie’s confusion and elaborates. “Feet first, instead of the head. If they didn’t get into the right position and the doctors can’t, I dunno, flip ‘em around? They’ll have to do a c-section.” Long overdue tears spill over his lash line, and he makes no attempt to swipe them away. “I just wanna fix it and I can’t.”

Helplessness. It’s a feeling Eddie knows all too well. He spins a ring around his finger, exhaling softly as he considers a response. He can’t say it’ll be alright, because he has no idea whether or not it will be. He and Jeff both know that.

“No matter what, I’m here for you.” Eddie’s gaze flits over to the receptionist’s desk, where Jess has now arrived and is waving her brother-in-law over. “You’re up.”

But Jeff remains in his chair, hands shoved under his thighs as though they’re glued to the seat. “I…I don’t know if I can do this. What if something happens to Viv or the baby? How can I…?” He doesn’t allow himself to complete the sentence, to finish the thought.

Instinctively, Eddie puts his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. He can feel them trembling slightly as his friend heaves another shaky breath. “Listen to me. You’re gonna do this. You’re gonna go in that room and watch your girl give birth to your baby. Because if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” He glances around and lowers his voice. “I know you’re scared, okay? I get it. And once your kid is safely here, we can talk about it. But right now, you need to pull it together and go be a goddamn dad.”

Jeff nods, finally acquiring the physical stability to stand. “Thank you,” he whispers, clearing his throat and wiping the wet stains from his cheeks. He starts towards Jess before turning back to Eddie. “Could you stay until the baby’s born? If you have to get home to Harris, I understand…”

There it is: his out. He can easily use his son as an excuse, despite the fact that Dustin and Suzie were perfectly capable of babysitting him. He can hightail it out of here and never look back. He can crawl into bed and feel sorry for himself for having to step foot in a godforsaken maternity ward again.

“Yeah. I can stay.”

Nearly an hour passes with Eddie’s head resting on your shoulder, relaying what Jeff told him. Identical knots form in your stomachs as the seriousness of the complications sets in. You don’t say a word as he speaks; you just try to shift without disturbing him. The cushion on the chair back, worn thin, digs into you uncomfortably, but you don’t dare move too much. His vulnerability is a deer that will scamper away at the slightest startle.

You think he’s fallen asleep until you feel his soft lips on your cheek, a muffled, “mine?” against your skin. You note his phrasing; it’s careful and unsure, a symptom of being in his own head for far too long.

“Of course I’m yours,” you whisper back, pressing a kiss to his scalp. “What’s got you asking such silly questions?”

“I don’t like this.” It’s an answer and non-answer all in one.

“Being in a hospital?”

He shakes his head, frizzed curls tickling the crook of your neck. His forehead is sticky with cooled perspiration. “Waiting to see if the baby is okay.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach, immediately hollowing you out. The last time he went through this, it was when Harris was being born. You can’t think of anything to say, so you just nuzzle in closer to him and exhale.

“Why do I feel like this?” Neither of you are sure if he’s asking you, himself, or the universe. “‘S not the same. Viv’s not using drugs; Jeff stuck around the whole time…”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s not how this stuff works, y’know?” You adjust your position so you can look into his eyes. The whites are stained red with worry and exhaustion. “Your gig got interrupted, just like when Harris was born. And there's uncertainty now, too. It’s normal for these kinds of memories to get dredged up.” Your palm rests on his cheek, thumb gently stroking the skin as you ask, “can you try to get some sleep?”

“But what if Jeff needs—”

“I’ll wake you up if he needs you,” you reassure him, settling back into the chair. You lean your head against the wall; the heaviness in your eyelids battles the anxious fluttering in your stomach, but it seems as though sleep is winning.

Eddie’s hand finds your forearm, rubbing up and down the gooseflesh that has appeared courtesy of the air conditioning blasting through the building. Shrugging off his jacket and resting the leather fabric over your shoulders, he can relax once he’s reassured that you’re comfortable. He assumes his previous position, using your shoulder as a pillow and falling asleep gradually, body jostling itself awake from the unfamiliar sleeping arrangement. Eventually, you can hear his soft snores; for the first time tonight, he’s peaceful.

You could tell him now, a whisper under your breath that he’s unlikely to hear. I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Your lips part in anticipation, but you snap them shut. You’re delirious and overwhelmed; Lucas’s throwaway comment about Eddie being in love is rattling around your brain. If you say it and Eddie hears you…

You keep it to yourself for now, letting your body rest while still supporting Eddie’s head. Tomorrow is a new day, with a new life brought into the world. Love—if that’s even what this is—will have to wait until then.

The soft pink of breaking daylight streams through the windows when Jeff wakes Eddie up six hours later, shaking him by the shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. When he registers where he is and the potential urgency of the situation, he sits up straight, head filling with fuzziness from the sudden movement. He wouldn’t call the evening restful, but he’d managed to doze off for longer than he’d expected.

“It’s a girl!” Jeff announces, beaming from ear to ear. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with enthusiasm and emotion.

As soon as Eddie’s vision clears, he’s on his feet and pulling his best friend in for a giant hug. When he steps back, he realizes that he and Jeff sport matching misty eyes. “Dude, you’re officially a dad now. You have a daughter!”

“I have a daughter,” Jeff repeats incredulously. His eyes cloud with tears, and he blinks them away as he peers over at the empty seat next to Eddie. “Did your lady go home?”

Eddie swivels around, so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized he was alone. She left. She left without me; she didn’t want to stick around and deal with–

“Did Viv have the baby?” Your excited voice penetrates through his intrusive thoughts as you stroll in from the hallway. The makeup around your eyes is smudged; you’d tried to wipe some of it off in the bathroom, but water and thin hospital paper towels are no substitute for makeup wipes. “Sorry, I had to pee.”

Eddie smiles at the sight of you, still wearing his jacket. He hopes his sigh of relief is concealed by Jeff’s exuberance. “A girl. Six pounds, ten ounces.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Wanna meet her?”

“Of course!” You and Eddie begin following him down the corridor. “Wait, is Viv feeling up to having visitors?” You’re mildly ashamed to admit that, in your eagerness, you’d forgotten about the baby being breech and the possible c-section.

Jeff nods. “I think my daughter’s gonna be a gymnast, ‘cause she’d flipped herself back around between the appointment and last night.”

There’s no masking Jeff’s pride when he says my daughter, and it makes Eddie want to hug him again. “That’s amazing,” he murmurs. There’s a small pang in his heart, a bead of resentment that Harris’s birth didn’t go so smoothly, but it’s unimportant right now. His best friend just became a father, and he refuses to let his own hang-ups take away from this moment.

“Hi,” you whisper when Jeff opens the door to room 1007. Viv is propped up against pillows, exhausted but happier than she’s ever been before. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the hours-old bundle in her arms. “How are you?”

“Sore,” she replies truthfully, brushing her forefinger against her baby’s closed fist, “but the epidural was a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, unaware that your words have Eddie’s heart skipping a beat at the idea of you bearing a little Munson. “Is it okay if I hold her?” You don’t want to intrude on the new mother’s bonding time, but your insides turn to mush when the baby opens her tiny lips and yawns.

Viv carefully places the newborn in your arms, and you gingerly adjust to support her head. Eddie swears that you holding a baby, in that dress, wearing his jacket, is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Did Jeff tell you her name?” Viv asks, stifling a yawn. When you and Eddie both shake your heads, she smiles and glances at her partner.

He clears his throat, suddenly bashful. Eddie forces himself to tear his gaze from the way you smile and coo at the baby and look over at Jeff. “Her name is Nicolette,” he starts, “but that’s a big name for a little girl, so we figured we can call her Ettie, and she’ll kinda…share a nickname with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, convinced he heard incorrectly. “You…I’m her namesake?”

“Mhm,” Jeff confirms, the grin never leaving his face. What neither you nor Eddie know is that they had had a different name picked out, and had fully intended on using it until the first time Jeff held their daughter. It filled him with a feeling of wholeness, of being complete, and it strangely had him thinking of his best friend. Without Eddie taking him under his wing, he might not even be here to experience this.

It was only by chance that he had stumbled upon Hellfire Club during his freshman year. He was running from Billy Hargrove and his posse, who were determined to beat the hell out of him simply because they could, and had ducked into the drama room to protect himself. Eddie had taken one look at his face and immediately recognized the expression of fear and defeat from being incessantly bullied. “You know how to play Dungeons & Dragons?” he’d asked, and when Jeff had managed a nod, he’d pulled up a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

Being Eddie’s friend, being part of something, gave him a reason to keep going. To live. And in that instant, he vowed to teach his child to extend kindness toward any misfits who need a place to be themselves.

“What about Nicolette?” he’d asked Viv. “Ettie for short.”

You turn to Eddie now, continuing the steady rocking rhythm that keeps Baby Ettie calm. “What do you say, Mr. Namesake? Wanna hold her?”

There’s a brief flash of panic that floods through his veins; he hasn’t held a newborn since Harris. He’d always worried about dropping him or tripping and falling. Truth be told, he was terrified until his son could hold his own head up.

It’s similar, but not the same, he reminds himself, shuffling even closer to you so you can safely transition Ettie into his arms. She stirs slightly in her swaddle but doesn’t cry.

“Hey, little lady,” he says, a delicate smile dancing on his lips. “I’m your Uncle Eddie. The coolest uncle you’ll ever have, for the record.”

