#I wrote this back in january i think

[sliceofhotsoda]

Kageyama probably lotioned his hands religiously, ‘cause smooth skin laid across every centimeter the eye could see. Shoyou’s skin was patchy and rough in places from the weather, but Kageyama’s was like eggs and milk and butter all whisked together. And he realized that it smelled like it, too. Kageyama’s hands were the scent of waiting for cookies to cool. Waiting. Kageyama had gotten weirdly good at waiting. In the bitter winter, Kageyama had still been forming his hands with love. Shoyou was stunned at his own thoughts.

[mirrortouchedsea]

Day 14

One second Madara and Leo were hiding in an alley, stealing kisses from each other and laughing, and the next he was on the ground, heavy hand wrapped around his throat. He brought up his hands to claw at the one choking him to no avail. All he wanted was a day out with his boyfriend, a normal date night together for once, and he couldn’t even have that. 

God, Leo was still there. Madara’s vision started going black and he prayed that Leo would be okay. This was not how he had wanted to go but with his line of work it was something he had to accept, but he’d at least rather die when he was actually working. 

There was a loud thunk and the hand on his throat fell away. Madara took a deep breath trying to regain his senses. Everything was spinning and Leo was clutching him, sobbing into his chest. Madara took a minute to regain his bearings, vision clearing enough for him to see the man who must have been choking him on the ground, blood surrounding his head. There was a pipe laying on the ground and Madara could feel blood on his face as well. He almost definitely had a concussion as well. 

His mind was telling him to get away from Leo, the man who had saved his life just then. Madara was clearly too dangerous if he was getting attacked in public now, and he had put Leo in direct danger too. 

But Leo… 

“Hey, Leo-san, are you okay?” He forced himself to stay, hand running through Leo’s hair. 

“Mama, is he-is he dead?” Leo asked between sobs. Madara looked over to the body next to him. He reached a hand out and touched his neck. No pulse. It didn’t sound like he was breathing either. Should he tell the truth? “He’s dead, isn’t he.” 

“Yes, Leo-san. He’s dead.” He couldn’t even bring himself to thank Leo for saving him. Leo had killed someone, something he never should have had to do. He wanted to run. He needed to stay. 

“What should we--” 

“I’ll take care of it later.” 

“You’re hurt!” 

“I’ll be fine. Let’s get you back to Seisoukan.” 

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

“I’ll come back when I’m done--” 

“I’m not going back if you won’t stay with me.” 

Madara looked at the body, blood soaking into Madara and Leo’s clothes. They’d have to get rid of them; there was no way they would get these stains out. Leo had less blood on him, he could go buy them something to cover up the blood until they could change. He pulled out his phone, the screen cracked from the fall and shot Ibara a text. They could take care of it. Leo couldn’t be left alone right now. 

“Okay. Let’s get cleaned up, Leo-san.”  

[parasolids]

headed to the post office today to mail out letters i wrote and never sent. didn’t mean to color match them all since i wrote them over several months

[satoruxx]

I keep rereading your satoru stuff to ignore canon

I cant believe you wrote jjk/j

I am choosing to believe your fics and stuff are canon especially the satoru reunion one

Also I am the “I hope it’s the stupid trope that it’s all a dream” anon and your newest Drabble is so dhsjejwkw/pos

AJADHKHS hi again nonnie babes !!

STOP i'm kicking my feet and giggling rn !! nothing makes fic writers happier than knowing people actually come back and reread their shit like you're making me blush nonnie :33

anyways you're right this is gege's secret tumblr acct and the only thing that's canon is that satoru was unsealed and you both live happily ever after—you heard it first !!

[our-lady-of-mcr]

everytime i think im done ranting i remember something else LMFAO this one is extra long i hit tag limit god mf damn

[kessielrg]

Is it bad that I want to work on my potential MMX Danganronpa AU because I want to get to the scene where Zero punches Aero because she's standing over Iris's fresh corpse? ^^;

[mochiwrites]

aaaaaaaaa gonna scream bc I was chock full of motivation for writing earlier this morning and then I had class :<

[sunrizef1]

Silence

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader, ex!lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: this took too long 😭

_________________________

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by charlesleclerc taylorswift and 15,088,017 others

yourusername I’m not the only “friend” you’ve lost lately

load comments…

user1 MOTHER

user2 NEW MUSIC?????

user3 BAD BITCH ALBUM BAD BITCH ALBUM

user4 I LOVE HER

user5 🖕LEWIS

taylorswift 💋

liked by yourusername

user6 hot 😩

user7 PLEASE NEW ALBUM

theweeknd 🔥

↳ yourusername 😘

↳ user8 ???

carlosainz welcome back cariño

liked by yourusername

user9 AHHHHH

y/nupdates

liked by user1 user2 and 200,404 others

y/nupdates y/n was spotted entering a recording studio in LA today!

load comments…

user10 YESSSSSS

user11 NEW MUSIC

user12 MOTHER

user13 did y’all see the photos of a man walking in with her… 👀

↳ user14 wait what???

↳ user15 yeah there’s a clip of some guy following her into the studio

↳ user16 was it just her producer???

↳ user17 they were holding hands…

user18 I love her

user19 watch her release it on Lewis’ birthday lmao

↳ user20 girl I hope not I can’t wait until January

↳ user21 it’s already October you’ll survive miss girl

yourusername

liked by taylorswift badgalriri and 41,003,876 others

yourusername silence (the album) out now 🖤

load comments…

user22 YEAHHHHH

user23 FINALLYYYYY

user24 this isn’t a breakup album…..

taylorswift 🖤

↳ yourusername 🖤

user25 who is that man????

user26 these are love songs!!!

user27 claiming stargirl

theweeknd ⭐️👧

liked by yourusername

landonorris 🔥

↳ yourusername 😁

user28 who is this about????

↳ user29 probably the man she was seen at the studio with

↳ user30 did anyone figure out who that was?

↳ user31 I don’t think so

↳ user32 plot twist: it’s a driver

↳ user33 lets get back to bed grandma

TWITTER - OCTOBER 16

GRAMMYS NIGHT - 4 MONTHS LATER

INSTAGRAM

charles_leclerc

liked by killatrav landonorris and 4,008,302 others

charles_leclerc you’re the only friend I need ⭐️

load comments…

user34 ❤️❤️❤️

user35 love them

user36 my parents

carlossainz congratulation y/n

liked by charles_leclerc

user37 Lewis Hamilton found dead

user38 the fact that y/n said that Charles basically wrote all of me completely on his own 😭

user39 the only thing I've gathered from this is that y/n calls Charles babydoll

user40 quoting ribs in the caption 😭😭😭

landonorris 🥳🥳🥳

↳ charles_leclerc thank mate

↳ landonorris ofc, tell the grammy winner I love her

↳ charles_leclerc no

↳ landonorris 😿

user41 I live for them

yourusername

liked by taylorswift honeymoon and 21,002,387 others

yourusername sharing beds like little kids

load comments…

taylorswift ❤️

liked by yourusername

user42 the matching captions I'm weak

user43 they're adorable

user44 aoty ik thats right 😛

theweeknd ✨✨✨

↳ yourusername 💫

user45 have Abel and y/n ever said actual words to each other

user46 I'm so glad she found love after Lewis

landonorris I love you

↳ yourusername thanks bud

↳ landonorris say it back

↳ yourusername love you too

↳ landonorris 😌

user47 I'm so happy for her

charles_leclerc ❤️

↳ yourusername ❤️

[gimmethatagustd]

morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

○ Pairing: BFF!Yoongi x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, angst, smut, fluff

○ 6 / 100 Drabble Challenge (FWB)

○ Word Count: 2,177

○ Warnings: MC's boyfriend cheated on her, post-breakup blues, questionable decision making, fingering so good you'll try to run away from it, pussy eating, too much tongue sucking probably, Yoongi is a boob guy, they have matching Spongebob and Patrick coffee mugs so why aren't they married?? Idiots

○ Notes: Shout out to @sailoryooons for also writing about a daegu boy eating pussy tonight 😌 And, as usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and didn't proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

○ Post Date: January 22, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Imported - Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder. 

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air. 

“How much time do we have?” 

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear. 

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move. 

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.” 

“No.” 

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders. 

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi. 

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?” 

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head. 

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed. 

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus. 

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you. 

“You were too good for him.” 

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right. 

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment. 

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature. 

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was. 

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort. 

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish. 

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one. 

“Yes.” 

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.” 

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…” 

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate. 

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.” 

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right. 

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different. 

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart. 

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.” 

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it. 

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.” 

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes. 

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.” 

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward. 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin. 

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours. 

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck. 

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants. 

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric. 

“These are his, too, right?” 

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them. 

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him. 

But you also love your ex. 

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at night when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water. 

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good. 

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes. 

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough. 

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples. 

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.” 

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is. 

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper. 

“Not yet, though.” 

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs. 

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.” 

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–” 

Yoongi laps at your clit in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking you to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other drapes over the crook of his arm. 

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs. 

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal. 

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead focusing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy.

He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer. 

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you. 

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips. 

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it. 

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here. 

@jooniesxbby @seokteoksworld @taegeum @dprmoon @chimmisbae

[ifwdominicfike]

the words i cant say

summary - matt is infatuated with you, you’re all he ever thinks about now. having no one to let these secrets out to, he decided why not write about them instead..

it was killing him, having to keep these secrets to himself for so long was tiring. the only thing being his outlet was his journal, pages among pages filled with him just rambling about you. of course he would never tell you these things, afraid of going over your boundaries and ruining the whole friendship.

if you were to ask him what he loved most about you he wouldn’t be able to answer that question, he loved every single bit of you. of course he wrote about that as well, he couldn’t not think about you even if he tried.

a couple weeks ago..

“her everything is perfect, her eyes, her style, her humor, the way her smile brightens when i compliment her on anything - june 19th”

“she looked so pretty today, i kept staring at her lips i hope she didn’t notice.. - june 25th”

“her voice is the sweetest thing i’ve ever heard, i can talk to her for hours - july 12th”

“i cant help but wonder if she thinks about me the way i think about her - july 22nd”

to shorten it down he was in love with you, and he had no plan of telling you anytime soon.

he wanted to push these feelings away, feeling bad for pining over his own best friend while you had no knowledge of it. he couldn’t help it though, he thinks back to the countless amount of times you two had spent together. late night drives, going thrifting, or just staying in watching cheesy rom-com movies.

during group settings his eyes would wonder over to you, staring longingly at you laughing and smiling big while you were having the time of your life. you would turn your head and see his light colored eyes looking at you with a soft expression, which ended up in both of you turning away while heat rushed to your cheeks.

there was some nights where you stayed up thinking about him, just wondering what if? but you brushed it off, thinking maybe its all in your head..

you were coming over today, it was nothing new, you always came over to hang out when you didn’t have anything specifically planned. you were excited to see matt, you haven’t seen him in two weeks due to his work schedule and all of his meetings piled up. he finally had a free day and you were overly excited when he asked you if you wanted to hang out.

you loved spending time with him, no matter what it was. as long as it was with him you were happy.

he had texted you to come whenever you wanted, you were already in pretty comfy clothes so you got your keys and left. the drive there was calm, music flowing through the car consumed the silence and before you know it you’re already in their driveway.

you texted matt that you were outside already and not even a minute passes before you hear the door unlock and open, you were met with his disheveled figure, hair messy, slightly cropped shirt and sweatpants resting low on his waist..

“finally kid you’re here, you were taking forever” a smile spread across his face as he rolled his eyes sarcastically. you step inside as he holds the door for you, “i haven’t seen you in forever and you already have a attitude??” i say raising an eyebrow as i set my keys down on the table.

“oh come on, you know i missed you doll.” that name. you didn’t hear it often but when you did your cheeks would turn bright red as you stumble over your words. that stupid grin on his face said everything you needed to know. “i missed you too, matt!!” you flashed a cheesy smile at him before you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you into his chest.

a couple months ago..

“the feeling of her arms around my waist feels so right.. wish i could always have her this close. - january 17th”

“she has to know what she’s doing, right?? fuck. her smiles makes me weak. - january 29th”

“she looked gorgeous in that top with the little bow, her hair done up differently, her pretty jewelry scattered around her figure as well, i couldn’t help but steal glances each time she wasn’t looking in the car. - february 6th”

you return the hug, his comforting scent surrounds you, making you feel at peace. finally feeling his warmth that you longed for for a little too long, you both pull away and his face lights up. “shit- i forgot i had gotten you something when i was away, come on” your face forms into a confused expression “you didn’t have to do that matt, you know that right??” your smile still being very evident as you protest him getting you a gift.

“yeah yeah i know, but it made me think of you so i haddd to get it!” he grabbed your hand and dragged you over to his room, you flop down on the bed as he searches around looking for the gift. you hear him scattering around while muttering words to himself until a certain book under his pillow catches your eye.. you didn’t know matt was getting into reading? “ooh matt what book are you reading?” you hold it up to show him the hardcover journal.

“huh? im not readin- WAIT!“ you open it up to see your name on the first page, several times actually. you scan through it curiously, you finally realize that it was definitely not a regular book. he was basically confessing his love to you in every single page, matt was too late as he rushed over to you snatching the book from your hands.

you quickly stand up, jaw basically on the floor and your face redder than ever. you didn’t even know what to say, its not like you didn’t feel the same because you did.. its just you couldn’t believe he wrote all of that about you. “l-look y/n i can explain i just-“ his words coming out in stutters “matt, matt please, just calm down. okay? y-you’re okay, come on..” you lead him back over to his bed, both of you sitting down at the edge. “im really, really sorry y/n you weren’t supposed to read that. i understand if you feel uncomfortable or if you wanna leav-“ you cut him off bringing your hand to his cheek and leaning in, your lips colliding with his.

you caught him off guard but he instantly kisses back, you smile into the kiss and bring your other hand to back of his neck pulling him more in. his hands traveling down to your hips, holding onto you like you could disappear any moment. you both finally pull away, heavy breathing while you watch that same stupid grin form on his face.

“what?” you ask laughing. “nothing, its just- i’ve always thought i would be the one to kiss you first” his smirk growing wider by the second. “oh shut up, you’re so corny” you roll your eyes in a playful manner and push at his shoulder a little.

“i really did mean it you know? everything i said in that journal. you really, really mean a lot to me and i- i can’t see myself loving anyone else other than you y/n. since the first day i met you.” tears forming in your eyes as he continues to talk, “you mean everything to me. words can’t express how i feel for you, i would’ve said something sooner but i didn’t wanna ruin the relationship we already had and-“ you laugh at his mouth running off again, his nervousness taking over once more.