“Harris is gonna love her,” you add, heart swelling at the imagery of him cuddling up to his newest cousin.

“Babe?” Viv pipes up from the bed. “Can you grab me something to eat? ‘M starving.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jeff turns to Eddie. “Come with me? I think Viv needs to feed Ettie, anyway.”

Viv extends her arms and Eddie begrudgingly hands the baby to her. Ettie’s so adorable and small, and it makes him yearn for the days when Harris was that little. Maybe not the sleepless nights or the lack of head control, but the scent of baby powder, the toothless smiles, the way he would fall asleep in Eddie’s arms to whatever song happened to be on the radio. Harris Munson might have been the only infant to be soothed by Twisted Sister.

The two men make their way to the hospital cafeteria, sneakers squeaking along the freshly-waxed linoleum tiles.

“I, um, I’m really proud of the way you stepped up for Viv,” Eddie says, eyes trained on the floor. “You’re a great partner. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “That's where my expertise ends. I have no idea how this whole fatherhood thing works.”

“Wanna hear a secret?” Eddie leans in, shifting his weight onto one foot. He doesn’t wait for his friend’s response to divulge, “none of us do. We’re just…” he waves his hand aimlessly, “…figuring it out as we go.” And making plenty of mistakes along the way, he silently adds.

“I don’t know how you did this alone,” Jeff puffs out an incredulous breath. “I mean, I know you had Wayne’s help…” he trails off, not needing to further elaborate on the missing parent.

“Yeah, me either, man. I’m just glad I’m not alone anymore.”

Jeff stops walking, turning to face him. There’s the unmistakable look of pride that manages to make itself prominent despite his evident exhaustion as he says, “You really want this with her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie chuckles. “It’s like, for the first time, I’m not just thinking about just me or just Harris. I’m thinking about us as a family.” The dinnertime conversations, the gentle ribbings, the tenderness that seamlessly weaves itself into vulnerable conversations.

“She’s good for you,” Jeff agrees. “And you love her.”

“I mean, I—”

“That was a statement, not a question. You love her.”

And in a single breath, Eddie lets go of the fear he’s been clutching to like a life preserver. The one thing he hasn’t allowed himself to say aloud because it makes it so real, so fucking real.

“I love her.”

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total-dxmure · 10 months ago

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✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER FOUR

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

The knock on the door is to the tune “Head Over Heels”- or at least you think it is. Ellie doesn’t have enough time to fully get through the chorus before you’re yanking it open, cheeks flushed all pretty and eyes wide. They glitter in the dim sunlight like jewels, staring up at her like she was the one that hung the moon. Ellie’s got that same dumb look on her face; mossy eyes wrinkled at the corners from the force of her smile. You would never know that she’s been up since seven o’clock in the morning, cramming for an exam that she had aced. She’d talked to Joel for the fifteen minutes that it took to get to your house, bragging on and on about how much easier it had been than she’d initially thought that it would be.

He let her brag. Of course he did. She wasn’t quite as talkative as she had been when she was a teenager, but she was still famous for her little tangents. Joel was good at listening, and Ellie? Well, she was a professional yapper. It was a match made in heaven.

Ellie smells like lavender, musk and patchouli incense. The scent of it clings to her hair and clothes. She’d mentioned a couple of times that she was a daily smoker, but she made sure to go out of her way to never smell when she was over at your place. The thought of your daughter cuddling to her when she smelled. . . funky made her cringe.

There’s a moment of appreciative silence as she stands on your front porch. The two of you just stare at each other, breathing the scent of each other in. The novelty still isn’t lost as far as your courting goes either. You can’t imagine the nervous butterflies ever going away. They’ve made a cage out of your ribs, fluttering away madly in your chest.

“Hey,” She breathes through her smile, her eyes dancing over your features. “Did I miss anything exciting?”

You look absolutely exhausted. Gorgeous, but exhausted nonetheless. Ellie has noticed that you do a very good job at putting others' needs before your own. You’d been at work for two whole hours before Ellie had even woken up this morning, and now you felt like you were on autopilot. You’d walked to your mom’s to pick Marley up, gotten her bathed and dressed in little play overalls and now the two of you were spending some quality time together. You could barely keep your eyes open, and yet you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get your screaming toddler to sleep for at least another three hours.

“Marles and I are making homemade play-doh right now,” You opened the door wider, tempting her into the house with a sweet smile. Who was Ellie to deny you of all people? “She’s been excited ever since I told her that you were coming over.”

Marley had taken to Ellie like a bee to honey.

The college student hadn’t had too many opportunities to be around children- especially ones as young as Marley was. She was unfamiliar with the tiny sticky hands, drooly mouths and unpredictable attitudes. Still, she was a natural. Marley gravitated towards her. Ellie was sure that the constant presents and sweet treats buttered her up, but she would be selling herself short if she claimed that those were the only reason that your daughter loved her so much.

Your three year old babbled from the kitchen, excitedly trying to piece together a sentence. Ellie closed the door behind herself, only to sweep you up into a bone crushing hug. Your laugh was muffled by the fabric of her soft cotton button up as you nuzzled your face into her neck. Closer, closer, closer. If she could absorb you into her body she would. It was hard to describe the level of admiration she felt for you. It was too early to classify it as “love”, but she supposed she did love you and Marley. Being in your house, as small as it was, felt right to her.

“I missed you.” You mumbled, arms fastened tight around her waist.

She barely had enough time to brush a gentle peck to your lips before Marley was bounding around the corner, bare feet slapping against the linoleum floors. You’d recently learned that wearing socks wasn’t a good idea. Your poor little girl had slipped and fallen far too many times for your liking.

Marley had become more comfortable in her body, which meant she was now running, jumping and climbing. Just a year ago you had been relieved that she could walk by herself without you holding her hand, and now keeping her off of your furniture was an impossible task. Nothing had prepared you for the constant changes that came with motherhood. You blinked and suddenly she was sassy and genuinely funny. She complimented you when you were wearing something unusually flashy and wanted you to put blush on her while you were getting the both of you ready so that she could “look like mommy”.

You never expected anyone outside of your family and close friends to appreciate your daughter in the same way that you did.

But then there was Ellie.

Self indulgent. Waking up this happy felt sinful.

Your fingers gently glide over her gentle planes and curves, making a map in your mind of every inch of her. Each freckles a continent, each line a river.

You didn’t want to wake Ellie, too frightened that you might break whatever magic spell was currently suspended in the air between the two of you. This moment between you felt too good to be true, and that scarred little voice inside of you that you loathed so much was begging you to enjoy this while it lasted.

You were always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Happiness was fleeting. You felt like you didn’t deserve whatever was going on between the two of you. Your entire identity for the last three years has been summed up in a singular label: “ a mother”. You were a sexless, wantless, selfless creature meant only to teach and please. How dare you need a night off. How dare you choose yourself over an abusive relationship. How dare you need, want, desire, change.

But this? This was nice.

No, it was better than nice. Great? No. . . It was perfect. She was perfect. And that terrified you. Ellie scared the absolute shit out of you, and yet you couldn’t take a step back. It was like you were falling head first for a very, very long time. The ground is nowhere in sight.

You were free falling and you had no clue where you would end up when all was said and done. It felt selfish to put so much effort and care into so many new things at once. Especially since those new things could shatter your heart into a million pieces at any second. You knew that Ellie didn’t owe you anything. She was nice enough to give you a chance despite all of your faults. Your baggage had become too heavy for you to hold at times, so how could you ever expect someone else to help pick up the slack?

You weren’t even sure what the two of you were doing together. The two of you hadn’t put a label on your relationship, but she’d brought you flowers yesterday when she popped by for a movie night. She’d even gotten a small bouquet for Marley, who was far too small to appreciate them for longer than five minutes.

Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d slipped Marley’s shoes on for her before you’d all left the house last night to pick up dinner. Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d spent the night with you last night in your bed. Ellie wasn’t your girlfriend, but she’d held you all throughout the night.

She didn’t even try to get handsy at all last night, probably having seen the exhaustion written all over your face. She kissed you because she wanted to show you affection. She held you because she wanted to be close.

What you didn’t know was that Ellie felt the same way that you did. She was lost as to when to ask the dreaded “what are we?” question. The thought of pushing you away or losing you was agonizing, so instead she had deluded herself into thinking that she didn’t have to define things. It was clear that she liked you, right?

She’d never felt this way about anybody before. This wasn’t like any other crushes she’d had in the past. She felt fresh and new. Ellie even felt like she looked a bit different when she looked in a mirror. There was a glow to her; a sense of happiness that wasn’t just rare for her but something that she had once deemed an impossibility. She felt changed for the better.

It was easy to love Marley. It had happened naturally- like breathing. You don’t have to remember how to breathe. . . it just happens. With you it was different. Obsessive, maddening, all inhabiting affection. You’d wrapped your dainty hands around her heart tight, tight, tight. Every skip and butterfly is a gentle reminder that this was something. The both of you are something, and that is enough.

She smiles before she even has her eyes open. She can feel your fingers on her bare arms, and for a second she ponders whether or not she’s in heaven. . . or perhaps still dreaming. Waking up in your bed, the scent of your shampoo on all of the pillows and your soft hands on her- she could die right there, your room, her tomb. The headboard, her headstone.

“Are you real?” She whispers, her voice hoarse and still thick with sleep. She’s looking at you with those great, big green eyes. Your eyes are glued to the small collection of freckles just above her top lip, but you hear her.