“matt, please im so sorry but shh. i feel the same way, you weren’t really the best at hiding that staring problem of yours you know..” you giggle at his embarrassed expression “i love you, a lot. you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, you were always there for me whenever i needed someone and you never fail to make my days better. i love you so much.” he watches you in awe, how could someone so precious be in front of him right now?

“so does this mean like, im your boyfriend now, right..?” you giggle and take his hand into yours “well.. i dont know, i haven’t been asked yet..” he smiles and gives your hand a small kiss. “y/n, may i be your boyfriend?” your smile growing ten times bigger before you nod your head immediately. “yes, yes yes YES!” your arms instantly wrapping around his neck as you pull him into another kiss, this time it was filled with love, and patience. the world stopped the second you two filled the gap in between, until you feel him pull back.

“i love you so fucking much y/n. words wont ever be enough for me to show you how much i really do.”

“wait. what about my gift though?”

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

my first fic.. this took me like 2 days to write because i had no idea on how to go with this, i feel like its kinda all over the place too it feels rushed to me idk why 😭😭 if there is any mistakes or missing words, NO THERE ISNT. please be nice, again this is my first time writing. im always open for ideas or tips on anything!! BYE LOVE YOUUU 🤗🤗. also thank you to @flouvela for encouraging me on writing this ILYSM GF 🤍🤍 ok bye now!!

[wszczebrzyszynie]

what is the like.... overarching plot of dns? is there an antagonist/conflict?

well this is fun. DNS does not have a real antagonist, so all the conflict is very character focused; it revolves around Przemek and Mikita trying to find their place in life as people who never truly felt like people. a very coming of age/slice of life kind of thing; its main theme is loneliness and all the things that come with it. The more detailed plot synopsis is under the read more as it turned out very, very long for a story that doesnt exist outside my head. It may just be the longest oc post i ever wrote here. 2 thousand words! thats a small fanfic. i dont know if i can call that a synopsis

The entire plot takes around one year (from one autumn to the next one) and is vaguely divided by the seasons; its not exactly on par with actual season dates, but its easier to categorise them that way for simplicity.

First fall, Przemek gets hired to be a junior gardener/garden help (which in this case oftentimes means doing whatever physical work in the palace needed) into a slowly collapsing, understaffed and isolated palace of a dying family line, the quite peculiar Kowalewicz family, with the owner, Eliza, rarely staying at that place. Durning work, he accidentialy gets lost in the building and catches a glimpse of a resident no one ever mentions, who just as quickly disappears. This "ghost" encounter is what makes him interact with Ryba more (who is one of the only people his age, his coworker and someone very focused on helping Przemek fit in in general; Przemek doesnt want to talk to people there, hes nervous and doesnt really feel safe away from his family; at this moment he lives from visit to visit, only really trusting his sister with things), and, with Ryba pushing him to see this ghost more, they try to explore the palace when they get a chance. Most notable moment is when they try to offer the ghost some food (bowl of kasha and some eggs) in the evening durning the dziady-all souls day period, to help it "achieve peace in the afterlife", but Przemek is too scared to go all the way and they just... leave the food on the attic stairs he first saw his ghost at. When they try to get back to their rooms (outside of the main palace building), they hear a loud thud above them. Przemek really wants to leave at that point, but he gets dragged back by Ryba, only to see that their ghost has fallen down the stairs (presumably tripping on the food) and is now unconcious. They dont know what to do and think they killed him, before he regains consciousness. Thats how they meet. Luckily for them he is far to unwell and dizzy to recognize what made him trip

Winter (late autumn-early winter) is the beginning of Przemek and Mikas relationship and the hostility that came with it. Przemek feels stupid for assuming Mika was a ghost, and Mika is just being generally unpleasant to him (and to lesser extent, Ryba, who tries to befriend him at any cost), because hes generally awful like that and wants to be left alone. He starts leaving the attic less the more Ryba pushes, but hes still willing to accept Ryba (because Ryba reminds him of a friend he had; Mikita is defined by his past and will clutch onto it because he doesnt want to live in the present and cant even imagine a future. and because Ryba is stubborn and doesnt want to leave Mika alone after thinking they killed him on those stairs; Ryba brings him food and they eat together). While his reationship with Ryba is... alright enough, he and Przemek cant get along no matter what Ryba does to ease things out. The tension between them is slowly building up for months, before in early january they get into a big fight. It ends up getting physical (Przemek finally gets to punch Mikita, who actually fights back and threatens him with a letter opener), and in the aftermath Mikita decides he cant stay in the attic (where the fight took place) and goes into the gardens, where he gets lost once it gets dark (Mikita is able to navigate the palace and gardens while in daylight, but in the darkness he is practically completly blind. While the first part of the gardens is relatively well maintained, the further it gets from the palace the more neglected it becomes, until it blends into the local forests). Unable to find his way back home in the cold, dark winter evening, he realizes hes probably going to freeze to death, and is afraid of dying for the first time; something he thought he was ready for and thought about a lot (to no ones surprise he is suicidal). Its a very important moment for Mikitas character overall. Tired out after what feels like eternity of limbo, he gets found on accident by Mikołaj and Tamara, the church ground/cemetery children, and passes out. This entire woods scene is the moment in the story that starts Mikas journey to become a person again; its his rebirth, esentially. Przemek in the meantime is left with the fact that he cant really help but somewhat identify with the way Mikita treated Ryba (quite badly, even if he was nicer to him than to Przemek), and that he should be a better friend overall; something he never really thought about before, not because hes awful, but because he never really had friends outside of his family, about which he doesnt really want to think about - Przemek gains something new in life to care for and that is his friendship with Ryba, which is both very simple and very difficult for him, but he chooses to focus on it in an attempt to save himself. In some way, those feelings culminated durning the fight, when he punched Mika, but only after he started unpacking what it all entails. In general Przemek starts to question himself more; hes been slowly opening up to other people at the palace for the past few months, and the fight is the trigger he needed to start recognizing that things are changing for him too. The snow starts getting so heavy they cant even leave the oficyna (the building with their rooms, servants kitchen, laundry room and all those things) and are unaware Mika disappeared; Przemek is more worried about the possibility of getting fired in the middle of winter for punching Mika, but Ryba does worry about him. Mikita gets sick and is being cared for by Mikołaj and Tamaras dad; they get along pretty well (especially since Mikita is unwell and had a life altering near death experience) and after two weeks Mikołaj gets Mika back home. No one noticed he was gone

Spring (which is actually late winter/middle of spring). The main three reconcile somewhat after the events of winter; Przemek and Mikita dont like each other, but they start to accept each others presence, mostly for Rybas sake, who doesnt want to be pushy after the winter events and recognizes Mikitas isolationist nature. Mikita starts going out more; not really outside, but starts hanging out in other places in the palace, and even visits the church grounds when he has the chance. This season comes with new characters; Eliza comes back home, and with her comes her brother and his family, who normally live in Britain. Among them is the youngest family member - Dominik, a young boy, who never really saw his dads family home, or ever been to Congress Poland, considering Artur was the first one to get away from that place. Dominik is out of his depth there and doesnt really enjoy that much at first; Ryba spends his time on trying to learn more about the kid, trying to make him feel more welcome. Przmek doesnt really care for the residents and wants to keep his distance, but he also feels like he cant leave Ryba alone, and so he runs errands with Ryba while he tries to help. While he manages to get along with the boy (who is drawn to anything cool his older peers do; and Ryba is plenty cool), he starts to recognize that the issue lies in him missing his home and the other side of his family, something neither of them can really fix. Its something that resonates with Przemek and forces him to finally think about his own family life; something he has been somewhat avoiding since his first arrival. Every month, Przemek gets to come back home for two days, and with each visit it has been getting harder, mostly due to his sister, Lena. Przemek starts the story very... depressed, mostly being dragged around by others, but now hes different. Hes still relatively meek, but being able to focus on new relationships and experience the weird but unconditional support at the palace made him a calmer, bit more content person, who can make choices for himself. In Lenas eyes however, her brother is leaving them behind, not as much physically as mentally, and she starts holding a grudge against him, causing tension Przemek doesnt understand or know how to fix it. The siblings relationship is something id like to go more in depth in another post if anyone would be interested in it, as its one of my favourite relationships in the story, and a very important one

Summer (late spring-late summer) is the last "proper" season. Over a month after Artur and his family come back home, another guests arrive - Beatrycze and her father, who is a close friend of Eliza, who will be staying there for a while. At that point Mikita has made a lot of progress since he first fell down the stairs and is taking part in the palaces... social life, if you can call it that, to an extent. Trycz is a peculiar guest, as she avoids talking to anyone, usually haunting the hallways and forgotten rooms of the palace, or walking by herself in the gardens. When caught, shes polite, but runs away from conversations at the first possible moment. Its Mikita who gets to actually talk to her first - and he does not like her, but this encounter makes Trycz open up a little. As a trans girl shes not very open to meeting strangers, but Mikita is... peculiar enough himself, with the rest of the palace (he doesnt go outside so he wears whatever, and he looks... queer enough to clock immidiately, i suppose. Trycz mistakes him for a girl herself at first) to make it better. While for Trycz it was a relatively nice encounter and a stepping stone in making friends at the manor, Mikita starts to get stuck in his own head. Once Ryba and Trycz become friends, and hes forced to listen about her from both the only peer hes willing to talk to, as well as the adults at the palace, he realizes just how completly envious he is of her. Convestations with Trycz and her family open up a box he has made his life goal to not think about - that he is, ultimately, still a failure, and his life will be forever defined by his childhood. In his head, Trycz is a literal better version of him, something he cant be anymore, and hes left to deal with that. He has to accept that he will never truly leave the attic - while someone like Trycz or Ryba or even Przemek can find their people, Mikitas ability to love died with his mother, and now he has nothing, he cant truly connect with anyone and he always will be a bit lonely. Summer for him is both a setback and a start; he will never be able to regain the relationship he used to have with his mother, but shes not here anymore, and he is. While his former attempts at getting better were rooted in wanting to be a bit like before, he recognizes he cant really do that. Przemek on the other hand gets to experience a... Ryba withdrawal, of sorts, as their relationship gets on the harder to understand side, and Przemek needs space to think about everything going on. He doesnt want to hang around the guests, and he still feels lost in regards of his family. Out of lack of options, he tries to talk to Mikita when they meet on accident - something they dont really do since they dont have to anymore. They actually manage to hold a conversation and share advice. Mikita tells him off for being so helpless and makes him go talk to someone more competent about his issues, but he does envy him for being able to care so much. The time of the next visit is getting near, and Przemek knows he has to do something about it, as he decided to not visit last month and feels incredibly guilty about it, ultimately finding his way back to Ryba. In the process of making sense of his family situation, he realizes he may be in love with Ryba, who pretty much knew already. He comes back home for a visit and apologizes to Lena for leaving her alone

Next autumn is an epilogue of sorts; a then vs now kind of thing. Przemek and Ryba help Mika move out of the attic into a different room in the palace

I dont think im capable of talking about my ocs in just a few words. I cut out some things (Rybas whole deal, the relationship between Lena and Przemek, Mikita durning spring) but i think thats the main meat. Its not much but its something i cherish

[mirrortouchedsea]

Day 15

“Tatsumi-senpai, have you ever kissed anyone?” Kaname asked, sitting across from the other boy in the catacombs. Everyone else had left for the night leaving the two of them alone. 

“Why are you asking?” Tatsumi replied, confused as he moved one of his chess pieces on the board. Kaname didn’t know anything about how the game worked and was mostly just guessing at where the pieces moved. 

“A-ah it’s nothing, I was just wondering…I haven’t kissed anyone.” Kaname could feel his face heating up. God this was embarrassing, why was he doing this? 

“I haven’t kissed anyone either.” Their game of chess forgotten for the moment. Kaname’s face burned even hotter. 

“Would you--would you like to try kissing?” He barely squeaked out. How was the great Kaname Tojou such a loser when it came to his crush? He should be confident and yet here he was. 

“Can you repeat that, Kaname-san?” He loved the way his name sounded in Tatsumi’s voice. It made him want to die in the moment though. 

“Can I--Can we try…kissing?” His voice was still soft but evidently loud enough for Tatsumi to hear if the slight blush on his face was evidence of anything. Tatsumi gently moved their chess board to the side and slid closer to Kaname. Kaname felt his heart rate pick up at the proximity as Tatsumi leaned in closer. 

How was he supposed to kiss? He tried to remember the movies and how they did it, closing his eyes and letting Tatsumi guide him, his lips slightly parted. The moment Tatsumi’s lips touched his he thought he would fly, and evidently his mouth moved before he could think, as Tatsumi let out a yelp and brought a hand to his lips. 

Kaname bit him. Oh how embarrassing! It wasn’t enough to draw blood but still! 

“I’m so sorry Tatsumi-senpai! I didn’t mean to do that! Oh god--” 

Tatsumi laughed. Kaname stopped in his tracks as Tatsumi continued laughing. He wasn’t laughing at Kaname, though, or at least not at Kaname as a person, but rather at his reaction to the whole thing. 

“It’s okay, Kaname-san. We can try again if you’d like.” 

“Y-yes I’d like that very much.” 

They leaned in again and Kaname clenched his jaw to keep himself from biting Tatsumi again, but he got a little overeager again and felt their heads bump into each other and not where their lips were (which was where he was aiming for). Kaname curses under his breath but Tatsumi giggles again (a heavenly sound to Kaname’s ears) and cups his face before gently guiding him to Tatsumi’s lips. 

Kaname was too in shock to do anything for a moment. He was kissing someone. And not just someone. He was kissing Tatsumi Kazehaya, heartthrob of Reimei Academy. He closed his eyes and relaxed, reaching to grab Tatsumi’s blazer and pull him closer. He felt their teeth clack together but it wasn’t as bad as their first attempt and for Kaname, that was enough. 

They pulled away, panting heavily, and Kaname noticed that Tatsumi’s pupils had dilated. He wanted to pull Tatsumi in for another kiss but held himself back, at least for a moment. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Tatsumi spoke, breathless and full of affection. 

“No, it wasn’t.” Kaname pulled Tatsumi back in for another kiss, narrowly avoiding bumping their heads together again. He could do this forever, just him and Tatsumi in the catacombs, kissing to their hearts content. 

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sometimes goodbye is a second chance ] j. hughes

paring : Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary : Jack and his ex reunite at Nico’s wedding, reigniting some old feelings between the pair

warning(s) : a heavy makeout session, mentions of injured!jack & hockey injuries

author’s note : was reading something for jack then realized that it’s been a hot second since i wrote anything for him so that’s how this lil thing was born lmaoo. enjoy loves

༺═──────────────═༻

She wasn't going to go to the wedding. As a matter of fact, she made sure she had plans for that weekend that she was supposed to be in Switzerland so she could use them as an excuse to why she couldn't be there for the wedding.