“M’ real.” You mumble out a confirmation, propping your head up on your hand so that you can lean over her. You know your hair is a mess. . . but she’s studying your face with a silent sort of appreciation that has your throat feeling thick with emotion.

She’s soft. Ellie’s soft and wants to take care of you. She showers you and your daughter with affection without ever having to be asked to. Why? Because she wants to do it. You find it hard to believe that anyone would want to go out of their way like this. Especially for someone like you. You were a young mother who hadn’t gone to college. You lived in a tiny house, operated paycheck to paycheck, and had a few stretch marks on your tummy. You weren’t perfect. Not like Ellie deserved.

So why was she looking at you like that?

Oh god, how she stared at you. Her eyes were velvet soft as her eyes flickered over your face, taking in every feature. She’d never woken up next to you before. Your bedhead and glassy eyes had her heart blooming with warmth. The ceiling fan had a few strands of your hair falling into your eyes. She took the opportunity to tuck them behind your ear, feeling the softness of your skin. She committed that to memory too.

“I really like this.” Ellie finally admits, bottom jaw quivering a bit. She fiddles with her fingers under your comforter, a nervous habit.

“What?” You ask her incredulously. If Ellie’s eyes weren’t open she’d still know you were smiling. She could hear it in the way you spoke, and it had her seeing stars. And Ellie really, really loved stars. “Looking at my bedhead? You better not take any pictures.” You were already smoothing your hair down with your hands, brushing through a few tangles.

She caught your arms, shaking her head the best she could with it still resting on your pillows. “Waking up next to you. Being here with you two- this is really nice.” It was more than nice, but she didn’t want to scare you away by coming on too strongly.

You opened your mouth, getting ready to agree with her, but the familiar sound of tiny feet had you sitting up fully so that you could turn and face the doorway. You shot Ellie an apologetic smile, but she merely shook her head, sitting up as well with a small smile. She didn’t seem burdened by the existence of your daughter, which was something you weren’t used to.

Marley’s hair was an absolute disaster, per usual. It looked like she’d been caught headfirst in a tornado,wispy hairs bobbing as she shuffled closer to the bed in her footie pajamas. She had insisted on wearing them last night despite the fact that it wasn’t exactly cold enough for them. Her cheeks were pink and it was obvious that she had sweat in her sleep last night. You felt a tinge of guilt for letting her get her way, praying that Ellie didn’t think you were a bad mother for giving in so easily to her sweet demands. Sometimes it was impossible to say no to her.

She stood at the side of the bed for a few seconds, eyes still half lidded and dazed with sleep. For a second she just stared at you and Ellie, as if trying to connect the dots that someone else was in your house. It was incredibly unusual to have guests over at the house. . . well, that was before Ellie. Marley climbed up onto the bed, pushing away your eager hands when you tried to reach out for her.

Your little girl was headed straight for Ellie. You bit the inside of your cheek, feigning a look of jealousy when Marley wrapped her tiny arms around the other woman’s neck. Ellie’s eyes widened as she held the small girl to her chest, cheeks growing warm when she realized just how much your daughter liked her. She wanted to blame the constant presents and sweet treats, but that wasn’t the case. Marley loved Ellie because she was patient with her. She took the time to sit down with her, ask her questions- hell, Ellie even played with her, which your own mother often wasn’t in the mood to do.

“I can’t believe you, Marles.” You gasped out, nose wrinkling in faux dismay. You rubbed her arm up and down, trying to gently get her attention. Marley looked up at you through her long lashes, plopping her head down on Ellie’s shoulder in a very dramatic, very Marley fashion.

“She chose me fair and square.” Ellie boasted, using her hand to try and smooth down her crazy bedhead.

You took a mental picture, eyes pinching at the corners with the force of your smile. Marley had curled herself up into a ball and didn’t seem prepared to budge any time soon. Ellie didn’t even attempt to hand her off to you. Instead the woman stood up with a small groan, her black sweatpants hanging low on her waist. You tried not to stare at the exposed flesh of her stomach as her tank top rode up but failed miserably. The brunette turned her head to face you, having felt the heat of your gaze, and the both of you exchanged a knowing smile.

“She has her legs pulled up to her chest,” Ellie said with a chuckle, her arms secured tightly around your child. “You’re like a little potato.” She pressed a quick kiss to Marley’s hair when the tiny girl started giggling at the comparison.

“M’ not!” Marley squealed, sticky hands tanging into Ellie’s cropped hair. You watched as she gave her hair a tug, your stomach tensing in panic.

You started to stand up, ready to scold your daughter for her rough treatment, but Ellie was already walking down the hall. You sat in disbelief for a second, questioning whether or not you should go in and check on the two of them. You so rarely had time to yourself like this. It felt wrong to take advantage of this opportunity, but you had a feeling that Ellie had done this on purpose.

Was she trying to drop hints that you looked bad? You were absolutely exhausted last night, so you wouldn’t be surprised if your face was a mess and your clothes in disarray. You anxiously raked through your hair, kicking the tangled sheets off of your legs so that you could run to the nearest mirror.

“Are pancakes for breakfast alright?” Ellie had ducked her head back into the bedroom, a beaming Marley still propped up on her hip. You jumped at the sudden voice, glaring in her direction as she chuckled at your expense.

You weren’t used to being so hard on yourself as far as your appearance goes. Impressing people, these days, was the last thing on your mind. Ellie felt the same way though. She’d be a liar if she said that she hadn’t checked herself out in the mirror you had in the living room, anxious that she looked like hammered dog shit after drooling all over your pillow.

The weight of your head on her chest had her sleeping like a damn baby last night. Marley had acted as a wonderful distraction from her own embarrassment, especially when she realized the back of her hair was practically sticking straight up.

What you didn’t know was that she’d never spent the night with a girl. Not romantically, at least. The both of you were in the exact same anxious boat, and while Ellie knew that she was your first, you had no inkling that you were a lot of her firsts as well.

“Pancakes?” You parroted back to her, wetting your dry lips.

You began tallying up totals in your head, trying to figure out whether or not you had the cash to grab breakfast. You would like to treat Ellie and Marley. . . but after paying the water and the power bill two days ago, you barely had enough to put gas in your car. You felt your cheeks heating up as you tried to come up with a nice way to say “I don’t have the money for pancakes” without sounding like a shitty adult and an even shittier mother.

Ellie could see the way you were over thinking things, her eyes nervously flickering to your closet. You only had a few articles of clothing for yourself, and yet she’d never seen Marley wear the same outfit twice. She’d seen you with your calculator at the grocery store, nervously staring at a total. She knew that you weren’t financially secure- you were a young single mother. The brunette smiled at you, shoving her hands in her pockets as she leaned against the doorframe.

“I make really good pancakes, and it looks like you have everything I need. Marley would be an amazing help too. She’d make my job a lot easier.” She rocked back on the heels of her gray socks, biting the inside of her cheek as she looked at you.

You looked nervous, tired, and adorable as hell. Your band t-shirt was rumpled with sleep and you were standing in tiny white socks, all self conscious and overly critical. She wanted to kiss you… but she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

“Let me go ahead and take her to the bathroom first,” You ran through your daily checklist in your mind, though not forgetting to flash her a thankful smile that nearly had the girl’s legs buckling. “Oh! Uh. . . I have an extra toothbrush. You can have it. Do you want to use the restroom first? It’ll give me some time to get her outfit together for the day.”

Ellie wanted to be selfless and tell you that she didn’t want to go first, but her breath was probably stale and the last thing she wanted was for you to be grossed out by her. She couldn’t fuck this up. She refused to.

You found Marley in her bedroom, having already strewn toys around the room. You let out a small huff of breath, realizing that today was probably going to be a rough one. Each day was different with your little girl. One day she was a perfect angel, only doing what she was told. Other days. . . well, rambunctious didn’t fully encompass her level of energy. Today was going to be one of those days.

“Alrighty, Marles! Let’s pick out a pretty outfit, alright?” You started to walk to her closet, but froze as she began shaking her head. “You don’t want to put on a dress? Or what about some overalls so you can play better?”

“No!” She screamed, running to the other side of her room so that she could grab a few more stuffed animals off of her bed. She tossed those on the ground too, even going as far as to plop down on the floor.

You had hoped that Ellie wouldn’t see this. At least. . . not so soon into the relationship. If she couldn’t accept Marley on bad days like this then you knew she wasn’t the right person for you, but still- you had hoped to slowly introduce this lifestyle to her. Not flat out throw her to the metaphorical wolves. Or. . . to Marley. You felt your bottom lip quiver, but you caught it between your teeth, giving it a few nervous chews before you sat down next to her.

“Do you want to stay in your pajamas?” Your tone was nothing but loving and patient. You were used to this, but Ellie wasn’t. You could only pray that she could accept you. All of you.

“Yes! Please, mommy.” She was getting better at articulating her thoughts and feelings. You found it impossible to deny her when she spoke to you like this. Especially when she asked politely.

So you found herself nodding, flashing her a megawatt smile that she happily returned. You could make a special day out of this. Pancakes and pajamas? It sounded heavenly.

“You’re so polite, baby girl! Alright, we’ll stay in our pajamas today. How about that? And Ellie said that you’re going to help her make breakfast. Are you going to be a big help?”

“Yeah.” She replied, already focused on the baby doll in front of her.

Her hands were still stained a little pink from making the play-doh last night. Once she remembers that she has that to play with too, you can only imagine the mess she’ll make on your dining room table.