Then Nico did everything but get on his hands and knees to beg her to come since she is one of his close friends. How could she say no to those big doe eyes that the captain of the Devils has? Even she's not immune to those eyes of his.

It's a beautiful day when she arrives for the wedding. Nico waits for her by baggage claim when she walks into Bern Airport after getting off the plane that brought her to Switzerland. She smiles and runs up to her close friend. Despite everything that happened right after the new year, she and Nico stayed close.

Well, as close as they could be while she was busy avoiding one of his teammates.

When she gets to Nico, she wraps her arms around him. "So happy you could come," Nico tells her as they back away from each other. "Mia is even excited that you're here."

"Nico, I can't ever say no to either of you," she teases. "I'm happy that I came too though. Forgot how beautiful it is here."

She grabs her suitcase and duffel bag before she walks outside to Nico's car. "So, all the guests are at the hotel already since the rehearsal dinner is tonight on the roof," he tells her as they load her stuff into the car. "There's probably enough time for you to take a nap if you want to take one since I know you're a big napper after you travel." She playfully punches his shoulder as soon as she's settled in the passenger's seat. "I'm just saying that you came in eight hours before the dinner so you have time to sleep if you want!"

"You don't have to call me a 'big napper'," she retorts with a smile on her face. Nico sticks his tongue out at her. "Oh, how grown up. Aren't you getting married tomorrow?"

"And my fiancé finds it cute when I stick my tongue out at her."

"Doesn't work on me, Nico. Hate to break it to you."

After about twenty minutes of driving, Nico pulls up to the hotel. She looks up at the building with a sigh.

The entire drive, her mind has been on her ex-boyfriend. She knows that he'll be here, but she doesn't know if he's already here.

Nico turns the car off as soon as he finds a parking spot. She sighs and unbuckles her seatbelt. She waits to get out though. She doesn't know how she feels about running into Jack, but right now she's very anxious.

It's not that they ended on bad terms. She just couldn't watch him keep playing and risking long term damage to his shoulder.

He kept forcing himself to get back on the ice before his body was ready and he wasn't able to heal correctly. She couldn't bear to watch him keep hurting himself, so she walked away.

Of course she kept tabs on him throughout the rest of the season after she walked away in January. It broke her heart to miss the Stadium Series game because she was looking forward to seeing both him and Luke play. She was ecstatic when she saw online that he was going to be getting surgery on the shoulder that he hurt in the game against Chicago.

She didn't reach out though. She didn't think she had the right.

"I know you're worried about seeing him," Nico states. "I made sure that your rooms were on different floors so you won't see each other until later. He, um ..." he trails off. "He tells me all the time how much he wishes he listened to you and let his body heal."

"He only keeps saying that because he wishes he never lost me," she comments as she blinks away the tears that have formed in her eyes. "I walked away because I couldn't keep watching him hurt himself to play a sport. I know he loves it, but he loved it more than he loved me so I walked away."

"He got surgery back in April," Nico tells her. "Before the season even ended to get a head start on his recovery. He started doing physical therapy two weeks ago so he's doing well. He'll get back on the ice in a month. I told him to take it easy."

A tear rolls down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away. "Why couldn't he just do this sooner?" she says. Her voice is so shaky that she can barely speak.

Nico grabs her hand. "He needed to lose you to realize that what he was doing was not okay," he replies. "I know how hard it's been for you. Both of you. I think that the two of you should talk this weekend. For both your sakes."

She shakes her head and looks at Nico. "I don't know if I can face him after walking away from him," she cries. "You didn't see the look on his face when I left the apartment that day, Nico. You didn't see how much I hurt him when he was already in physical pain. I don't know if he even wants to talk to me after that. I kicked him when he was already down."

He pulls her across the armrest and into a hug. She cries into his shoulder and grasps onto his t-shirt. "He's worried that you won't talk to him," he admits. "Just so you know. If you want to talk to him, do it. You both need some closure."

The worst part is that she knows it too. She walked away and didn't reply to a single one of his texts or calls. She moved to Philadelphia to her brother's apartment so she was just far enough away that he couldn't drive to her but close enough if something happened to him.

She never stopped caring, and she should probably tell him that.

With a nod, she pulls away. "Okay," she sighs. "I'll talk to him. Only if he wants to talk to me though."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She doesn't talk to Jack at the rehearsal dinner. As a matter of fact, she doesn't even see him at the rehearsal dinner. There aren't a ton of people at the dinner either so she thought that she would see him. It surprises her that she didn't.

Getting ready the next afternoon though, she knows that today will be the day she sees him. At least she'll look her best when he sees her for the first time since she walked out on that cold January day. Same goes for him. Jack's always looked good in a suit and tie. She wonders which one of his game day suits he'll be in today.

Three rolls around and she heads from her second floor hotel room down to the first floor. She'd walk down the stairs if her feet weren't already killing her from the heels she has on.

The ceremony is taking place in the ballroom because of how many guests will be attending. The reception and dinner are taking place up on the rooftop at five so Nico and his new wife can get some pictures taken up there before everyone joins them.

Elevator doors open and she's met with the one person she's been wanting to avoid until the reception tonight. Jack freezes like a deer in headlights, but his eyes drink her in as she steps onto the elevator.

It's not like she's wearing something very revealing. The top of her red dress hugs her body, shoves off her curves, and pushes her breasts up a little bit. Her loose sleeves hang off her shoulders. The skirt falls to her knees and is kind of puffy.

"Uh, hi," Jack breathes out as the door closes behind her. "You, um, look good."

"Hi," she replies as she runs her fingers through her curls. "You too. Um, look good." His red tie with his black and white suit matches her red dress. Nico definitely told him what color that she was going to wear.

His eyes flicker down her body again and she feels self-conscious of the way her dress hugs her body. She crosses her arms over her chest and prays that the doors open soon.

Jack quickly picks up on how uncomfortable she is. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Stare?" she interrupts. "It's fine." The elevator dings and the doors slide open behind her. "I'll see you around."

She quickly makes her escape. Her heels are muffled by the carpet but she finds the room that she knows Nico is in.

After she knocks a handful of times, the door opens. Nico is the one that opens the door. He looks handsome in his suit and tie. He has a white rose hanging out of his flap on his jacket. "Oh, don't you look nice dressed up," she comments.

Nico rolls his eyes and lets her in the room. "Oh, shush," Nico retorts. She looks behind him as she walks into the room to and sees his older brother, his dad, Timo, and Jonas.

"Hi," she says to everyone in the room. "Just needed to come talk to Nico for a second. Won't keep him very long. I swear."

"What's going on?" Nico questions behind her.

She turns to face him. "I ran into Jack," she replies. "Wearing a red tie. Want to tell me why he was wearing a red tie when I'm wearing a red dress?"

He shoots her a smile. "Purely coincidental," Nico tells her. "He does play on a team that wears red and black so many he was missing the team when he picked out his tie."

"Nico Hischier, I'm going to kill you on your wedding day if you don't start talking in the next two seconds," she snaps.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Nico laughs as he throws his hands up in the air in surrender. “I have no idea why Jack’s wearing a red tie. I didn’t tell him what you were wearing if that’s why you came marching in here to yell at me.”

She sighs and rubs her fingers through her curls. “Okay,” she replies. “I think I’m just losing it or something. Kind of freaking out.”

“Have you talked to him?” asks Timo. She looks over Nico’s shoulder to look at him. “I mean, it might solve that unresolved tension between you. It’s so thick that I can feel it when he’s not even in the room.”

With a blink of her eyes, she says, “I can’t believe I never thought of talking to him. Wow.”

Timo rolls his eyes and Nico takes over the conversation. “Look, I know you’re avoiding him because you think he doesn’t want to talk to you,” he begins to say. “But even Timo and Seigs can attest to this, Jack wants to talk to you. Seriously. He’s nervous you won’t talk to him. You’ll be in the same area for the rest of the day. Please say more than just ‘you look good’ to him.”

She groans in slight frustration. “You are insufferable,” she tells her close friend. “Good luck Mia.”

There’s laughter behind her as she walks out of the room to get to where the ceremony is taking place in one of the larger rooms.

It’s almost like a very large conference room with a lot of chairs. There has to be nearly a hundred chairs in the room. She greets Nico’s mom and sister as well as some of his Devils teammates.

Across the room, she sees Jack talking to his brothers. All three of them look very handsome. That’s when she realizes that Jack’s arm isn’t in a sling like he was the last time she saw a picture of him. She was too shocked earlier in the elevator to notice that he doesn’t have on a sling. His hair is a little longer than it was a few months ago. He smiles at something Quinn said.

She takes her seat right behind the Devils, sitting right behind Jack of all people. He sits between Haula and Merc.

When she goes to say something, the ceremony starts.

Talking to Jack is just going to have to wait.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There’s an hour between when the ceremony ends and the reception begins so Nico and Mia can take pictures up on the roof. She needs to touch up her makeup since she decided to cry while Nico was saying his vows. Her best friend grew up so much since they met back at the 2017 NHL draft.

A lot of the guests have already made their way to the roof when she gets up there. She grabs a glass of champagne from a tray that a waiter is holding and takes a big gulp of it to prepare her for the night to come.

She spots Dawson, Luke, Jesper, and Simon all standing by the railing. No Jack so it’s safe to approach despite his little brother standing there. She hopes that Luke doesn’t hate her guts for breaking his brother’s heart.

When she approaches the group of Devils, Dawson gets excited. “Oh my God, I didn’t think you were coming,” he says as he drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“And miss a Swiss wedding?” she laughs. “Absolutely not. I wasn’t about to skip out on Nico’s wedding.” The boys laugh, even Luke. Her eyes fall on the youngest of the Hughes boys. “And how are you, baby Hughes? Still settling in well with the team?”

Luke nods with a smile. “The guys have been very welcoming,” he tells her. “Helped me out of that slump I was in.”

She mirrors his smile. “That’s great,” she says. “Glad you were able to come in and get right to it. Being a Calder nominee isn’t an easy feat so I wanted to come congratulate you on your rookie season.”

“Thank you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Jack. He stands with Dougie, Dawsy, Haula, and Nico. Mia stands with her arm hooked with her new husband’s.

Luke, Dawson, and Nemec all walk away to get another drink. Jesper stands next to her. “How many times have you been told to talk to him?” Bratter asks.

“Too many so please don’t-”

“I’m not. I was just going to offer to go get him if you did want to talk to him.”

She sighs and finishes her glass of champagne. “I want to talk to him but do you really think he’ll listen to me if I apologize?” she comments.

“I do,” Bratter replies. She looks up at him. “I mean it. He has been kicking himself for months. I know he misses you. I don’t know if he misses your relationship or just you in his life but he misses you. I think talking to him is worth it.”

She turns her head to look at Jack. He looks happy and she doesn’t want to ruin that. “What if I just upset him?” she questions. “I don’t want to ruin his happiness.”

“He’s not truly happy without you,” Jesper says. “Talk to him. I think he’ll listen to what you have to say. Maybe he will even offer his own apology to you. I’ll be right back.”

Then he walks away. She watches him walk up to Jack and say something to him. She stands straight up and sighs when Jack looks over at her. She puts a smile on her face and heads over to the group.

It’s now or never. It’s early in the evening so neither of them are drunk yet. She’s had just enough alcohol to give her the courage to have this conversation with Jack.

All eyes are on her, but her eyes are on Jack. “Hi,” she breathes out. “Can we talk for a second? Please? Alone?”

Jack nods and hands his drink to Dougie. She shoots a smiling Nico a glare as she turns and walks inside so they’re away from the prying eyes of Jack’s teammates and her mutual friends that she has with Nico. They’re all very nosy.

She finds a little room off to the side that she walks into with a sigh. She picks at the skin around her fingernails out of nerves.

This is truly it. The next few minutes are either going to make or break whatever relationship or friendship they have left. She bites the inside of her cheek as she turns and faces Jack.

“What did you want to-” Jack begins to say before she interrupts him.

“I want to apologize,” she quickly replies. “For that night. For ignoring all your calls and texts after. I shouldn’t have given you that ultimatum. Not at that moment, anyway. I caused you emotional pain while you were in so much physical pain.”

Jack’s face falls into a frown as she talks. He starts to shake his head the longer she talks. “No, you had every right to give me that ultimatum,” he tells her. “I pushed myself way too hard and losing you opened my eyes to just how hard I was pushing myself. To what I was putting my body through. I didn’t understand why at first but now I do. I’m sorry that I saw that too late.”

Tears form in her eyes at the softness of his voice. She wasn’t expecting this Jack when she talked to him.

“I thought you’d be mad,” she admits. “I thought you’d want to yell at me for walking away. For ending it.”

“I was mad,” Jack says. “Believe me. I was so mad that I pushed myself even harder for a few weeks. Then there was setback after setback and I finally understood why.”

The tears that formed in her eyes roll down her cheeks, painting her skin black with eyeliner. She should’ve grabbed her waterproof eyeliner but she didn’t.

She stares across the room at her ex. Neither of them say a word for a second, before she asks the question she has wanted to know the answer to for nearly six months.

“Why did you do it?” she asks. “Why did you have to push yourself so hard and risk long term damage? Don’t tell me it’s because you love hockey and put your all into the sport. You shouldn’t have to push yourself to the point of surgery.”

Jack looks down at his feet and she raises her eyebrows. She presses her lips in a tight line as she waits for him to respond.

The answer she gets is not the one she was ready for.

“I thought that no one would care about me or love me if I wasn’t playing hockey,” Jack mumbles. “All anyone has talked about this season is me and my brothers. Hughes Bowl, me getting to 100 points after hitting 99 last season, whatever about me and Luke playing together. It seemed like no one would give a shit about me if I had stopped mid-season to heal. It seemed like everyone would write me off as weak or get mad at me for taking care of my shoulder. So I pushed you away and pushed myself to play until we got eliminated from contention so no one could blame me for missing playoffs. I didn’t want to be the reason we missed playoffs, but it feels like I am anyway.”

She frowns at his response. She had no idea that he felt this way.

There’s some space between them so she takes a few steps forward so she stands in front of him. “You could have talked to me,” she softly tells him. “I was willing to support you through whatever you needed to do to be healthy. Yet you seemed to care more about hockey than me.”

He lifts his head up and that’s when she sees the tears in his eyes. She pouts at the sight.