You’re beautiful and patient. Ellie watches the two of you interact from the hallway, her breath all minty and her smile all wide. She thinks that she can live like this forever.

And she prays that she gets to.

@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @jokerpokimoon @macaroni676 @eveshyper @lil-elliesgf @fuckingstarellie @gold-dustwomxn @madislayyy @moonbluz @vianna99 @sawaagyapong @mrsromanoff @glory-grl @sadeyedsugar @inf3ct3dd @teatimedisaster @laucalo @ellieswilliamsgf @machetegirl109 @moonchild184 @onlinelesbo @lasting-lover @luvrrcharr @koremis @elsmissingfingers @whoreshores @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @circe-is-struggling @cqrrnts @elliewilliamsmiller0 @harrysslutsstuff @shewantstoknow @laundrybag29 @darkerstarsstuff @elliesdesperatewife @rulerzreachf4n44 @eviestevie-14 @deliriousrn @diddiqueen @bready101 @felsweb @jaeminpookie @elliesswearjar @2012wannabe @abbysbae @boobabietch @amorqts

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lackadaisycats · 3 months ago

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heya :D I was wondering if you’ve always had the idea of Rocky’s backstory and weither it was something that you came up with whilst first designing the character or if it was developed later? What was the process of you creating it?

I adoreee your work btw! Your art style is so cool and I love how much depth these mentally unstable cats have o3o

It came about gradually and shapeshifted, both as I was designing the character and as I began writing the story he fit into. I just tend to mash things around like Play-Doh until something starts to take shape and feel right. I think I put Rocky in the context of the job (running alcohol) first because that seemed like it'd be fun and interesting and engaging. He was also intended to be the band leader originally. As I started working out how he wound up doing gangster dirty work, though, it stopped making sense to have someone like him in charge of the band. The role Rocky played called for a younger more impetuous character. And that's roughly how Zib entered the picture, equipped with the requisite world-weariness to lead a semi washed-up jazz band. Anyway, thank you for the kind words!

#lackadaisy #lackadaisycats #q&a

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janitorhutcherson · 7 months ago

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Groceries, Taxes, & Laundry (MSchmidt Fluff)

hey guys, it's me. i'm finally back. did y'all miss me? the writing of this is a lil diff, sooooo please enjoy and lmk what you think!

content: pure fluff yall.

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Grocery shopping with Mike Schmidt is… special, to say the least. He absolutely despises it. The dreaded time comes around at the end of every week, your vegetables in the fridge starting to wilt, the meat from the previous trip used up, and all of your snacks have been devoured from late night munchie runs to the pantry (xoxo i love gardening!!!). He knows it has to happen. He knows you’ll wake him up early on Sunday morning like always, because apparently it’s “better to get it out of the way,” which he thinks is, well, to put it lightly, utter bullcrap.

You’ll drag him and Abby out to your local grocery store, her drowsy and jittery all at the same time with the promise of pancakes from a local diner after. Once you arrive, you’ll pull out all of the far-too-expensive reusable bags out of the trunk of Mike’s dingy car, ready to fill them with the necessities. Why get those for 3 bucks when you can get the plastic ones for free? He’ll never understand your logic, something about saving the environment, but it’s okay, he loves you enough not to complain, at least out loud.

The fluorescent lights of the room filled with half asleep employees hits Mike’s eyes like he’s looking directly into the sun. He lets out a small grumbled sigh as he takes in the scent of sterile cleaning supplies and produce mixed in one, with the strange almost play doh like smell of the bakery. Your eyes cut over to him, eyebrows raised, Abby’s hand in yours as she rubs her droopy eyes. Mike can’t help but to crack a small smirk, his lips pursed together. “What?” he’ll question innocently, letting out a small snicker as you go deeper into the dreary establishment.

At the produce aisle, Mike shivers a little as the water from the misting sprinkler on the shelves hits his bare skin. He should’ve worn his jacket today, he usually does, and he’s regretting the one time he hasn’t. Your eyes are glancing over carrots, broccoli, cucumbers, and squash, all that are somehow both too ripe and too.. What's the word... unripe? Sure, he’ll go with that. His hand reaches out to grip yours in a gentle grasp as Abby points to a particularly fluffy bushel of broccoli. “I want that one! It looks like pretty trees,” she giggles out, finally starting to wake with the day. You let out a giggle of your own and Mike smiles because of how pretty your laugh is.

Next, you’re in the snack aisle, filling the cart with doritos, barbeque chips, pringles, salt and vinegar chips (mike gags when you eat them too close to him), peanut butter filled pretzels, whatever can go in Abby’s lunch box and whatever is tastiest. Mike insists on buying the cheap queso, his nose scrunching up at the price of the name brand one. He knows it doesn’t taste any different.

Now you’re looking at meats, finding chicken breasts and filets, steaks, pork, whatever was on your list from meal prepping. Yes, meal prepping, Mike did that now. Apparently stable people with stable lives who had stable relationships did that. He’d grown fond of sitting over a recipe book with you on Saturday nights, really, shoulder to shoulder, pressed up on the couch well after Abby had gone to bed. Something about it felt safe, a kind of domestic feeling he wasn’t used to.

You’re basically done now, and he couldn’t be more relieved as you make your way towards the dairy section. He grabs a few things, string cheese, yogurt, cream cheese, cheese slices for sandwiches for work. Oh, did he mention he works in construction now? It’s stable, makes good money, and he’s home on time to see you, to be a husband-not-yet-husband (he plans to propose soon, but that’s another story), a brother-more-like-a-father, a person with a regular schedule. He looks over at you, watching as you and Abby skim over the different selections of chocolate and strawberry milk, finally settling on a carton of strawberry. He once again scrunches his nose, smiling all at once. “Nasty,” he mumbles out. Abby playfully hits his arm and you lean in for a kiss.

Finally, thank god, you push the cart towards the bakery section, grabbing bread and a sweet treat or two for the week. Cookies, a birthday cake for no particular reason, cheese danishes, whatever his little family was feeling for the week, that’s what it’d be. This week, it was a huge box of chocolate chip cookies and some kind of cherry pastry he’d never had before. You three finally head to checkout, where everything is stuck in those stupid reusable bags and the price of everything you got feels obscenely huge for what’s in your cart, but he pays it anyway. Walking to the car, in the trunk the groceries go as you all climb in one by one, ready to head for pancakes.

As he reverses the car out of his good (only because it was so goddamn early) parking spot, he can’t help but sigh, this time with contentment as Abby rambles on about a new imaginary (hopefully) friend, your own grin wide as you ask questions, making sure she feels heard. “I love you guys, love doing things with you guys,” Mike mumbles out, reaching his hand over to your thigh as he glances back at Abby too. And it was true, he’d do anything with you two. Hell, if all his life consisted of grocery shopping, taxes, and laundry? Yeah, he’d be ok with that too.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fic #mike schmidt blurb #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson fanfic

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archaiceuphoriah · 2 months ago

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Play time! Alright, little one, what do you want to do today? Let's take a look in the toy bins. There're blocks, puzzles, toy trucks and cars...oh, here's your Etch-a-Sketch...dress-up dolls. How about Play Doh? And look, here are the little shape cutters! You want Mama to play too? Well, sure! I know, I'll get some aprons from the kitchen and you and me can play bakery! I'll bring a rolling pin, too. This is so fun! It's been a long time since you and I played together. What should we make first? You want to use the heart-shaped cutter? Okay, and I'll roll out the yellow dough and make croissants. When we're done, we can put them in the oven in your play kitchen. What are we baking for? Oh, Ms. Bear is having a big birthday party for her friend Mr. Tiger. That means we'll need to make a big cake! How many stuffies are coming to the party? A hundred! Goodness! Good thing we have all afternoon to bake together!

(To the person who requested this, I hope you enjoyed!)

#agere caregiver #sfw caregiver #soft agere #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #age regression caregiver #agere community #agere positivity #agere post #cottagecore agere

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 2 months ago

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Rat Bastard, Part 3

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 7300

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, lol slow burn, ust

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

The delicious food in your belly, regardless of who cooked it, had turned you into a completely different person.

Suddenly the storm raging outside wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were alive, right? You were safe and you weren’t being eaten alive by man-eating spiders. Sure, you weren’t sitting on a beach enjoying a pina colada, but there was a tall, handsome man in this bunker kitchen with a blender, whipping up some mixed drinks that involved fresh fruit, something sweet and something sour, something red and orange, lots of ice, and even more rum. Javier looked up from his blender and sent you the smallest, secret and obviously flirtatious wink.

What? You gasped.

You had been staring, a bit lost in your own mind as whatever blood that had been in your brain was otherwise occupied with digesting your dinner, and you have to admit, you hadn’t at all expected it.

You’d been watching him work some magic with a…thing, a smashing thing, something involving the peels from the citrus he had been squeezing. Your cocktail lexicon was lacking. You hadn’t at all expected the wink and it felt so quick and sneaky that you felt a warmth creep up your cheeks that you covered with both of your hands as you looked away from him, glancing around yourself for witnesses. This wasn’t allowed, right? Was this kind of behavior typical for the Sinking Sands Resort?

A single pair of large, dark brown eyes watched you and those eyelids blinked slowly without the owner actually saying or doing anything. There wasn’t a scoff or an eye roll. He just watched you. He just knew it happened.

You could not name this feeling that filled up your stomach.