“I didn’t want you to see me at my lowest, and I’m sorry for pushing you away,” Jack comments. “I love you and I didn’t want you to see that side of me. I love you more than I have ever loved hockey. I should’ve listened to you when you told me to rest and I didn’t. I should have.” He pauses for a second and meets her eyes. “I never should have let you walk out that door.”

She reaches up to dry his cheeks when the tears begin to roll. “You know that everyone would still love and care about you if you had just pressed pause on the season,” she tells him. “Everyone that loves you would’ve supported you if you just let your body heal. No one likes seeing a player push himself to surgery. I would have stayed and helped you instead of loving and supporting you from afar.”

Jack leans down and rests his forehead on hers. His eyes are closed and her hands rest on his jaw. Her thumbs trace his cheekbones and her eyes remain on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Jack softly says.

“I’m sorry for walking out on you when you needed me,” she tells him. “I kicked you when you were down and it wasn’t fair of me to do that to you. I’m sorry I broke your heart.”

He wraps his hands around her wrists before he pulls them down so he can lace their fingers together. He doesn’t pull his forehead away and she doesn’t move either.

“You never broke my heart,” he whispers to her. “I broke yours by choosing hockey over you. I never wanted you to feel like I loved a sport more than you and that’s what I did. It’s my fault.”

She shakes her head and pulls back. Jack’s eyes open and he looks at her. His blue eyes shine with tears. “Even after everything, I still love you,” she admits. “I don’t believe that you can break my heart, Jack Hughes.”

He lets out a light laugh and shakes his head. “Same for you,” he tells her.

A small smile forms on her lips as she looks up at him. He lets one of her hands go to wipe away her tears. His thumb comes away black and he wipes her eyeliner on his black pants.

“Can I get a redo?” Jack asks. “On that ultimatum that you gave me? I have an answer for you.”

She bites the inside of her cheek before she asks in reply, “Is it going to be me? Or is it going to be your career?”

“It’s you, baby,” Jack instantly replies as he lifts his hand to cup her jaw. “It’ll always be you.”

The smile on her face grows. She licks her bottom lip as he pulls her in for a soft kiss. She hesitates for a second before she returns the kiss.

Jack drops her other hand so he can cup the other side of her jaw. Her fingers grasp at his open suit jacket so he can’t get too far. She wraps her arms around his torso under his jacket.

He takes a few steps forward so her back is pressed against a wall. She gasps as soon as her back hits the cool, smooth surface, but she doesn’t break the kiss. Jack leans down into her to deepen the already deep kiss. She presses herself flush against him.

His hands slide down to her waist before they slip behind her back. She feels his fingers graze the zipper and that’s when she pulls back. “Jack,” she sighs. “Not now.”

“Later though?”

“We’ll see,” she replies. “I think we should go back out. I’m sure Nico’s looking for us.”

Jack takes a few steps back to fix himself. She takes the moment to make sure she’s presentable as well.

With a sigh, she grabs Jack’s hand and they leave the room. Their fingers are laced together as they rejoin the reception. “So, how are we going to explain this to our friends?” Jack asks.

“We’ll just tell them that we got our heads out of our asses and apologized to each other,” she replies. “That we still love each other. I think saying goodbye gave us a second chance to do this the right way.”

They turn a corner and find themselves back on the roof with the rest of the party. “It did,” Jack says. She looks up at him. “Are you my girlfriend again? Or do I have to get down on my knees to beg you like I did the first time?”

She shakes her head with a laugh. “I’d like to see you get on your knees for a different reason so yes, I guess I’m you’re girlfriend again,” she tells him.

Jack presses a quick kiss to her lips, but every single one of their friends has already noticed.

“About damn time!” Nico shouts from across the room. A few of the Devils cheer for them and she steps even closer to her boyfriend.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

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[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What happens when Eddie tries to hide the less-than-fun side of being a single parent from you, and you discover Miss Mouse can't always save the day?✶

NSFW — angst with a happy ending, reader wears eddie's hoodie, comfort, kissing, 18+ overall for smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 11/20 [wc: 14.2k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 11: In the Beginning...

——Then——

In the beginning…

It was January 31st, 1988, and Wayne had come in to check on him again. And maybe he had a reason to when Eddie continued to stare at the pockmarked ceiling, dressed in the same clothes as three days prior, laying on the same bedsheets last washed by well-meaning, pre-aged, liver-spotted, wrinkled hands gnarled from factory work after being tanned on a big rig’s steering wheel for decades.

No music played from the stereo record player; The Doors still sat with the album art turned, stopped mid-spin. The paperback on the nightstand remained unfinished, its dog-eared page trapped as a placeholder from New Year’s Eve. Dust and cigarette ash clung to the room as if saving it in a time capsule of the morning he was arrested, and any movement would disturb the illusion.

“Eddie?” Wayne called out to him with his Free name; one that shouldn’t hold a stigma, because Eddie was a free man, wasn’t he? He was innocent. Even if they hadn’t caught the other guy yet. “You okay if I go?”

Tracing the bumpy lines of the most recent tattoo on his stomach, he answered, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and his uncle breathed as he usually did when he was wringing his mouth with indecision.

Wayne twisted the doorknob, uncertain. “If you’re sure.. And, uh, I’ll stop by the hardware store and pick up somethin’ for the spray paint on the trailer if the cookin’ oil trick doesn’t work, don’t you worry about it.”

Whatever rude thing someone wrote this time, Eddie hadn’t gone outside in days to know.

After a long silence, Wayne cleared his throat and gave a gruff, “I’ll see ya after work,” and left, as foretold by his rackety truck fading further into the night, and the deadness of winter taking over. A staleness of midnight inactivity in the crisp air invading the guitars and amps and magazines Eddie never touched anymore; the ceramic of his bedside lamp, the model car next to his lighter, the binders stacked on his desk with a pencil he hadn’t sharpened since it broke six weeks ago. He didn't get much relief from his routine of ignoring, shutting down, isolating, and desperately trying to get tears to form when he had none left to give, so he wept agape and dry, spiraling downward.

The phone rang.

He wasn’t going to answer—he hadn’t since December unless under obligation—but in case it was Wayne, he did.

“Hello?” The other end of the line was equally hesitant to answer his unrecognizable voice, gone hoarse from disuse. “Hello?” he repeated.

“Eddie?” A beat. “I guess I’ll get this over with. Look, uh, do you remember selling to a girl at Brad’s party a couple months back? Not the Halloween one,” they said, definitely a young woman’s voice, but with each word spoken she lost her fluttery nervous edge and replaced it with a direct tone, leaving no time for him to dawdle.

He hurled his mind into searching his memories before the ones made in the weeks prior, only grazing past the details which haunted him, and registering the question he was asked. “Uh, yeah, yeah I think so. Ah, Sarah? Something generic like that. Sold to her a couple times before. Why?”

Her severe silence loaded the chamber. His forthcoming nature pulled the trigger, never learning when to shut his mouth and keep information to himself. There was no telling who he was speaking to, or what happened to the girl he sold to, or why he was the subject of interest. His stomach clenched in knots at the whiff of gunpowder. He was too relaxed at the prospect of a normal conversation. He said too much. It was happening again. The police sirens would wail any minute now. Whatever happened to Sarah—or whoever—was bad, and he incriminated himself. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

But it was her next words that fired the shot. Rang in his ears. And he knew then, as the cold sweat took over his body and bile stung his throat quicker than his heart leapt black spots to his vision, life as he knew it was over.

“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”

————

In the beginning…

It was March 7th, 1988, and Eddie walked out.

It was better than listening to Wayne blame himself for not doing enough, or being involved enough, or whateverthefuck he was saying about failing Eddie, because soon those judgments would turn into nags about how Eddie’s irresponsibility got himself into this mess, and those arguments would become shouting matches about his lack of preparedness for raising a baby, and Eddie would end the fight with his fist through the hallway closet door, where his piece of shit father’s jacket swung on the hanger and fell to the floor.

Following the Munson name.

————

In the beginning…

It was April 29th, 1988, and Eddie left his motel room to drive forty-five minutes outside of Hawkins to sit across from a woman in a dimly lit restaurant with her hand laid atop her round belly, and his cold chicken alfredo. The cheese in his oval shaped dish had coagulated, but he wasn’t hungry anyway.

The entire time his mouth ran sentences, he kept his gaze focused on a crumb dirtying the white tablecloth as the candle flickered shadows through their untouched water glasses. Yet, his tone remained animated and optimistic, though a bit hollow. “—So, uh, with the money from workin’ at the gas station, and what I have saved from that graveyard shift I picked up at the laundromat, I can afford the crib no problem. Maybe you could, ah, come with me to pick it out! I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for, but whatever you want, you got it. And—And I’ll start stocking up on diapers, and stuff. Y’know, different sizes. Some clothes. Could even get a nice baby blanket, or somethin’. I guess cribs have those teeny mattresses, so we’ll need sheets for that, too. Um, one of those, y’know, things that hangs over it and spins, puts them to sleep.” His lips hinted at his first smile in weeks at his dumb explanation for a mobile. “And with your job, you have health insurance, don’t you? That’ll.. That’ll really help us out,” he emphasized by bugging his eyes, and nodding. “There’s a position open at an auto shop in town that I’m gonna apply for, but I don’t think insurance will kick in until I work there for a certain number of days. Sucks, but it’s decent money. Better than what I make now, anyway. Um..” Thinking, he sorted through his plan for the future in his head, making sure he didn’t forget anything important—

That’s when he made the mistake of looking up, and a different type of heartache wrung his chest.

Indifference powdered her shimmery beige eyelids, darkening to smoky apathy at the outer corners with a touch of heavy mascara weighing her eyes half-closed. She appeared bored—he wished she appeared bored—but in the eternity he glanced at her, she resembled a loaded chamber moments from cutting him off.

Continuing, he said, “I can also handle the small stuff like bottles, and bibs, and pacifiers. Depending on how much the crib is, I can probably swing the carseat too, just gotta sell my other guitar, and—”

“Eddie,” she stated. He winced.

There was no trace of his smile left on his lips; trembling and licking at the sore metallic-tasting spot he bit out of habit. The first sign of rejection welled behind his eyes. A sense of shame clogged his throat, but he tried, “Are people still bothering you about me?” he asked, so meek and defeated.

Her words were a merciless killing, “Does it matter?” He shrugged, running the side of his hand along the table’s edge, concentrating on the crumb. “And don’t bother buying anything.”

“Why not?” he faltered. “I’m not gonna be some deadbeat who doesn’t provide, okay? I’m good on my word.”

“You know why.”

The cruelty, the truth he denied, struck him.

“You don’t want to try?” His voice went watery, and the candles swam in his vision. “We’re having a baby together, and you don’t want to try and work something out between us?” There was a reason he avoided addressing where the crib would go, or what the arrangement was after coming home from the hospital. In the first few calls they had, she seemed interested when he rattled off the list of cheap apartments he found around Hawkins scribbled into his notebook, and when he lightened the bleak mood with a joke, she laughed, sort of.

Though, he was always the one to call her, and her answers were refined to short words such as yeah, or no. And she did pick up the phone less often, but she was busy with University or her career or there was a family thing that had come up or she was just headed out the door, so he stuck with planning their future by himself, aware of the ugly reality twisting his stomach with dread.

Maybe he was being naive, but he thought she’d come around by now. See how responsible he was being, and maybe.. maybe..

“I’m not interested,” she dismissed him in monotonously stern frankness.

“I thought you said you liked me,” he reminded her, on the verge of something pathetic, “at the party.”

The corner of her jaw twitched from an emotion she ground between her teeth.

That was the final straw.

She swung her gaze around the restaurant, releasing a hard sigh of frustration, and shaking her head. Dropping her hand to the bottom of her belly, she leaned forward, and eviscerated any hope he had for them being together. “I’m not interested,” she hissed under the susurration of nearby tables, “in raising a baby with someone whose reputation is for giving girls discounts when they flirt with him.”

Eddie shrunk into himself, not expecting the hit below the belt.

“You’re just the loser dealer that all the guys send their girls to because they know you’re too lonely to turn them down. I wish I stuck with flirting, because let me tell you, having a couple of smarties to get me through last semester wasn’t fucking worth it.” She motioned at her stomach, he assumed. “I almost missed my finals because I couldn’t stop puking.”

Fat drops wobbled his vision. Anxious sweat from holding his breath prickled his hot face. His knuckles hurt from clacking them against one another, punching bone-on-bone in his lap to distract himself from letting the venom win. Biting impressions of his teeth into tongue from the weight of his one chance at normalcy slipping through his fingers.

The ache of deep-seated rejection stung worse, built worse, escalated worse with every heartbeat echoing in his head: not even someone who’s having your kid wants to be with you.

Chairs skid across the tiles behind him, and a family stood to leave. Eddie faced the stained glass window as they passed, pretending to admire the intricate details while warm tears spilled over the dam, and onto his cheeks in steady drops like rain. Drip, drop, drip, drop..

Embarrassment, failure, freak..

Even before he was wrongfully arrested, his reputation was trash.

Pathetic loser not good enough for his dad, his uncle. Can’t pass fucking high school, or get a girl to stick around for more than a few weeks; just long enough to feel the safety of attachment, learn their likes and dislikes, what their favorite flowers were, and then they’d leave too..

“Doesn’t matter,” she exhaled. One, two—she took two calming breaths through her nose while his was running, and he was trying to not sniffle through the grossness of crying.

Composed and diplomatic, she sat up, smoothed the buttons of her burgundy maternity blouse stretched across her swollen middle, and informed him “I’m giving her up for adoption.”

Eddie froze.

Her.

Tiny tines of salad forks ceased clinking on plates. Silly dull knives unworthy of much else sank into whipped butter, and stopped. Pretty laughter faded, leaving red lipstick kisses staining the rims of wine glasses.

Her.

He froze. A strange cliche to explain how his body reacted. How his heart pounded, and tears splashed onto his clenched fists. How his brain latched onto one word, one word only, and the blood drained from his cheeks to pool liquid rage in his empty belly. How his temper surged like a wave, and crashed, again and again on the shore of fate. How he was thinking sharper, seeing clearer, smelling the raw flame of the candle being snuffed out from his sudden movement.

The tableware rattled when he planted his elbow next to his forgotten dinner, and pointed a stern finger at her stomach. “That’s my daughter, and you will not—”

“C’mon, Ed—”

“No,” he cut her off. He didn’t give a damn if another tear rolled from his wide eyes when he said it, he put conviction behind his voice even when it cracked, “That’s my daughter, and you are not giving her up for adoption.”

“Be serious,” she spat back. “You don’t have the means to take care of a baby. I’m doing this as a favor for the both of us. Mostly for you.”