He had seen the wink. Maybe it was shame. It was uncomfortable. He had witnessed a man paying attention to you. That was not the issue, but he had seen your blushing reaction to the wink. He witnessed you caving so easily, a little attention from a man, from any man, and you were a melting, blushing mess. What must he think? That you weren’t the strong independent woman that the year 2024 demanded of you? That you were probably the type to sign away your checking and savings accounts to the first man could make you orgasm on the first try? That if someone saw you, but really, really saw you for who you were, deep down inside where your secret fantasies played, you might just cry about it in the shower in between all the fake arguments that you would have won if you only said that back then.

What was it called? The horrors of being known. And by Doh Kyungsoo of all people. The last thing you needed was that man knowing how desperate you felt for any bit of human affection. Your fingertips still ached from where you’d lightly touched the backs of his hands and drifted up his smooth forearms, sinking your fingertips into the firm muscles you felt there, as you used, probably the only chance you’d ever have to really stare at his lips while he was blindfolded.

What if he used it against you?

The blender whirled to life and soon Javier was serving up an icy blended cocktail, complete with a sweet cherry on top and a paper umbrella. He placed the whole pretty concoction in front of you with a friendly smile and you waited until his hands were free and clear of the entire drink before you reached for it, feeling quite silly for going out of your way to avoid touching his hands. While he was conventionally handsome, you had some reservations about openly flirting with the man who was technically at work. What if he got in trouble for being too friendly with the Shifting Sands guests.

The drink was delicious and very heavy on the alcohol. Javier was not the one paying for those fancy liquor bottles.

“How’s that?” Javier asked while wiping the counter top and wiggling his eyebrows up on his handsome face.

You bit your lip and nodded once, just one up and down. Tilting your head to the side, you tucked your hair behind your ear so anyone who might want to could get a good look at the smooth perfection of your neck. The top you wore was pretty low cut and while it gave the illusion of casual wear, it actually took an incredible amount of self awareness to keep it positioned in the most flattering place on your neckline. You then smiled your softest, sweetest smile, letting him know that it was just to your liking with a very dainty sip of the drink. You were aiming for cute. You sipped with too much conviction and the sip backfired. You felt the burn of the strong alcohol hit the back of your throat and instantly that burning made you want to cough. Ohhh, it burned.

There was no way to cough in a ladylike way. You held your breath instead and you could feel your eyes watering from the effort.

“I’ll make you something Mr. Doh. Are you a sweet, strong, or bitter kind of man?”

If ever a man was bitter…

“I’ll have the same thing,” Kyungsoo said with a shrug. You didn’t dare look in his direction for fear that he was observing you too closely again. Gathering dirt, most likely. You could make out his relaxed posture out of your peripheral vision. Elbow on the counter, his other arm draped across his thigh.

That arm moved though, and you caught a motion of him tucking his hair behind his ear; his hair that wasn’t even long enough to tuck, his hair that fell, black and straight just below his eyebrow and yet he pretended to tuck it and he then adopted a similar come hither posture with his shoulders sagged, his head tilted to the side and oh god. He was mocking you now. You were looking at him as he did it and his teasing eyes drifted to yours once, sending you the fakest, and most dramatic wink you’d ever received from anyone.

You’d stab him in the night time.

“Let’s see if I can make it without squeezing lemon in my eye again,” Javier giggled and lifted his index finger to rub over his eyelid — the winking eye —the fucking flirtatious winking eye that sent sweet and secretive suggestive signals at you earlier and you suddenly realized wasn’t a wink at all — ohhhh. Ohhh no. You were a fool. Worse, you were a fool with a witness. The shock brought the cough out of you. It was a loud, full-bodied, very un-maidenlike cough. You sounded burly. Like a 5 pack a day smoker.

Beside you, a loud snort of laughter broke through your coughing and in your peripheral vision, you could see him actually shaking as he openly laughed at you.

“Be careful with that lemon, Javier. Someone might think you were flirting with them, right, Princess?” Kyungsoo had angled his torso toward you — a better position for making fun of you as he sought your confession of what you’d just thought was taking place between you and this poor man behind the counter who was literally just trying to do his job, not the guests. Kyungsoo’s eyebrows wagged suggestively and his grin was wide and all too knowing.

You could feel the warmth of embarrassment on your face just below the surface of your skin.

You swallowed the burning alcohol in your mouth and did your best to steady the expression on your face.

You lifted your chin and you rolled your eyes, and then openly glared at the man, simply unable to come up with a single response that would save your ego. You might have even let out a threatening growl in his direction.

No, Javier hadn’t been flirting with you. No, there were no other men here who were eligible and interested in you. You’d learned earlier that Mr. Chen was a married man and devoted father of two little girls. Jun and Roxy had been an item for quite some time. Javier was more enamored with impressing the aloof Chef Doh, and well, Kyungsoo — he was winding down with his laughter but that didn’t mean he was about to stop torturing you anytime soon.

There was nothing and no one for you here. The rain outside had been steadily falling for quite some time now and you suddenly longed for an escape. The sound of the wind had died down a while ago and you longed to feel the coolness of the refreshing raindrops on your face. Maybe while you were out there a tornado would carry you far away from this jerk.

“I’m going to have a look outside. I want to go for a walk. I am going outside. Is there a way to go out?”

Kyungsoo was still watching you, his very own drink in hand and his mean words at your expense ever freely flowing from his stupid mouth.

“You sound like a dog that is slowly learning how to talk,” he muttered under his breath.

You inhaled a deep calming breath.

He’d picked up a big yellow lemon and was holding it up in front of his face like it was a ball he was about to throw. A teasing, shit-eating grin was plastered across his face.

If you could just smack him, only once. You’d make it a really good one.

His lips pursed and his voice lifted higher and sweeter.

“Does my Princess wanna go play with the ball outside?” He said it, but the second it was out he seemed to freeze in place.

“You —,” you gasped, fully caught off-guard by the usually cruel nickname said in that way — said with his falsely sweet voice and with all of his fake affection attached to it. You felt betrayed by your subconscious to be having a surge of this uninvited feeling simply because instead of with his usual disgust, he addressed you with — with — as if you were his Princess — the butterflies were quick to flutter up inside of you but you were just as quick with another swift gulp of this drink to shove them deep down inside your belly where they needed to stay.

My Princess

Pl—Please…it was laughable if it wasn't so damned impossible.

My Princess

As if —

You breathed in and out through several exasperated scoffs, each one more convincing than the last.

“You —” you swallowed the drink angrily, “sound like an ass—”

“Mr. Doh,” Sara’s voice called out, interrupting the bottom barrel scraping level insult you were about to hurl his way, which no doubt would have only escalated whatever was going on between the two of you right now. You were sure you could see remnants of that same teasing smile still lingering on his lips. His cheeks were much pinker than you remembered before. Maybe he was a lightweight and was feeling the effects of this strong drink already. Whatever bullshit he was shilling out, he certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. It did take a few moments for him to register that he was being called and actually respond to it.

“Could you come this way, please?” She asked a few breaths after she was sure she had his attention. Her smile was soft and inviting and in her hands she carried a single sheet of paper.

Your curiosity about where he was going popped like a bubble when a fresh drink landed right beside your empty glass on the counter. This one looked different. You looked up into Javier’s face and he was smiling at you with a small nod of his head toward the drink.

“This one might be a little stronger,” he grinned.

“Let me guess, your job is to get us both hammered so we spill our deepest darkest secrets all over this stainless steel countertop.” You reached for the drink. You had been joking but Javier wasn’t playing it off with jovial laughter as you’d expected him to.

In fact, he didn’t really say anything. He was just reaching for ingredients to make another drink.

Eventually though, after you’d given in to the silence and started sipping on what you liked the taste of right away — it reminded you of iced tea in color and tasted sweet and refreshing — he started to talk.

“So what is the deal with you two, anyway?” He asked first. You had a mouthful of alcohol. Your already finished half of the glass and paired with the first drink you had you were beginning to feel the familiar warm dizziness of the liquor buzzing around inside of you.

“How much alcohol is in this?”

“Lots,” he confessed, “We have a bet. I think you two are exes. Nasty breakup. Maybe one of you cheated, he’s a chef so I’m gonna say it was him. You know, job with long nights and questionable ethics. Plus something about you gives ‘good woman’ vibes.”

“Oh my god, no. We never dated, he is the devil,” you giggled. It wasn’t particularly funny but it felt funny; his dramatic story of a whirlwind romance and the kind of breakup that not only split the pair but caused an earthquake between the group of friends, forcing them to pick sides.

“But, you do like him.” It wasn’t a question, “and he likes you.”

“He does not. He hates me.”

“He likes you. And you didn’t deny it, so you like him.” His declaration sounded so sure you wondered what the hell kind of strong alcohol he had been taking swigs of when you weren’t looking.

“It doesn’t matter. We would probably end up killing each other before anything else happened between us.”

Javier pondered your words for only a few moments. “So what do you like about him?”

You felt weirdly comfortable and safe in this conversation. With Claire or with anyone else who knew you both mutually, you were extra guarded. You hated everything about Doh Kyungsoo. You never wanted to see his face ever again. You wanted to live in a world where he did not exist. But with Javier, with the quiet corner you both were hidden away in, with the alcohol in your blood, you could feel your caution beginning to slip.

“Why does anybody like anybody?” You shrugged in a sad way. You knew it didn't matter what you thought about him, the seeds had already been sewn with so much poison, nothing would ever grow. “He’s nice to look at. He’s nice to listen to when he isn’t calling me mean names, his voice sounds nice. He —” you lifted the black straw to your lips and drained the last bits of the tasty drink, “has a strong back. My grandma always said a man ought to have a strong back.”