Eddie sucked his bottom lip inward and chewed the flesh. Shivers of indignation trembled his body, and his nostrils flared from the absolute power he invoked to rein his voice from the snap, bite, snarl his upper lip suggested. “I don’t care what you think is best,” he maintained through the viscous tar coating his refusal in the abhorrence she deserved. “That baby.. She’s mine.” He nodded until the motion was ingrained, and her expression changed. Pointing to himself, now. “She’s mine, and I want her.”

There wasn’t much thought put behind his decision. It was done. It was innate. It was automatic, and her soft warning—”You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,”—was as heeded as the candle’s flame.

He paid for the date. It cost five hours of his minimum wage. That was all his money. He was hungry when he got back to his shitty motel; opening the door to darkness, and a suitcase of dirty clothes he’d need to sort before going to work at the gas station at the edge of town where his boss cut his hours last week because it was making customers uncomfortable to see a criminal serve them at the till, and a new sound replaced the ding of the cash register: loser, loser, loser..

Already, he couldn’t afford diapers.

Already, he failed.

Already, he was worthless.

Already, he was alone.

Not even the woman he was having a baby with wanted to be with him.

——Now——

Eddie hung up the phone, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall for long moments, listening to the rain pattern shift above. The storm spilled its sorrows on the tin roof, uncaring if the structure could handle the stress of another trial when it was weak and susceptible. It poured, and poured. Ruthless. Vicious and brutal as nature could be, targeting the vulnerable and strong alike.

His back broadened with a breath, and finally, he dropped his hand from the yellowed plastic, staring at the dial pad as his arm went limp at his side. Absorbed by his thoughts as the old night rolled into another low growl of thunder, and whatever was on his mind reflected heavily in his vacant appearance.

“Ed?” You waited for him with a kind lift to your brows, but as soon as his glance landed, your chest tightened.

The emotion in Eddie’s eyes was heavily guarded, communicating little as to what caused the tenseness in his jaw when he averted his gaze to the floor, walking fast and purposefully away from you standing half-dressed in his kitchen, and stopping at the front door with his head down. Going through the motions of buttoning his pants, and buckling his belt, rigid and rough, snapping the leather against itself.

“Is Adrie okay?” you asked, voice coming out painfully shallow, like when you were using it to diffuse a customer service issue with the breeze of happiness and a plastered smile.

Leaned over, he shoved his feet into his boots, and began lacing. “She’s fine.”

Blunt, and closed off. Not like your Eddie from an hour ago. And you didn’t know how to navigate asking him what was wrong, and easing him into opening up to you, coaxing him back to that place of union and understanding.

Left feeling confused, you gleaned that this wasn’t the time to bother him about it, and mumbled, “Okay,” and assumed the rest. You dragged the whispery ends of the blanket across the floor, and picked your sweater off the carpet, having that particular sense of embarrassment as if you’d missed a cue, and should’ve read the room sooner, and been clothed and leaving without him asking.

You dressed in silence, doing up the buttons on the cardigan he so skillfully slipped you out of. Treading over linoleum to wash the evening off your hands and mouth. Making yourself small to fit next to him in the entryway, and putting on your shoes in a state of quiet obedience, missing the warmth of his hands and the comfort of his lovesick grin. Wilting under the coldness of his attitude, and wanting nothing more than to reach out, and soothe that bit of regret knotted between his eyebrows.

He regarded the exposed skin of your upper chest, and handed you his black hoodie from where it hung next to his canvas work jacket. “Here.”

Here wasn’t much of a break in the distance he resurrected between you, but you pulled the heavy scent of cigarettes and cologne over your head, and he almost found himself braving eye contact to tell you, “I’m dropping you off first.”

“What? No,” you blurted, “I’m going with you to pick her up. She’s just scared of thunderstorms, right? No big deal, you can drop me off after.” Which seemed like the right thing to say; that you were fine with Adrie crying, but when he set his gaze on you, a small image of yourself swam in his endless pupils, and your stomach clenched at the animal warning in his unbreakable stare.

Eddie shook his head an imperceptible amount, only enough to loosen the curtain of curls tucked beneath his jacket’s collar, and shift the lamp’s glare at the edge of his bitter coffee eyes. It was a threat to back off. Leave well enough alone. Stop encroaching on the parts of his life he hid, and keep the illusion intact.

“I wanna go,” you assured gently.

However, your support fell short when challenged against the aggressive shine swallowing you whole. He looked at you. Really looked at you with the same intensity as when his hands were on your hips and you rocked yourself in his lap, chests flush together with a lazy prayer of your name on his tongue; when nothing mattered more than honoring each other with lips and teeth, tasting sweat on necks and sucking bruises until moans were spilled from heads thrown back. But instead of unraveling you in shocks of pleasure, the ignorance of your child-free lifestyle softened the harsh lines of his face, and slowly, slowly, the shine dulled. The fight left him.

He saved his apology until his back was turned, and the squeaky doorknob gave under his heavy palm—turning it with too much force—and he cracked open the world beyond the two of you, dousing the lingering tenderness of your affection on his skin with frigid mist. “Sorry tonight ended this way.” The door banged open on the rusted iron handrail, caught on a gust.

The trailer park was bright with daylight. Flash, after flash.

Eddie’s silhouette eclipsed the doorway, outlined in lightning. He stood impossibly taller—like the animal threat still lurked within his structure, and caution stayed within your subconscious, altering how you perceived his lanky frame into something more imposing. His shoulders carried many burdens, bulked from five years of hard labor, possessing strengths you couldn’t imagine. He stepped to the side, insisting the door stay open with the spread of five fingers only, and his body no longer shielded you. You were exposed to the cold splash of rain on your shins. His palm was firm at your lower back, and you peered up at the hard set of his jaw feathering the muscle at the corner, sweeping the bone in a mature edge of stubble. Strands of his frizzy hair whipped in the wind. Droplets speckled his nose like freckles. His gaze, anchored on his car through the downpour, brewed with resentment.

His deep timber resonated in your chest beneath the safety of his hoodie, “Car door’s open, I’ll lock up behind you.”

And you were pushed.

Beaten down to a hunch, you took careful strides in your heeled shoes down the concrete steps and into the soft mud, covering your head as best you could from the cloud’s assault, and flinching at the closeness of the strikes darting around the boundary of treetops surrounding the trailer park. You tried the handle, and the car welcomed you into its dry insides. Guilt followed your tracks of caked on mud, leaves, and dead weeds on his nice red interior, but when you shivered to the bone, you didn’t care as much. Curled in on yourself, you spied Eddie’s vague shape through the waterfall blurring the windshield, and listened to his heavy boots trudge up to the door, and soon, the car sank with his weight too.

The engine roared to life. Heat wouldn’t come from the tiny AC units for some time, but the promise of such gave you hope. Eddie, beside you, drenched beyond measure, did not match your enthusiasm. Shadowed streams snaked across his pinched expression, swimming down his heavy brow, and splitting his raw lips. His bangs stuck to his forehead, and his cheeks trembled from his clacking teeth.

Soft music played from the radio station.

Riders on the Storm.

Two booms of thunder ended your small attempt at a smile from the timing.

Leftover adrenaline pulsed in your veins, fumbling your grip on the seatbelt. Wet earth and unease stroked your skin like skeletal hands, muddying your tights, and soaking his hoodie, weighing it down to your crushed sweater beneath. You wanted to speak; to poke, to prod, to press him to talk to you. The questions were there. On your tongue. At the ready; inviting him to tell you why his mood soured over a situation out of his control, other than the obvious weather.

But Eddie’s face was carved with irritation, baring his teeth as he attempted to buff circles into the icy fog on the windshield, only for it to cloud over in an instant. “C’mon..”

The wipers couldn’t keep up with the powerful current, and the tires struggled to find traction. “Fucking—damnit,” he said, interrupted by him slapping the steering wheel, cascading water off his work jacket, and onto every surface around him.

You twisted your hands in your lap at his mild slip in temper.

Now was not the time to bother him.

In a lurch, your shoulder bumped the door, and your head rocked side to side from the car backing over the swell of mud behind the tires. With another frustrated stomp on the gas, it evened out on paved road, and though the visibility was low, you were off towards the nicer side of Hawkins.

For once, he drove responsibly. Street signs could be read before he passed them. Fallen limbs in the road could be avoided, not ran over. His rings tinked off the glass when he rubbed at the thin fog, and the music was dialed to a somber ambiance behind the deep sighs through his nose. Dark stretches of treetops bent to the wind’s will. Short buildings sat so dim beyond the faint streetlights, they might as well have been deserted. Each red light was a necessary break for him to shove his fingers in the air vents to thaw them.

He never spoke. Never looked at you. He kept himself busy with tasks, and when those tasks were over and his hands were defrosted and the windshield was mostly clear, he regressed within himself. Unnervingly quiet. Turning onto streets with heavier regrets sagging his features the longer he crawled in front of white picket fence houses, and stopped.

The two story home was lit beautifully by the ornate sconces placed on either side of the doorway. Their lawn was manicured, and the sidewalk was free of weeds. No cars were at the mercy of the storm, they were parked inside the two-door garages. There was activity behind the embossed curtains hung in the living room of the residence. Presumably, the biggest shape was the father who called over the phone.

Someone who wore a business suit to the preschool’s Thanksgiving play lived here.

Eddie stalled. He remained seated forward, hands gripped at 10 and 2, squeezing the steering wheel as rain echoed in the belly of the car, battering the roof inches above your damp hair. There was a pause in his movements, his breathing. An awareness in his silence at the questions you didn’t ask. Tension in his pursed lips, rubbing them together as he surveyed the street.

He opened his mouth. Then, he thought better of it, and got out.

Your earnest call of his name was swallowed by the sea cleansing his body of your night together.

Leaping up the bullnose brick stairs, Eddie raised his hand, but before he could knock, the artisanal stained glass shimmered with movement. The immaculate door opened to a winced face. The man’s glasses were askew on his aged eyes, and his peppered hair hung over his eyebrows, no longer gelled back. He exchanged a few tight words with Eddie as Adrie was handed over, and Eddie, of course, shuffled into a meek posture, dipping his head, apologizing profusely. Almost bowing to this man dressed in matching pajamas and a robe. In horror, you watched the door close during one such apology. You could tell it happened in the middle of him speaking, because you had to sit through the agony of Eddie animatedly explaining something only for him to look up, straighten at the realization, and stand there for a few more seconds until the sconces dimmed off.

Worse, still, he cowered in the nook as cruel rain belted his back, doing his best to bundle Adrie in her tattered quilt and securing her on his hip, keeping all of her dry except her little legs wrapped around his middle. She buried her face in his neck, and he hesitated on the balls of his feet, judging the distance between the house and the car. His large palm covered the blanket over her head. All he had was his jacket.

Lightning revealed his weary frown.

At the clap of thunder, he sprinted.

Back in New York, at the going away party your friends threw in your and Robin’s honor, they warned you about moving to the Tornado Alley, and what to look for if one were to appear—green skies and all—but most importantly, they told you an incoming tornado sounded like a train. Being city dwellers, they wouldn’t actually know, but Robin confirmed it. And now you could too, because the piercing wail coming towards you could only belong to a natural disaster, not a four-year-old girl.

Murky water flooded to Eddie’s ankles from where it rushed against the sidewalk, sloshing in with his boot stomped to the floorboard for balance as he ducked inside amidst the fuss. He got Adrie into her carseat as quickly as possible. In the chaos, her overnight backpack fell somewhere in the dark, her quilt was chucked aside, and he cursed when the buckle bit into his thumb. She had a fistful of his hair, tangling it, making it harder to see what he was doing. He may have even threatened her full name to let go. It was hard to hear on account of the shrieking.

“Daddy!” The vowels were elongated, broken by hiccups. He shut the door, and in the small space with no escape, her big emotions rang louder. “Daddy!” Again, the y was screamed with the full power of her lungs, which would be impressive for their tiny size if it wasn’t for the pounding in your skull. She hollered louder when he sat heavily behind the wheel, “Daddy!” He didn’t shush her fourth tantrum spilt on his name; he accepted it, knowing it was futile.

It took all your strength to blink. Sat half-turned in your seat, frozen, gaze unfocused, marveling at your brain’s ability to function. You shifted your attention to Eddie’s face, a surprising few inches from yours.

The heat of his concentration scorched shame to your cheeks.

Avoidant no longer, your reaction to Adrie’s meltdown was the sole subject of his interest. Zeroed in on, dissected, and picked apart by just his eyes alone. Didn’t matter which eye you shied from, you were pinned in both, your discomfort blatant for him to witness. Your clamped mouth, your apologetic withdrawal, your fidgety fingers on your skirt; all of it. All of it was captured in his periphery because he didn’t dare break sight as he turned the key in the ignition, and started a raucous engine you couldn’t remember being turned off.

Humbled by the girl assaulting your senses, your questions were answered.

This was why he didn’t want you to come. This was why he slighted you with a pointed look from the recesses of his annoyance when you trivialized his daughter’s behavior as ‘No big deal.’ This was why he kept you separate from his parental sphere where everything wasn’t made of sunshine and rainbows. This—coming to terms with your inexperience staining each uncontrollable contortion of your unprepared expression—was why he never let anyone near his heart.

Adrie could no longer form his name through her open-mouthed cries, resorting to plain, wet screams which trilled past your eardrums, resulting in a throbbing headache.

At that, he grasped the gear shift, put his boot to the gas, and cut fat lines through the river overflowing the pampered neighborhood streets.

Eddie’s anger was a presence. His embarrassment, too. Just like at the auto shop when problems stacked and stacked into an unbearable weight on top of his sleepless nights and long mornings, he turned inward to delay his outburst. To feel everything so fully in his fists wringing the leather covered steering wheel until it creaked, and teeth gritted until they begged no more. Just that one second to release his frustration, and then it was suppressed from sight. But you felt it. His ire rested below your braced muscles, beneath your clammy palms and in your shallow breath. It invaded the tidy home you kept behind your ribs, taking up residence in your hammering heart.

The humiliation of having the date end when it did paid its dues in his bad mood. Disappointment radiated off his narrowed eyes, and slack frown. “Adrie,” he warned in a low tone.

She bawled louder, shriller than the crack of lightning.

The immense pressure to adapt was upon you. There was no sense in parsing what he expected you to do in this situation, it was clear he was soured by your ineptitude the moment you let it show on your face, but.. Only two short weeks ago, he relied on you to divert Adrie’s meltdown before DND night. And sure, she had already stopped crying by the time you got there, but you could come to his rescue again, couldn’t you?