“A strong back?”

“Yeah, like sturdy. Like a mountain. A redwood tree. Like an old, solid wood picnic table without a single crack even after generations of all of the grandchildren dancing on it at the same time. That rat bastard.” You inhaled slowly and deeply and exhaled through your lips with your eyelids sagging just a little bit.

“Jesus.” He whispered under his breath, “that’s possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in all of my years of working here.”

“I just called him a rat bastard,” you giggled and Javier laughed openly.

“Yeah you did. I’ve never been insulted with that much passion. Maybe you’ll get to test out the strength of his back soon.” He lifted his eyebrows as if he just said something that made any sense to you. You just stared at him, shaking your head after a few of his suggestive wiggles.

“If you still want to go outside there’s a small covered patio right out that door,” Javier lifted a bottle opener to point toward a big gray metal door at the back of the room, “I think the storm should be calmer now, but will probably pick back up again in about an hour. Should be safe for now but you should really come back inside if the wind gets bad again. I’ll send you another drink and maybe some company in a little while.”

Oh, was he getting rid of you now? You spun on the chair you were seated on and plopped your feet down on the tile floor, making you way toward that door, grabbing the thing and giving it a big push with all of your might.

It swung open easily enough and the outside air was fresh and chilly. There were no lights out here but the occasional lightning flashes gave your eyes a little bit of a chance to adjust to the darkness. The space was small, with a concrete bench built into the wall and the cover of this patio extended just enough for you to be able to sit down without getting splashed with the falling rain too much.

You were exactly the right amount of drunk. The rain falling sounded loud enough for your senses to cloud over and you leaned your head back against the cool concrete enjoying the way the noisy rain echoed off of that tin roof and reverberated inside of the center of your skull.

The wind still had some power. Occasionally a strong gust would bring a wave of rain your way and your bare legs would take the brunt of it. You didn’t care much, even though you knew you shouldn’t stay out here for too long in these shorts. It was just a little cold. You were sober enough to know what you should and should not do in a hurricane.

The sound of the door opening pulled your eyes back open and you looked through the space that opened up. It was Sara and she came bearing gifts.

“Javier said you were out here,” she said with a sweet smile and you scooched over just a little so she could sit down beside you on the side that wasn’t getting as much rain. She handed you a fresh drink and sat beside you, warming your cool bare arm with her warmth. She had an excited smile and what looked like a sparkle in her eyes. The moment her hands were empty she was gripping your arm. She was squealing lightly, a whispered and excited noise that came from the center of her chest and then she was shaking you in excitement.

“He likes you. Doh Kyungsoo,” she squealed right into your ear, “Oh my God. I could die.”

“He,” she was pulling your arm in big dramatic movements, she was shaking your whole body harder, ”likes,” saying each word one at a time, “you.”

You looked into this poor delusional woman’s face the moment the shaking stopped.

“Sara, he just called me a dog in there,” you said flatly. “Not a puppy or even a doggie. A dog. That’s one step up from bitch.” Her smiles dropped and you could see the worry on her face.

“What? Why? What exactly did he say?” Finally she was asking the real questions. No matter how much of a crazy jerk he was he wouldn’t say something like that to someone he liked. She had it all wrong.

“I said I wanted to come outside,” you lifted your hands to show the outside you were now partaking in, “and he said ‘does my little princess want to come outside and play with a ball’ and then he’s like ‘you know, like a dog? Because you are a dog.’ He didn't imply it. He said it.” You dropped your voice as low as you could go with your lady voice when you did the impression of him. You figured it was a pretty good likeness. You had his accent down and everything.

You reached for the drink and took a long pull through the straw.

Sara was silent, but she no longer sported the worried look. She now looked quite pleased actually.

“He calls you ‘my little Princess’ and you refuse to believe that he likes you?”

“No, you didn’t hear how he said it. He’s so mean about it. He says it like an insult like I’m a spoiled brat. He uses it sarcastically.” This drink was just as strong as the last one, the ice tea one.

“Why on earth do you think he likes me? He totally hates me.”

“He just told me.”

You looked into her face to gauge her truthfulness. She was a little fuzzy around the edges.

“He didn’t,” you said, “he’s very sarcastic when he talks. If you don't know to look for it you might misunderstand.” You’d deny it forever. You’d deny it to save yourself from the pain of giving into it and then being crushed by his overwhelming hatred the second he showed up. “Look, tell me exactly what he said and say it in the exact same tone he said it in. And what you said first, I’ll need the full context.”

“So we do these interviews periodically throughout the retreat, to gauge how well the singles are getting along with each other. As you saw earlier, I took him aside to talk. Basic things like is there anything he needs to make his stay more comfortable. He said he doesn’t expect much given the current circumstances so he’s just happy to have a dry place to sleep and warm food to eat. He doesn't want to be a bother, which I felt was very kind of him.”

“Then to kind of ease into the topic of possible love interests, I pointed out that he didn’t seem to fare too badly while cooking blindfolded. Not a single burn or a cut and he said,” She cleared her throat and lifted her chin, “‘I had the best assistant. She did really well in there.’” She had a very pleased look on her face. You on the other hand stared at her with a more doubtful expression.

“That’s it? Even I know how well I did in there. I did everything for him, of course I was the best assistant. He’s probably never experienced that kind of support while cooking, Jesus, I literally held each of his hands inside of my hands when he was cutting up that fucking fish. I had to hug him for that, you know.”

Sara was smiling and nodding, not understanding your point. It wasn’t romantic of him to say you were a good pair of eyes, it was literally just a fact.

“And how did that feel?” Sara whispered as she leaned in closer, “hugging him?” Her excitement level was too high, “did he smell nice?” She was enjoying this way too much, “did his back feel strong?” You could see it even in your inebriated state. You pushed a shoulder against hers in protest, bringing a giggle from her chest. You didn't answer her silly questions, even if the memory of the smell of his back was still ingrained inside of your nose. Even if he had a warmth to him that you longed to touch again, you refused to say any of this outloud.

“What was your very first impression of him like?” Her next question was calmly asked. She had settled down with the shaking and squealing and over the top ridiculous excitement when none was warranted and she looked into your face now, just a friend asking another friend about a guy.

“Umm,” you looked out at the falling rain, ignoring the way the wind picked up a little bit and whipped waves of rain onto your leg, up higher on your thigh now that it had started getting a little wild, “I actually saw him from a distance at first. My friend Claire was hosting a dinner and he was sitting at the end of this really long table and wow, what a face. Just, some people get to walk around looking that handsome and nobody says anything?” You were giggling when you met Sara’s eyes and you noticed your drink was mostly empty already. These things went down so easily. The once perfect level of drunk you had was beginning to tip over the edge toward downright tipsy. You hoped to God you had enough self control tonight to slow down. This team obviously wasn’t about to slow down on offering you the alcohol, this was part of their plan.

“And, I mean, our friends, our mutual friends, they even tried to set us up once but,” you frowned dramatically and looked away from her expecting eyes, “I mean, he hates me of course. It didn’t work out. It would never work, we are both just…” You let your words trail off with a long dramatic sigh.

“He said he couldn’t stop looking at you,” Sara’s voice filled in the silence after your sigh, “that his first impression of you,” she inhaled a breath and her hand wrapped back around your arm as her eyebrows lifted in wonder, “was that you were so pretty he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

Impossible. She was lying to you to get you to confess something incriminating. You looked down at the third very strong drink these people had fed you and you could feel it then, just how very drunk you had become in such a short amount of time. Your memory slipped back to what she had asked you.

‘Did his back feel strong?’

This was part of it. This was part of the game they were playing to get you both to grow closer to each other. To get you to admit to things. You had told Javier earlier about your feelings for Kyungsoo and now Sara knew this information. She was using your own words to push you into him, telling you exactly what he had said about you just as — you gasped suddenly with your eyes widening — just as Javier was probably telling Kyungsoo right now exactly what you had said about him.

No. No, he shouldn’t know that. He couldn't know that.

You stood up and your legs were wobbly.

“No, Sara. He is a bastard and I am a dog, remember? We hate each other and there is no getting past hate.”

You hadn’t heard the sound of the door opening.

“I hate that man.”

The wind had been too loud. The rain had been falling in stinging waves against your skin. The storm had been raging too wildly for you to have heard anything else.

You fought through the terrible feeling of your entire back being soaked and you fought the lies they tried to get you to fall for, just so you could believe it all, believe that there was even a glimmer of attraction and affection from him and then they would all giggle and laugh when he broke your heart and rejected you again.

“He’s always only been a bastard and a jerk. If it wasn’t for this storm, I would be on the first plane far away from him the second I saw his face in that room earlier. You couldn't pay me enough money to stay here with him.”

They didn’t know. They didn't know what it felt like to have been rejected by him. They didn't know how much it hurt for him to put you in your place, again and again.

“I would be so much happier if I never met him.”

You had already said so many terrible things by the time you saw his eyes — dark, cold and angry. He was standing in the doorway listening to your long speech about how much you despised everything about him and how desperate you were to get away from him.

Oh no. Oh no, all of that had been — had been too harsh of you — You were only trying to stop all of the games but he heard it all.

He was moving through the doorway and there was a loud bang as the wind took the heavy metal door and slammed it closed.

His eyes were on fire. The words that left his lips were full of carefully controlled emotion.