You twisted around in your seat, proud of yourself for thinking of a solution, and showed him you could handle a modicum of parenthood. “Adrie, look!” you tamped down your children’s television host voice to a delightful, excited cheer, “I’m here. Miss Mouse is—!” Shocked with your hand reaching towards her, shooting pain traveled up your arm from her swift kick to your wrist. You recoiled, rubbing at your forearm without blame. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even looking at you. Her fit was directed at the window she couldn’t peel her attention from, dropping tear after tear from her swollen eyes at the thunder shaking the car. “Adrie?” you tried softer, but she beat her hands on the carseat harder. Wailed until you were defeated to a wince. Yelled until you accepted a unique heartbreak you weren’t prepared for.

Miss Mouse couldn’t always save the day.

Acute twists of rejection wrung your chest. Eddie wasn’t the type to say I told you so, he wasn’t mean like that, but when you sat forward and your gazes moved past one another, never quite meeting, you knew what he was thinking.

Little else stung worse than his obvious cynicism at how this date was concluding.

Exacerbating the issue, Adrie escalated to screeching her distress. Every open sob of hers pulled your focus, invaded your brainspace, overpowered any thought before it began, and set your teeth on edge from the high-pitched squeals you swore vibrated in your bones. Her behavior seeped into your nerves, winding them up, scratching them with the very tip of a brittle nail, inciting a riot. The need to flee crawled under your skin. Breathing was uncomfortable. Your ankle hurt. There was to break in between the blinding pulses of your headache. The car was too hot, too cold, too swerving from the high winds buffeting it sideways. Your tights were too tight. His hoodie too stifling. Itchy yarn from your sweater chafed your damp neck. Alarms of panic battled inside. Louder, louder, louder—Adrie cried louder. Eddie’s lips tugged down at the corners, chin wrinkled, tensing his face from a sadder response. Your lashes fluttered from the chokehold his frown had on you. Fingernails bit your palms. You tried to bide your time, to resist snapping. Dug down deep for something, something you could do, something.. innate. Some answer within you to fix it all. To get her to stop. To get him to relax. Something, something, something—instinctual.

“Pull over!” you barked; Eddie had every right to whip his head around at your sudden demand, but in your panicked state you only cared about the road ahead. “Ju-Just—just—” You scanned the dark parking lot outside the hardware store, and stabbed your finger on the cold window, pointing past it. “The gas station! Under the roof-thing.”

When it wasn’t clear he heard you, you turned towards him at the same time he leaned forward to catch your eye. Justifiable skepticism burdened his brow, tightening the edges of his crow’s feet. His lips hung parted with a confirmation hesitating between them; however, it was silenced after you maintained your need, and the fight against the wind won.

Soppy pebbles scraped wet asphalt, muddied in the bump and grind from Eddie turning too sharply into the sloped driveway, banging into a pothole, and rattling the innards of his already rocky cargo. He careened towards the closed convenience store with its row of dim fluorescent lights inside. Pulling up alongside the gas pumps, he slammed the breaks. A second later, he slapped the windshield wipers OFF, violently shushing their grating squeak.

His patience strained thinner. Working through the sensory overload festering like infected wounds on blistered skin, he rumbled a shallow apology past his aching teeth. Quickly, it devolved into a barrage of doubt. “Look, I’m sorry she—Wait, where’re you—?” The instant fear of rejection shot past his octave. “Wait! Please don’t—”

Cruelly, he thought; heartlessly, he knew; the sun-faded black cotton draped about your shoulders was the last image his adrenaline latched onto, playing it over, and over, door slam and all. He wasn’t parked for more than a clock tick, and you hurled yourself out into the storm, leaving him behind. His first assumption was gentle. Kind whispers stroked the angst in his chest, telling him you needed a break from the noise, that was all. Then the hatred of abandonment gutted his center.

“Giving up already?” he asked aloud in a conclusion only meant to hurt himself when no one was there to answer.

As if sensing his hopelessness, Adrie sniffled into the worst of her hyperventilated cries. Broken disjointed things. Sinking him deeper, deeper into his seat, crossing his arms over his caved chest, shuddering at the hot sting wobbling his vision at his own inadequacy.

Never good enough for anyone to stay.

Tremors of repressed memories wakened the churn of nausea making him sick.

“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” soothed a voice behind him, trickling in with the splash of faraway drops. “It’s okay, sweet baby, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eddie jerked his chin up and stretched his neck to see into the rearview mirror. The wall of water teetering on his lash line made everything blur, so he tugged down the slick skin beneath his eyes to suck back the tears, and almost allowed them to spill at the scene behind him anyway.

In the reflection, you crawled across the backseat and unbuckled Adrie’s carseat, learning how to maneuver the straps from watching him. She reached for you, your hair, your clothes; small fists belying their strength. You didn’t care. You calmed her struggles with pretty words. “It’s okay, yeah, you can hold on to me, baby. Let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm. There we go.” Shhh. “Let me see your face, so I can clean you up.” Shhh.

“M–M-Mizz Mou—se,” Adrie got out between body-wracked sobs.

“Mhm, I’m here.” Shhh. “Miss Mouse is here.”

—Oh.

“Baby..” So modest was his whisper when so resolute was his yearn.

He leapt into motion, flushed with adrenaline.

The ripple effect of your actions caused tidal waves to swell and crash over him; body hitched in the place where his past convinced him he lost it all, only to collapse into a stuttered exhale of acceptance, understanding there was someone out there who cared about him to this degree; throat constricting with gratitude he could only express by stumbling out into the foggy cold, throwing open the door, and sliding into the backseat with you.

His fingers grazed the baby hairs at your nape on their way to the side of your head, using his wide palm which took up too much room to cradle you steady with a gentleness unknown to his tough skin. He trusted you to forgive him for how hard he knocked his forehead to your temple, and smashed his nose to the soft of your cheek. He need not worry. Beautifully, you adjusted to the bulky arm behind your neck, leaned into the crook of his body he hollowed out for you, and filled the familiar place at his side. You worked diligently to clear his daughter’s face while he passed a strong hand over her back and dropped it to shape his grip at the end of your thigh, curving his fingers in and slotting them to the underside, behind your knee.

“S’okay, Adrie,” you cooed, wiping at the sticky grossness clinging to her nose. “I’ve got you,” you continued the mantra, albeit with a lapse in motherly tenderness as a result of trying not to gag too hard.

Outside the car, the gas station’s tall canopy provided enough coverage to stop the rain from pounding the roof. Harsh winds howled past, encouraging the woeful sobs dropped onto your breasts, but the lightning stayed within the clouds, and the thunder faded in the distance. “Look at me,” you guided, sweeping the hoodie’s cuff over her puffy cheeks glowing splotchy red from the neon beer signs in the postered up convenience store windows. “We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.”

Eddie lips pulled thin against your skin, breath stuttering damp and thick on your neck like a smothered cry.

“Nothing bad can happen when we’re here, okay?” Repeating the union of you and him, you went on, “We’ve got you. You’re safe with us. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here. Right, sweet bean?” You tucked the quilt around her feet, and held her close. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, ever.”

With her hands latched into the folds of fabric around your neck—cotton, yarn, and canvas—her big coughs were cushioned by your arms snuggling her to your front while Eddie’s chest was at her back, embracing her between your two bodies converging to protect her in a toasty nest. Warm air hummed from the vents, shooing off the stale chill clinging to the backseat, now disturbed by activity and plucky guitar strings playing over the radio.

Across the Universe.

Undertaking the complexities of the man rubbing his forehead into your hair with the same sort of neediness as his little girl wringing your clothes, you assumed the responsibility of consoling them both. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you mumbled the lyrics into the patchwork quilt covering Adrie’s curls. “Nothings gonna change my world,” you sang to Eddie, face tipped up and eyes falling closed, seeking out his nose to trace the tip of yours along the soft bumps in a devoted offering after the turbulent events causing you both inner strife.

His fingertips became an imposing force spread across the scope of your cheek, turning you toward him, capturing you in a deeper kiss than you were ready for. It was demanding, hard with desperation, misaligned and urgent. Born out of necessity in the moment. He kissed you in front of his daughter, where she could see if she picked her face up from your chest, and a dart of surprise lit your heart at the recklessness. You kept a level hand atop her head in case he’d come to regret the decision, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He sighed into a second helping, and at the sound of the wet smack, she stirred.

Adrienne hooked her fingers into your collar and sniffled hard, soothing herself from further cries by hugging you tight, huddling into your comfort, oblivious to what was happening around her.

Easily, you fell into the third kiss. Became what he needed, mouths mashing together at the odd angle, your lower lip plush between his. Dizzying amounts of reverence manifested in his spontaneity. He packed a lifetime’s worth of bottled up feelings into the affection he was privileged to. Giving, and taking. But his impulses were still a puzzle. When he’d drank his fill, he squeezed your leg, broke apart from your lips in a silent slick slide, and drew a deserved breath.

“Sorry, no one’s ever just.. done that for me before.” He shrugged his hand off your thigh at the poor summary of the millions of things on his mind, and left it at that.

Spurred by the praise, you seized the opportunity for communication. “Remember how before we played DND that night, I told you to call me first next time you needed help?” you reminded him, and something vulnerable, maybe even pleadful, entered your tone. “I want to be someone you can rely on, Eddie.”

An unfortunate amount of complicated emotions passed in his eyes. There wasn’t much to garner from them, nor his soft grunt when he dropped his nose to the column of your neck, above Adrie’s head, and regressed into his quiet self. Reserved. Hard to decipher. He did speak up once to warn you she would fall asleep with how you were holding her—same as he did most nights on the couch while Late Night with David Letterman aired—and you embellished your promise to him with a kiss to the stringy curls frizzing at his scalp, “That’s okay.”

And it was okay, truly, when the storm raged heaves of rain against the car, spraying the windows with shocks of water. You dabbed Adrie’s cheeks. Wiped her nose. Rocked her in the same tempo as the backs of Eddie’s fingers stroking your cheekbone, flexed bicep behind your neck. Thunder occurred. Lightning happened. But with your quick thinking, lulling gestures, and genuine effort to speak past the fondness clogging your throat, you calmed her. Calmed her so well, in fact, her hands went limp and her body relaxed, fatigue claiming her victim to the numbered sheep hopping over fences in her dreams. After her tantrums, she was taxed out. Drained.

Stuck in the cramped middle between Eddie and the carseat, you rearranged your legs before they went tingly numb from her weight on your lap, and shifted the pressure off your heels. It was sweet having her fall asleep on you. Her slow breaths filled your arms as a reward for your efforts to hush her. The quilt smelled of their home, cozying itself in your lungs and sweeping you in a sense of longing for the humidity in his kitchen after making soup.

Though, as much as you thrived on the temporary role you played as parent—taking over for Eddie and dwelling on the fact Adrie slept propped on your chest like the many times she napped on his stained coveralls—you could do without the additional pain of him leaning on you too.

You groaned at the sharp twinge in your spine from slouching sideways, and conveniently, your movement roused his consciousness. He launched into a sleepy inhale. Robust, filling his lungs to the brim, too loud, too silly and sweet. He primed you for a solid press of the bridge of his nose to your jaw by thumbing you towards him, after which he pulled away, separating himself from you fully.

Eddie rolled his shoulders, stretching out from the uncomfortable position, and faced the window. He commented in a sincere tone, “You’re good with kids.”

“I know how to entertain kids,” you corrected him. “I don’t know how to do any of the hard shit you do.”

The streetlights painted strokes of dotted orange on his complexion cast in shadow. He played with the tips of his fingers, squishing each one in a line as he ruminated, staring elsewhere, perspiration blurring the outerworld, sealing yourselves in this crowded car together. “You do a good job,” he reassured, petering out in a hoarse whisper.

Ceaseless nerves gnawed at his absent-minded ring spinning. Not a big production like when he wrung his hands or bit his nails, but enough to show he was getting anxious. You’d expected his leg to be bouncing by now, but it was laying softly against yours. Something big was on his mind.

You bumped your knee into his. “Talk to me.”

Talk to me. Yes, you asked the world of him. You knew it, too. Encouraging his gaze to flick to Adrie bundled in your arms, and back to the window. His eyes weren’t wide with fear, just larger than normal at the subtle confrontation. It was time he opened up to you. There wasn’t a concrete ultimatum if he didn’t, but there was a mutual understanding that if this were to continue, he needed to trust you to be there for him. No more reluctance.

He extended his hand towards your knee, patting twice before claiming it in the great breadth of his palm, stroking his thumb over the thin pantyhose; bridging the gap from his earlier behavior, but not yet apologizing for the soreness he caused.

Sorting his thoughts, his throat bobbed twice on the swallow.

And of all the questions he could ask, of all things he could say, of all the topics he could choose, he picked, “Did you ever want kids?”

Heat swam to your cheeks, blood rushed to your ears. Buds of true belonging bloomed at the question, adorning stems of untended longing first planted during the Christmas party at work, ever growing. Your heart pumped faster at the inherent past and implied future of the subject. His curiosity was a mild prod, perhaps not meant to encourage these leaps in logic considering he announced it in the same buckled cadence of someone who was asking about the weather—and yet, the hold it had on you was impossible to deny. A blend of you, Adrie, and him, just like now, but in different contexts—different meanings other than sitting in the back of his car—something domestic, like being piled together on the couch watching Disney movies; that’s what was pushed to the forefront of your mind.

But, despite those instantaneous fantasies, this was a place for honesty, and the significance of your pause between his question and yours was an entity of its own, stiff like his posture.

“Are you ready for this conversation?” you checked. He fostered an anxious glance and nod. “Having kids is not something I ever saw for myself, no.”  The consequence of your answer marked his immediate dropped eye contact, but ever patient with him, you continued strongly, “With how I dated and moved around, I didn’t think it was for me, that sort of lifestyle. It’s just not something I put a lot of thought into except when my friends were having kids, and really, they kinda turned me off of the idea. Pregnancy sounds.. daunting. Or—you know—really fucking scary. They’d always talk about how awful it is, all the complications you could have, the risks, the near death experience in one case,” you broke off in a squirm. “And then you don’t even get the relief once the baby comes. Like, seriously, taking care of a newborn sounds straight up terrifying.”

Eddie cracked. His hiss of laughter was a welcomed reprieve, especially when it sank to his chest, gripping his shoulders in a hearty shake. “Y-Yeah,” he got out, face crinkled in all the ways you adored, “it is straight up terrifying.”

You giggled in the softest way, careful to not disturb Adrie’s shallow breaths, and careful to not swoon too head-over-heels over the image of him rocking a baby. “It seems easier when they’re older, though,” you said, broaching the real crux of the conversation with your chin dipped to the top of her head. “Like it’s not as bad when they can actually communicate why they’re crying, or tell you what’s bothering them.”