”You’ve never even met me. You don't fucking know me,” he wasn’t yelling, he was growling at you.

“But you sure like to act like you do. You don't know shit. So you can step down off your high fucking horse. Quit pretending like you’re somehow a victim of my terrible personality and look in the fucking mirror for once because one of us an asshole and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

He wasn’t raging and speaking loud or irrationally and that somehow made it worse. That didn’t change the way his low voice delivered his message to you with the same amount of vitriol. If anything, his clear delivery made his words hit you even harder. He was very angry and he was upset with you. You felt every bit of his anger deep inside of your belly, it made your stomach burn and clench.

You lifted both of your hands in front of you in some stupid attempt to respond to him with body language.

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to have heard any of that.

You felt as if your entire face might be burning up. You felt shame in this.

All other times you’d fought with him, the right and the wrong had been crystal clear. He was wrong and you had been right. He was the bad guy and you were the good guy. But now, this time, and with the look of actual hurt you could see deep inside of his brown eyes you felt something different.

“Kyungsoo, wait. That’s not what I meant.” You managed to get the words out. You weren’t sure why you felt so desperate to set the record straight with him but it was probably what you knew deep down inside.

He was right. You were the asshole here. H-Had it always been you?

“I’ll just — step inside so you two can talk,” Sara had stood up and moved to the door, far away from the upset that was filling most of this back patio up with an uncomfortable atmosphere that you could almost not breathe within.

But you were trapped here, with him and his anger and his hurt feelings and — and — but, wait a minute. Why exactly were his feelings hurt? Because you called him a bastard? That wasn’t new. Because you proclaimed your desire to escape him? He frequently did the same.

Why did it matter to him what you thought?

You were insignificant to his life.

The door closed behind her and you were standing as far away from the man as you could. Most of your entire back was soaked with rain. You could feel the cold from the harsh wind beginning to prickle your skin and make you shake just a little bit.

Kyungsoo had stood to face you for a while but when you didn’t immediately offer any explanation like ‘it’s Opposite Day today! You say the opposite of how you really feel because it's fun. Isn’t this fun?’ he moved to sit down on the concrete bench and he stared ahead looking at the rainstorm but not actually seeing it.

After a few deep breaths you reached down deep and pulled out some words for him.

“They’re playing a g-game with us. There is-sa game happening right now.” You sounded drunk. This might work against you. His eyes moved from blank staring into the blackness of that rainstorm to blank staring at you. His arms were crossed over his chest and he still looked very mad.

“That man in there,” you lifted a finger to point toward Javier and you made a fist, moving it downward to pantomime the smashing motions he was making with the smashing thing back then when he was doing his smashing. You motioned three times and then quickly realized your hand, moving up and down like this resembled an obscene gesture. Oh god. Did you just do the hand gesture for jerking off?

“Oh my god,” you whispered, quickly moving both of your hands behind your back. “That man,” you motioned with your chin instead, “is gathering information. He is a spy. They all are.”

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows had flattened out but he was still looking at you with that same blank expression. So far, so good. You would get him to see the truth.

“What did he tell you about me? Did he tell you something like—” you lifted your face, looking up and to the left toward the ceiling of this patio, making a quick decision about what sorts of your secrets Javier might have told Kyungsoo. It was tricky because you weren’t about to offer up the exact same secrets.

You couldn't get the secrets out. Instead you made a “mmm mmm” sound in the place of the words you might have told Javier about how handsome you found him, or about how nice his voice sounded as he whispered instructions to you as you both were cooking earlier. What if he said the thing, the strong back thing?

“Is your question to me, Did that man,” Kyungsoo lifted his hand and quickly jerked off the air three times, “tell me mmm mmm mmm something?”

You nodded your head, thankful that he was so good at solving puzzles. He understood.

But he wasn’t answering. He just sat up straighter, his eyes opened wider and he repeated the question you had asked him.

“Did that man tell me mmm mmm mmm something?”

“Yeah,” you nodded again, stepping just a little bit closer to where he sat. You were getting colder now.

“What the fuck does that mean?” His eyes were even wider now. “What does that mean? Are you having a stroke?”

You could hear genuine frustration in his voice. He was lifting his hands toward you. You’d misjudged his puzzle solving skills.

You closed your eyes and took another step, reaching his knee with your knee, you reached out and touched his outstretched hand. Maybe this might help with your words.

“Okay, so earlier, S-Sara,” it was difficult to grasp tight to her name but after a few tries you got it, “S-Sara told me that you,” you lifted your finger and reached out toward his face, landing your index finger right in the middle of his soft bottom lip. You pressed down and his lips parted with the softest gasp for air, “she said that you told her, and she told me, that you told her,” he lifted a hand and wrapped it around your hand, pulling your finger down from poking his lip as you figured this puzzle out. You looked down at the picture of his hand holding yours. “She said you thought I was pretty.” His lips were still parted and his warm hand was still wrapped around yours, holding you still, keeping you from blowing away in this wind.

“She told me you said that. That was a lie, right? They’re playing games with us.”

His lips were closed and his eyes were still watching your face. It didn’t seem like he was any closer to working out an answer to this puzzle.

“What lies did they tell you I said about you?”

Something flew by, something bigger than a leaf, maybe a small tree branch. You heard it hit the column that supported this patio and the sound of it made you jump as you spun around to see what it was.

“We should go in. It’s getting worse out here. And you seem extremely drunk.” When Kyungsoo finally responded to you, he didn’t answer any of your questions.

”Did Javier say anything about a mountain, or a p-picnic table?”

Kyungsoo stood up when you were distracted by the branch. He had spun on his heels and had walked away from you, leaving you half drenched and so close to the edge of this patio that the next swift gust could have easily thrown you off the platform down into the mud.

“Because they are lying.” You grasped for it. You leaned into it. You grasped and you leaned only where you expected to feel the strong sturdy column from this patio you felt none, and when you leaned you leaned against nothing at all and you felt the world leaving your body. You felt the falling. The falling scared you enough to let out a cry of fear. There was no floor beneath your feet, you were only falling down, how far did this step drop down onto the wet earth below?

You closed your eyes and braced for the impact. It would probably hurt. It might even break something. You’d ruin your outfit at the very least. You closed your eyes and you felt someone there. Someone warm and sturdy with smooth arms that circled around your waist, pulling you back from the edge with such strength and force you knew it had to be him. It had to be someone with a strong back who could support you and keep you from falling down.

You grasped at him, pulling yourself up with tight fists clenched around the white cotton of his shirt and when you opened your eyes the world had righted itself again. There was no more falling and no more panic. Your feet were planted firmly on this patio floor, situated directly in between his feet, your arms around his shoulders and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and the rain that fell onto both of your heads dripped through his hair, pulling wet strands of black hair down in front of his eyes, obscuring most of his vision except for what he was looking at right in front of him, which was your face, which he looked all over without speaking. Those eyes touched over every one of your features and with each second that passed of it the more you began to feel the warmth returning to and soon overwhelming your skin.

You’d never be this close to him before this. You’d never wanted to be, before this. You let your eyes drift from the up close view of his lips to take in the view of his face. You allowed the smallest gasp to leave your chest. There was a thumping inside of you that seemed to originate from somewhere inside of him. Water ran down his face and you pulled your lips in, tasting rain water on your tongue.

“Inside. Now.” His command growled against your parted lips and you tasted the light fragrance of alcohol on his breath. The grip of his arms around your waist did not loosen despite the urgency you heard in his words.

Your hands should not have been moving but they were. The back of his shoulders and that plain white t-shirt was soaked through and the rain continued to fall over the both of you. When your hand traveled up the back of his shoulders and rested over the back of his neck you felt the incredible tension within his muscles there. He was solid and stiff and your hands should not have moved any more but you had a very flimsy grasp of your own self control

From the back of his neck you moved again, touching lightly around the front of him, fingertips trailing over his Adam’s apple and up to touch his pretty face.

The tension you felt within his arms changed when you let your fingertips trail over to his soft cheeks and when you touched the soft plump bottom lip you felt the clench of his jaw, the exhale of air through his nose and the tightening of his arms around your waist. His eyes were closed and that same thumping echoed throughout your chest.

“What did Javier tell you I said?” Your whispered question was stunted through the difficulty you had with breathing.

“That you thought I was someone with strong back muscles. I guess you need someone to help you move furniture. I don’t fucking know.”

You let out a laugh and his eyes opened to watch your face. He said it with a straight face but there was something just under his words that sounded like humor. The more time you spent with him, the more you actually began to pick up on the fact that most of the shit he said was a joke in disguise. Most of it. Sometimes he was just being mean. But this one was actually funny. You threw your head back with the laugh and his eyes danced around your entire face as you wound back down.

“You better not call me to help you move. We aren’t close enough for that.”

The real irony was this man saying something like that while still holding you tight up against his entire body like this. You were pretty sure he brought you back up to a normal body temperature by lending you the heat directly from his skin.

“Did you really tell Sara that?” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. There was a change in his posture when you asked it though.

You felt his arms loosen. You felt one arm leave you entirely and he reached around in front of himself to grab ahold of your hand, the same wandering one which had been touching his lips tonight and he wrapped his fingers around your hand, encasing it within his warmth and he pulled it down.

You felt the absence of his heat first, then the wobbliness of your legs returned to you, reminding you of just how drunk and cold you actually were.