“Not necessarily easier, just different,” he clarified. “It’s less about making sure this little tiny thing that can choke on its own snot survives the night, and more about the emotionally draining problems like her telling you about her day at preschool, explaining a situation where a group of kids kept giving her tasks to do that sent her away, and she’s smiling so big when she’s telling you, thinking it was a game, but deep down you’re just waiting for the heartbreak years down the line when she realizes they gave her errands to run because they were excluding her, and the reason they were laughing every time she came back was because they took joy in being mean to her.”

Wilt tinted your faint, “Oh..”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He upped the pressure he used to pat and rub your knee. “S’part of life.”

Consumed by his side profile, you studied the scope of his impassive expression set on the premature lines edging his face. The urge to find the right thing to say amidst the convoluted churn of anger on his behalf, and sadness on Adrie’s, itched something fierce beneath your skin. Ultimately, no words of inspiration came.

Eddie took an anticipatory breath.

The radio garbled advertisements for the station’s sponsors.

“Still wouldn’t trade it for those first months when she was a newborn, though.” Pursing his mouth thin, he rolled his lips inward with a hardened brow, releasing and scrunching tension around his nose as he shook his head slowly, addressing the memories of those days with a shine of pain to his eyes, and a loud smack of his tongue. “The moment I found out Adrie’s mom was pregnant, I wanted to do the right thing—y’know?” He took his hand off your leg to demonstrate the narrow path he followed. “Kept my head down, stayed focused, didn’t bother anybody, got a real job, and kept my mouth shut. Lotta places didn’t wanna hire me, obviously, but I applied anywhere I could, and when I got the job, I’d go get another one on a different shift, and another one on a graveyard shift. Sold whatever I had—guitars, ‘nd shit—bought what I could with the money. I wanted to be a good man. Be a provider. Be worth something.” Scrubbing his shaky fingers over the stubble on his chin, he aimed to calm himself, but when bringing up the Hell he went through during those times, there was little to stop his pitch from wavering. “Still wasn’t good enough.”

A verdict aimed at him flippantly, yet the impact on his self-esteem was immeasurable.

Gathering himself, he licked the inside of his cheek, and explained, “In the beginning, when Adrie was born, I tried to make it on my own. Locked in this little motel room with a crying baby. Couldn’t go to work. Didn’t have anyone to call to watch her for me, y’know, didn’t.. didn’t have anyone to rely on after walking out on my uncle, and isolating myself from my friends. The people at the bullshit resource center said I wasn’t eligible for benefits because they were for single moms, not dads. And child support was taking too long to kick in. Not like it mattered when it couldn’t pay for a single canister of Similac. I didn’t have fucking anything. Or know anything.”

His shame was only beginning to unravel.

“There were these free classes at a clinic for expecting parents, but I..” He dropped his knuckles to his thigh and fed them along the coarse cotton, using the friction to burn away the guilt. “I-I didn’t go. I didn’t want to go alone. Be the only guy there, by myself. Have all these people w-who might know who I am fucking.. fucking staring at me.” With how he was looking down at his lap, rocking slightly with his movement, he stood no chance against the wall of tears damming at his lashes. “I didn’t want to go because of my sense of pride, and my baby suffered because of it.”

“Eddie, that’s not true—” you stepped in.

Three effective beats of his fist on his leg, and you were left to witness his face crumple from the utter contempt he had for himself.

“It is true,” his volume fluctuated in jumps. “She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t fucking eat and keep it down.” Droplets splashed his jeans in unyielding splats. Drip, drop, drip, drop.. They slipped and spread in splotches of salty remorse he couldn’t wipe away quick enough. “Nothing worked. Couldn’t get her to latch onto a bottle, and, and—I didn’t know, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to microwave the formula, but she wouldn’t take it room temp, so if it was too hot she’d just scream at me until it wasn’t, and I–I just—I was having these breakdowns, I don’t know. I blacked out, and next thing I knew, I was at Harrington’s, and Nancy was taking care of her for me.” The emphasis alluded to much, though the fact their son was only a year older, and Nancy would still be producing milk said it all. 

Frantic breaths which wouldn’t catch were pulled past grimaced lips parted on the unrefined sob his confession emerged on. “I never wanted to be with Adrie’s mom, but proving what she said was right, th-that I was a fucking loser who didn’t know what he was doing, it-it-it.” In a desperate flourish, he pointed at his temple, It lives in here, and another tear clung to the tip of his nose, smeared by the back of his wrist.

Stunned useless by the suffocating urge to help him, you blanked. Sat still while your favorite mechanic reduced himself to the wrong opinion of others; the same person who showed his gentle nature by picking worms out of the garage after a heavy rain so they didn’t dry out. Remaining frozen while silent pain wracked your friend’s held breath, heaved and shuddered out as a cough into the same palm he used to catch your ankle when he challenged you to a race on the creepers, and he had to cheat to win before you beat him to the service door. Saying, “Baby, no,” to the man who snuck a smirk over his daughter’s head when he caught you doting over her as she sat on his hip, and the smell of Christmas potluck embedded itself into the memory of Eddie’s eyes hinting at a deeper glint than the tease on his grin.

“I am a fucking failure,” he seeped out his regret. “C-Couldn’t give her what she needed. I still can’t. Still can’t give her what she wants, ever. T-T-Tellin’ her I can’t get her something when she asks for it—and the disappointment. Just a piece of shit who disappoints her. Never good enough—” There was another high-pitched stutter, but it was muffled behind his trembling hands covering his face, and smothered by your intervention.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you shot out, hand and voice working together to untangle the trauma his knotted fingers attempted to hide. “Listen to me.” No please, but no lack of kindness, either. “You are not a disappointment. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me? You’re not any of those things.” You tugged at the canvas jacket around his stiff arms tucked tight to his body, and rocked him away from his huddle against the door.

In the aftermath of your scramble to comfort him, Adrienne startled awake. Her soft hmm? became a grunty whine when the sensation of slipping backwards disoriented her. “Daddy?” One of her fists found your hoodie for balance, but her groggy curiosity dealt a heartbreaking blow.

She traced the wet trail on his cheek, encountered a tear in its path, and broke the droplet’s surface tension on her finger, wondering aloud, “Why’s Daddy crying?”

Thinking quickly, you used your muscles earned through unloading car parts from delivery trucks, and scooped her from your lap onto his, diverting the nuance of grown-up-problems by fumbling out, “Daddies cry sometimes, too. Have you told him you love him today? Can you tell him? It’ll make him feel better. Please, Miss Adrie?” Whether or not it was the perfect phrasing wasn’t important. What mattered was the unsuspecting gratitude laden at the base of his frown.

“I love you, Daddy,” Adrie said, latching her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“You’re a good man,” you added, and rolled onto your hip, fitting your body to his side. You nosed through his long, frazzly curls, and spoke earnestly, but softly into his ear, “You’re a good man, Eddie. Look at how well you take care of her. Look at how well fed, clothed, and happy she is. You make her so happy.. You make me happy, too. You’re the best dad I’ve ever met. No one else compares.”

He dragged a sniffle from his last sob into an unintelligible mumble.

“I’m here.” Shh. “I’m here.” You included Adrie in your hug as you brought your hand up to the other side of his flustered hot face, blending your fingers through the hair stuck to the sweat and stubble on his jaw. “We’re here for you. We’ve got you. Nothing bad can happen when we’re here.” Sweet with conviction, “It’s okay, handsome, I’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by the small I love you, Daddy, on one side, followed by You’re a good man, on the other, his inhale shivered, and he cuddled Adrie to him for a watery, “I love you, too.” Croaky and real, and mouth agape on an ugly cry he let you witness until his needy reach cupped the back of your head, and smushed you to his wet cheek, scratching the same sentiment into your nape, just like you were rubbing it into his scalp, exchanging the affection without words.

Us and Them funneled through the car, mellowing the heightened emotions with its dreamy saxophone opener.

“I’m so glad to have met you,” you prized in tender sweeps of whispers and thumbs. “I actually look forward to coming into work because of you, even when you hide my pen cup, and tickle me when I go to reach for it on top of the Coke machine. Which is unfair, by the way.”

“Yeah?” he asked for dear reassurance, and distraction.

Humming against the intimate corner of his jaw, you nudged the prickly scruff, and melted into his uncoordinated pets over your ear. “I see your sacrifices, and trust me, Eddie, you’re doing a great job at raising your daughter. Stuff like buying her toys, or cookies, or whatever doesn’t matter. The love you show her is better than any of that. She’s so lucky to have you.”

Another tear dropped to the tattered quilt. Another, another dropped. He squeezed his eyes shut and more fell. Hindered breaths let go in stuttered huffs shook his chest, swayed his damp hair. You circled your thumb over the rivers on his sensitive skin, and found a dry section of your sleeve to clean the price he paid for being a good father without the proper support he needed. Soothing him with fond shushes and feather touches. Forming a ball of comfort around him: cramped in the tiny car, a cast of solid fog on the windows for privacy, Adrie’s blanket draped about your jumbled legs, and her lanky arms wrapped around his neck where precious words were stoked from the embers of a fire which he built. “I wanna color with you to-mah-rrow,” she pronounced. “You can have the dinosaur book, because I want the kitty cats. Deal?” Deal, he nodded.

Your bottom lip introduced a blessing at his sideburn, “You deserve to see yourself how we see you.”

Recovering from the unbearable throb his stuffed sinuses drove to his headache, he tried—“Thank you, baby,”—though the letters were mashed together, and further pulped by the thickness in his throat. Loud, however, was his hug. Crushing you both to him with honed strength; flexed forearms demonstrating the power lying dormant in the track of muscle he snaked around your waist. Groans were earned from his expertise. Bones protested the gesture, begging to be released. It took several seconds of your heartbeat pumping visibly at the edge of your vision, but he let go. Afterall, there was no praise to be had by flattened lungs.

“That hurt,” Adrie complained.

“Ow,” you agreed.

“Sorry,” he said in non-apology.

At a change in tone, you fawned, “But that was a nice hug.”

Adrie rated it, “An 8 out of 10.”

Crowded together, the bond was unmatched. His arms were spread like a greedy dragon hoarding its wealth. Chest open, collecting his most remarkable treasures to the roaring furnace locked within the confines of his body, ready to share the warmth to those who could appreciate its value. Clasped in your hand was Adrie’s ankle, gaining squirmy kicks for each smile and giggle traded under Eddie’s chin. Dressed in his well-loved hoodie, the crook of his elbow fit to your figure, and the backs of his fingers strummed your bicep in a trained motion. None of it was perfect, no. The hoodie could smell less like cigarettes, his forearm stuffed behind you meant you couldn’t recline comfortably, and when he patted your hip, he awakened the dull throb of the bruising grip he left during earlier events.

Those weren’t bad things, though. They were as real as human flaws. Accepted as such, too.

“Are you feeling better?”

Sporting a grin favoring one cheek more than the other, Eddie’s eyes were framed by clumped together lashes after being stripped to his barest self and given the grace he needed. “Yeah,” he answered Adrie in fondness, “I’m feeling better now.” Not forever. He wasn’t cured. But with time, he guided his gaze to the velcro shoe you were wiggling back and forth onto her heel, and climbed his soft study up to the plump concentration on your bottom lip after you released it from between your teeth.

Perceiving his attention, you clocked him with a sneaky grin. “We’re a sardine family.” Brightening at the bewildered noise he made, you tapped Adrie’s knee, and imparted your wisdom as if he should know it too. “Yeah, you know, you, me, and Adrie. Jammed packed back here like a tin of sardines. All squished together.”

They blinked at you. You blinked back.

“And I thought I was supposed to be the one with bad jokes,” Eddie offered after some thought. You cut him a look. “But I like the image,” he amended.

“I like sardines,” Adrie chimed. She didn’t know what sardines were, but you appreciated her enthusiasm.

The conversation waned from there. Drowsiness from the old night seeped into your collective huddle, slouching you all towards one another. Heavy limbs went boneless. Tender brushes of thumbs came to an end. The sound of deep breaths were heard between the local ads for Indiana’s finest antique mall and an uptick in the rain smacking the paved street. Near the edge of sleep, you convinced yourself to get Adrie up and into her carseat. Eddie sat back and watched you go through the steps of buckling her in, listening to her plea for Fluff in her backpack, tucking the quilt around her just right, and hitting your head on the roof in pursuit of making her happy. Taking care of his kid. You collapsed beside him, far closer than would be proper for coworkers, and basked in his approval, noting the pride in his charged gaze. The emotional rollercoaster of the evening took its toll on his swollen face—nevertheless, romance novels could learn a thing or two from the way his stare rendered you weak.

“Should get you home before the storm gets worse,” he warned in an attractive thrum of sternness. He might call you lil’ lady next. Or remind you he promised your father he’d have you back on time.

Floating in the fizzy pool of your crush's attention, you nodded your dizzy head, and observed without need, “Yeah, should get home before it gets worse.”

He laughed. You swam in his laugh, in the instinctual desire based in his mood after watching someone nurture his young. A silly thing to rock you into a sultry sweat considering the outcome of your second date. Luckily, when you stepped out of the car, the frigid mist stole your focus, hosing you down and keeping you from reading too much into the odd chemical imbalance that must be happening in your brain.

The night was really fucking long.

Driving with the radio on low, Eddie drifted his ringed fingers over your forearm whenever they weren’t being used on the stick shift. A small gesture letting you know he was thinking about you when there wasn’t anything to talk about, not that it was needed. The calm was nice. The storm behaved en route to the Buckley’s, avoiding the occasional tree limb blocking a lane. He removed his touch from your person, and with a glance, you were assured it wasn’t the last.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” you gasped, posing with your arms stuck out, useless against mother nature sagging your soaked clothes.

A puddle formed on the wood planks where he wrung his hair. “And make you do this run all by yourself? C’mon, sweet stuff. I’m a gentleman.”

Shivering on the covered porch, your shoes were partially to blame for the slipping incident(s) in the muddy driveway. The lack of the house lights on was another, slowing down your sprint into a crawl. A yellow cast from a lamp in the back room lit the hallway, but other than its soft glow, that was it. Clearly, no one expected you to come home.

“Is it okay if, uh,” you began, “Is it okay if we kiss in front of Adrie?” Oh, how your awkward pointing from yourself to the car came to a charming halt, fingers caught in the stiff fabric of his jacket, under his spell.

Plush pink lips warmed by vented heat promised your worries away.

“I think she’s asleep anyway.” His voice was playful, tugging syllables in the way his lopsided grin ought. “But,” he softened, “yeah, we can kiss in front of her.”