“You’re soaking wet,” his words followed a quick glance down the length of you and even in this darkness you could make out the traveling of his pupils. You knew the fabric of this top and the too-short shorts would have clung to the shape of you — outlining the swell of your hips, the cinch of your waist, your soft breasts — giving his imagination too much to work with in the unlikely instance that he would be so inclined to have any sorts of imaginations about you, you’d given him the material for such impossible impossibilities.

It didn’t matter.

It would never happen. He was turning away from you, taking his warmth and body heat and muscles covered in transparent thin white cotton on top and flimsy black fabric that when the lighting flash just right gave you the outline of what you both knew was occurring between your hips and his hips when they’d been pressed up tightly against each other.

He was leaving and the big metal door slammed shut and before you could even shout out from behind him, calling him a coward for avoiding your question — and before you could even tell him how absolutely full of shit he was, the door opened back up and Sara was at your side with soft, dry, warm towels and a crowd of fussing and fretting Shitty Sands Resort staff members were all blabbering on about how lucky you were that you didn’t actually fall off that patio onto the jagged rocks and cactus (!!) below and how heroic and magnanimous Doh Kyungsoo was to have saved your pathetic and insignificant life.

He spun the tale to a crowd of very impressed ooh-ers and ahh-ers and you were far too drunk to add anything more than to throw out the random accusation that the entire group of them were dirty spies and the occasional request to go back outside which was shut down instantly by every single voice in the room.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

#exo fanfiction #kyungsoo #exo smut #exo fic #kyungsoo fic #exo story

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badkitty3000 · 23 days ago

Note

Do you have any head cannons of five as a dad? Like just any head cannons how he would behave but also like how that would change him being in the bedroom (like stamina, pace, etc…)!

Yeah, I might have a few *proceeds to furiously write 1.7k words*

I love writing Five as a dad! He's such a strong character that loves his family, so I can see him being a very hands-on, engaged father. I like to think that throughout most of his life he never would have thought having a family of his own would ever be possible, so that if he did become a dad, it would be the best feeling for him. He would want to give his kid everything he never had, which is a solid family life, and unconditional love. 😭❤️

Warnings: A little mention of sex under "pregnancy" and then the very end section labeled "sex" is smut and sappiness

Five Dad Headcanons

Pregnancy: Five is going to be over the moon excited when he learns you are pregnant with his child. Then, he’s going to become the most annoying person on the planet. He will remind you daily to take your vitamins and make sure you eat healthy and remain active. He will be the one reading all of the pregnancy and parenting books, glancing up every so often to tell you some fact he’s just learned and then making a little note in the margin to refer back to at a later time. He will go out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable and safe, to the point of going overboard and insisting he go with you everywhere. What if you go into premature labor at the grocery store and he’s not there? He better go along. Same goes with all doctor’s appointments. He needs a chance to ask the doctor about a few of his concerns that he read about in the most recent 'OBGYN Journal' article. Your car will be equipped with the safest damn car seat money can buy, and will be installed during your first trimester. Just in case. And if you think this is getting you off the hook when it comes to his insatiable sexual appetite, think again. You are even sexier while pregnant, so be prepared to learn some fun new positions. It’s actually very good for the baby! Trust him, he read all about it.

Newborns: Five actually loves the newborn stage. He can’t resist a good stress-project and thrives on no sleep and caffeine. He’s more than happy to let you sleep in while he gets up to take care of the baby and you’ll often find him passed out on the couch with the baby asleep on his chest. Babies are easy. They’re small, have basic needs, and can’t talk back or walk yet. He’ll adapt to fatherhood right away, and he’s not sure why people make such a big deal out of it; it’s not that hard.

Toddlers: Ok, maybe kids aren’t so easy after all. Why are they so loud? And irritating? And sticky all of the time? He loves his child more than anything in the world, but damn…he is old and tired; can he get five minutes of quiet, please? And what is with these absolutely idiotic kids' shows he is forced to watch? This is why the human population is getting dumber! Make no mistake, he will still be the doting father and take them to the park, read them books at bedtime, and play their little make believe games like tea party or dragon hunters. He loves hearing them laugh and his heart will melt when he feels their little hand in his or he gets a sloppy kiss on the mouth. When they fall asleep in the car, he’ll carry them to bed and stare lovingly down at their little sleeping face while he thinks how lucky he is to be their dad. Until he finds wet Play-doh smashed into the pocket of his favorite suit coat and he starts to reconsider a few things.

Hardship stories: Five’s kid will never be able to complain about anything in life without immediately getting an “I had it worse” story. Parents love to tell their kids how bad they had it growing up, so just imagine the jackpot of childhood trauma stories Five would bestow upon his child. He does not want them to suffer in any way, or get seriously hurt, but if they come home with a scraped knee after falling off their bike, he’s going to have a real hard time being sympathetic. “You know, when I was ten, I broke my tibia in two places and suffered a concussion after defeating an armed man twice my size, and I still had to show up on time for training the next day.” When your teenager is complaining about having to do chores around the house, there will be no end to the list of apocalyptic hardship stories. “Oh, you think mowing the lawn is hard? Do you know what I was doing at your age? Dragging all my shitty things in a rusted-out wagon across a barren landscape under the blazing hot sun looking for water after eating nothing but a can of rotten pears and one very scrawny cockroach. But please…go on.”

Powers: If it turns out that his kid has powers like his, Five would be so happy! He has a little mini-me that he can teach to blink and nerd out with about the physics required to do so! Then he’s going to get scared. What if they accidentally blink themselves into oncoming traffic? Or they try to time travel like he did and get stuck somewhere? His fear is going to bring out some of the worst in him; coming up with strict rules and insisting on constant practicing to make sure no accidents occur. This leads to some major butting of heads between the two of them. That’s where you come in to remind Five that he is not Reginald and he needs to stop acting like it before he destroys his relationship with his own child. Once you make him see that he needs to back off a little, things get a lot better and the two end up forming a strong bond over their powers

School: Five, overall, has no real use for school. Not that he doesn’t want his child to do well academically, because he does. Especially in high school, if their grades started slipping, he would definitely be up their ass about it. But school as an institution in general? Not interested. You won’t be seeing Five at a PTO meeting or volunteering to bring in snacks for a class holiday party. If his child gets in trouble for something minor and the school calls him about it, that’s probably the last time they are going to do that. “Let me get this straight…you called me in the middle of my day to tell me my kid said the f-word in class? Well, here’s a thought. How about you just do your fucking job and don’t fucking call me again unless someone is fucking bleeding or dead? We good here? Great.”

Proud Dad: Five would be so proud of everything his child did and he would tell them so all the time. But he would try and tone it down so he didn’t look so eager to brag about them to everyone he sees. When they are little, he’ll casually point out the picture of a house that is hanging on the refrigerator to anyone that comes over. “See that? Pretty good for six, don’t you think? I mean, I’m not saying it’s a DaVinci or anything, but it’s good right?” If they play sports, he’ll be at every game, but he’s not going to be the screaming, cheering parent in the stands. He’ll be watching everything very carefully, studying all of the players on the opposing team and learning their weaknesses to coach your child on it later. If the ref makes a bad call, though, he’ll be the first one to jump up screaming “Are you kidding me? What are you, blind? That was clearly a foul!” and then mumbling “Fucking idiot” as he sits back down again. At their high school and college graduations, he’ll let his siblings be the loud, whistling, embarrassing people in the crowd as his kid crosses the stage to get their diploma. Five will be standing silently, beaming with pride and trying not to cry (unsuccessfully).

Sex: Sex after parenthood is different, there’s just no getting around it. In the beginning, you’re both so exhausted that it’s not exactly the hours-long fuck-fests you used to be able to pull off in the past. It’s still good, but it’s straight and to the point so you can get on with your lives or get some much needed sleep. After a while, though, you figure it out again. Five prefers to bang you hard and loudly, but now that’s not an option with little ears in the house. So, he settles on teasing you, instead. “Good girl, staying quiet for me” he’ll whisper with that arrogant smirk while he slams his cock into you with as much force as possible without letting the headboard hit the wall. He’ll get off on the fact that you want to cry out so badly that you’re biting at your lip and digging your nails into his skin. He wants to hear you gasping for air while you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle your moans. Maybe his stamina won’t always be as good as it once was, but that’s usually because he’s frequently getting cock-blocked by his own kid. When he can finally get some, it’s been a while and he’s not exactly performing at the peak of perfection. You better watch out when you have an evening alone, though. Five will happily ship your child off to one of his siblings for the night to get some one-on-one time with you. Now you can be as loud and dirty as you want, and he is going to take full advantage of that. Be prepared to get zero sleep, because Five is going to make up for some lost time. He won’t even wait a full minute after you’re alone before he’s slamming you up against a wall, flattening your body with his and kissing you roughly, or pulling you on top of his lap; his hard-on already straining against his pants while he desperately tries to strip your clothes off. He’s going to fuck you as hard and as long as possible, doing everything he can to make you lose your mind and come all over his cock while moaning his name. Calling him Daddy in the sack might be a little weird at first, but you’ll get past it eventually because he’s never going to get tired of hearing that, and Five is undoubtedly the hottest Daddy in and out of the bedroom. After he’s completely ruined you, he’s going to fuck you softly and sweetly, telling you how much he loves you, because sometimes he misses having you all to himself. Before you fall asleep in his arms, he’ll tell you how happy he is and thank you for making him a father and giving him the life he never dreamed possible

If you feel like reading more about Five becoming a sexy family man with an eventual wife and son, check out my Halo series on AO3. 🥰

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