The permission washed over you. Weeks and months in the making. Brewing tension under the surface in your daily interactions—and now? You kissed him. Just for fun, just to show off. You kissed him again. Gentle, pretty brushes. Tame, refined, and for the sake of exploring the lack of boundary before saying goodbye.

Working man arms defined your waist.

Fingers calloused from gripping pens grazed his steady throat.

He swallowed, and spoke endearments with his busy mouth, “Could kiss you all day, baby.” Your lips kicked into a smile which he devoured, kiss after kiss. Neat little things. Virtues, maybe.

“Could’ve kissed me since the day we met,” you answered, feeling the squeeze around your back when his belly pressed you into his embrace. Though, his dismissive snort caused you to frown. “I’m serious. Coulda had me back then. Or at least you could’ve kissed me when we were slow dancing in the garage, or standing under the mistletoe at the Christmas party. Like, seriously, way to make me feel rejected.”

His wide passionate eyes shared common ground with his genuine smirk at your feigned agony. “Excuse you, but I am not having our first kiss be at work.”

“Then why not at DND when everyone left?”

“Because, sweetheart,“ his cadence loved those two words most of all, “I knew I only had a few minutes with you. And I needed a helluva lot more than a few minutes with you.”

“Or, what about when—”

Crazy how you strove to be silenced by his mouth. Craved it like no other, provoking him into eager unions, fulfilling the itch and providing the scratch with your bottom lip between his, just how he liked.

You shifted. Your inner thighs rubbed through your ripped tights. The untimely circumstances bringing you to Robin’s door lived on the surface of your chilly skin; ushering you to reality, and he as well.

“I’m sorry for how all this turned out.” Eddie’s sincere apology pitched his voice to something sorrowful, something deeper, and maybe you underestimated how much the night ending when it did upset him as a man.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He shuffled his stance, scraping his boots in dissatisfaction. “Baby, you didn’t even get anything,” and you knew what he meant. And it annoyed you he’d even brought it up.

Combing your fingers up from his nape through his hair, you drove him into you, chasing the molten ooze pooling at your center in effort to shut him up. Wet, hard, nipping kisses at his plump lips until they were raw like his tear-stained cheeks. You forwent air. Mouths melding as one, then apart as two, then one, then a set of awake eyes boring into his drunk ones. “Our date was perfect. We needed this.” The trust, the experience, the uncomfortable glimpse into his life and how you handled it. His breakdown, his shame, his face when he finally let go and ugly cried in front of you. “I don’t regret how our night turned out.”

Nodding into a nudge of his nose stroking the side of yours, he was honest with himself, “I don’t regret it, either.”

“Well, you might regret it in the next half-hour if this storm keeps up, and you’re stranded with Adrie in the car because a tree fell across the road.”

“Shit.” Indeed, the weather was turning again. If luck were on his side, he could deal with the high winds and sheets of rain until he got home, but, more likely, he drained his luck over the course of the date, and lightning was about to start again.

Eyeing the sky with hesitance, he asked, “Can I call you tomorrow? Or—today?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t.” Acting as an endorsement to get going before things worsened, thick forest branches creaked in the distance, popping like warnings. You followed it with snappier affections doled between your palms fitted to his jaw. “Please be safe, Eddie.”

“I will, I will. Kay?” Urgency swept him from kiss to kiss—needy, and intense, treating them as the last. “I adore you, baby. Tell me you adore me.”

Mushy under his tender affirmations, your body went pliant and he accepted your weighty lean on his chest, making it harder than it already was for him to leave his sweetheart behind. “—dore you too, handsome,” you moaned into his mouth, sending him off on a proper goodbye.

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

Ever the lovestruck fool, he stayed rooted on the porch watching your figure move from shadow to light within the home, eyes glued to sways and curves as you met the hallway and bent to peep inside Robin’s room. It was the single lamp being turned off which broke his greedy gaze, and ended his fun. Oh well. His Monday morning was booked with penciled in meetings for his admiration and your assets.

Eddie spun on his heel and stopped stalling. He didn’t bother throwing his arms over his head, he accepted his fate, and ran. Sloshing through puddles, slipping in mud. He wrenched open the door, and fell inside the car. The heater made him sticky warm in the gross way, so he turned it down, and got comfortable behind the wheel, adjusting, adjusting.

Pulling oxygen into his outkissed lungs, he heaved a solid breath, and sank into his seat, unable to comprehend the recent events carving out a new path for him to consider where there wasn’t one before.

——Then——

In the beginning…

Summer died to autumn, and it was time to move on from Steve's. Eddie tried to make it on his own in the motel room over the three day weekend break from work, but his wallet was empty, his baby was dressed in another family's blue sailboat onesie, and come Tuesday morning at 7AM, he needed someone to watch Adrie who wasn't an overworked Nancy Harrington.

Infant in hand, pride left behind in his boyhood, Eddie knocked on his uncle's door, and in Wayne's usual manner, he answered by clearing his throat when neither words nor greetings failed to repair the strained relationship.

“Can I live with you?”

Taking in the marks of fatigue under his nephew's averted eyes, Wayne said, “Of course, son,” and welcomed him inside with a swung gesture.

The walk to the single bedroom humbled what spirit Eddie had remaining. Or, crushed what was left of it. He passed by the kitchen table which still had his chair cocked out, noticed the patched-up hole in the closet door, and flicked on the lightswitch, grazing the curled edge of a poster he hung over a decade ago. His stomach sank at the familiarity.

Blazed by the ornate lamp hung in the corner, standing out like a behemoth beside his white desk, was the crib he was never able to afford.

Adrie grunted awake in her carseat. Looking down at her would spill his tears, so he cranked his head back to stare at the ceiling, steeling himself after spotting the new bedsheets stretched across his mattress, and he knew—he knew—if he turned around, the pullout bed in the living room would still be set up.

His uncle never took his room back.

Defeated by the routine pang of worthlessness, impressed to have any self-esteem left to be stolen from him at the point, Eddie sank to his childhood mattress with his three-month-old daughter at his feet, undressed himself from his boots, and made a clear spot for them both on the bed, away from blankets or pillows. He laid on his side, legs crossed and knees bent with an arm beneath his head. Same position he assumed on the motel’s carpeted floor yesterday when Adrie experienced a milestone: rolling over. Not from her back to her stomach, she wasn’t coordinated enough for that yet, but with enough powerful kicks and wiggling, his paranoia coaxed his other arm around her.

He molded himself to be her protector. Chest sunken on a shallow breath, forearm spooned to her side closest to the edge, and gaze trained on her chubby cheek. Her babbly noise of happiness brought him a sense of reward, and though the newborn smell had faded in the weeks where motor oil stung his nostrils, he put his nose to the top of her head for a whiff of a sweet scent that wasn’t there, and felt the peace it brought him anyway.

Wayne shuffled into the room with a sizable stack of chunky hardcover books between his hands. “I, uh, checked these out from the library. Been doin’ some readin’ while you were gone.” He set them down on the bedside table, and pointed at a few of them. “Learned a lot from the one on the bottom, but they were all, ah, educational, I s’pose.. Some lean more religious than others,” he grumbled. “But, uhm..”

The expectant pause in his uncle’s speech drew Eddie’s awareness.

“Can I hold her?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah.” He almost had the strength to clear the rasp from his throat. “You can hold her.”

Putting his new knowledge to good use, Wayne first worked his palm under Adrie’s head before scooping her into his folded arms. Eddie took his shame in small doses, glancing at his uncle meeting his grandchild for the first time, and looking away when he cooed over her. Three months and his only family member had yet to meet his baby. Three months spent avoiding this trailer, and depriving his uncle from making these memories.

Self-loathing boiled under Eddie’s skin, and still, there was a fleeting desire to brag about Adrie’s neck strength, and how it wasn’t so necessary to be wary of her head falling back.

But he stayed quiet. He pushed his overgrown bangs out of his eyes, and read the book’s titles, wondering what sparked enough interest for Wayne to stuff receipts between the pages, or mark them with paper clips if they were particularly interesting.

Speaking in his gruff smoker’s voice with an edge of seldom heard unease, Wayne introduced a conversation, “I read in that yellow book there that babies shouldn’t sleep in the same bed as the parent. Dangerous, with how tired you are, ‘nd all. Should I put her in the crib?”

As gingerly and delicately as one could be when discussing the reality of a child suffocating to a parent who was well aware of the risks, Eddie regarded him with an annoyed expression, and Wayne shut his mouth in apology.

“I’ve gotta do her night routine again, so I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Yep.” A solid statement, and conclusion, to the conversation.

Bending down, Wayne positioned Adrie in the hollow Eddie created for her, and mentioned there were leftovers in the fridge on his way out. He shut the door behind him. It didn’t take long for tiny fists and tinier fingers to find a lock of his hair, and pull it into a drooly mouth. Didn’t take long, either, for his exhaustion to kick in and for the emotions to crash through his walls.

Tears slipped sideways along his features. Cresting over the bridge of his nose, colliding with his other eye, and joining the wetness at his hairline, dotting the bedsheet. He pressed his face to his baby who was too innocent for this world. “Daddy loves you,” he whispered, tasting the word for the first time. Daddy. It didn’t feel right when Steve stepped in as a father figure, but he could acknowledge it now. He was a dad. A momentous occasion followed by, “I’m so sorry you’re mine.” An apology uttered on a wet hiccup—borderline unintelligible—but after coming back to this trailer, and enduring his memories trapped between its thin walls, he promised, words slurring to a constricted squeak in his throat, “Daddy’s gonna get us a nice house, okay? Your own room. Your own bed. Daddy’s gonna do it. Just give me some time, okay? I’ll do it, I swear. Daddy loves you so much. So fucking much.” The promises bred dread even then, living in the pit of his stomach as future disappointments, knowing he would fail.

Perhaps sensing his distress, his little girl used the last of her energy to kick his arm in a fair warning before her face scrunched, and the wet coughs preluding her wail for food began.

He dried his face on the bedsheet. In this moment, it was hard to continue crying when he had another human relying on him. It was time to move on. Time to bury the pain, and move on. Time to neglect himself, and move on. Time to give up, and move on. Kiss her chubby cheeks so fucking much he feared he’d never be able to stop, and move on.

——Now——

Now, he checked the rearview mirror and Adrie was looking back at him, possessing a curious pinch between her brows at his reflection.

“You were kissing Miss Mouse,” she accused and questioned.

“I was,” he confirmed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, ah,” he filled the pause with another ah while he searched, “It means we’ll be seeing more of each other. She’ll be coming around more, and stuff. Hanging out with us.”

Ever ponderous, ever candid, ever blunt, she asked, “Does that mean she’s my–”

Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasted their eardrums.

Eddie’s fingers slipped over the volume dial by accident—totally by accident—as he reached for the stick shift, turning the music on high and drowning out the last word of her sentence.

—Mom.

No way in hell was he ready for that conversation after the emotionally grueling night he’d had.

“Whoops,” he pretended, “Sorry, couldn’t hear you—but, uh! Hey, do you wanna start our bedtime story early? Should I go with the princess one, or the Sesame Street gang running their own bakery? Hmm.." He drew out his hum until he was in the clear of the Buckley's mailbox, swearing he wasn't the reason it was laying flat in a ditch. "How about we pick up where the princess one left off? So! The firbolgs have declared alliances with Toadstool Kingdom, and.." Throwing it into first gear, Eddie raced home as quickly, but responsibly, as possible, talking non-stop. His parched throat begged for a drink by the time he pulled into the trailer park—a scratchy pain made worse by his nervous chatter in the elusive quiet of his parked car.

He wrapped Adrie in her quilt as best he could while securing her on his hip and booked it through the rain, unlocking the front door and ducking inside right as an unlucky flash of lightning came.

And when nature’s nightlight died, he blinked and blinked at the spots in his vision.

It was unfathomably dark in his living room.

Stumbling over a small shoe in his way, he patted the wall for the lightswitch, and flipped it. And flipped it again. And harassed it some more. Sighing heavily in defeat, he grabbed the giant flashlight on the kitchen counter, and lit the way. "Looks like we're camping tonight." (Their codeword for when the power was knocked out.)

"Okie dokie," she said, ignorant to the cruel world of no pancakes for Sunday breakfast when the electric stovetop was out of commission.

In the meantime, he got them both ready for bed with the added pain of doing it by a single wobbly light source, ready to pass out the second his body sank to the mattress and his head hit the flat pillow—

But of course, Adrie rocked his shoulder incessantly, goading him into giving her attention at her whim, sanity be damned. "Mm?" he grunted, coating the noise in mild annoyance.

"Daddy?" she checked.

The wait for her question grew excruciatingly long.

He almost wasted an eye roll. "Yes, my child?"

"I wish Miss Mouse was here."

Surprised more so by his yawn than the request itself—and then surprised again when his heartbeat remained calm when confronted with the reality of Adrie noticing too much—he struggled to stay awake in his best interest, perhaps giving an inappropriate answer, and unwittingly feeding into her inner wishes, "I do too." He was fading, and quick. The hard rain had returned, droning white noise on the roof, soothing his eyelids closed over the dry sting they drew. Rolling, fighting the stiff sheets tucked around them both, he threw an arm over her before the doom-roll of thunder came. Sweet dreams greeted him in a pair of tiny arms folded to his chest. Brain shutting down. Night, night. Asleep.

"I wish she was my mom."

"Goodnight, Adrie," he stressed.

[cocteaucherry]

another silly gojo thing I wrote with pregnant reader (I was inspired by Kali’s pregnancy announcement 🩷)

a/n- (I promise pt 3 of LTLM is coming out later today or tomorrow)

cw- pregnancy, talks of sexual situations, gojo being gojo :p

The day Satoru found out you were pregnant was a day you’ll never forget.

It was a freezing morning in January and you had just finished taking down the Christmas decorations (yeah it was a few weeks after Christmas but you both were lazy) you let out a huff wiping your hands as you stared at the old cardboard boxes that housed the glittery decorations, it made you feel more emotional than usual seeing yet another year pass.

You heard the door burst open and you turned to find your husband dragging in a bunch of wires and lights, “ six hundred twinkling lights taken down by your one and only!” He exclaimed, dropping the lights and using his foot to close the door, “you sure? I could’ve sworn I heard you on the verge of using Hollow Purple.” You said playfully as you gazed lovingly at your husband.

“What?! No! I was of course gonna take you out of the house first!” The blue eyed male chuckled as he walked towards you immediately wrapping his arms around your waist, “I think I deserve a kiss for my bravery and perseverance.” He hummed his hands running over the slight pudge in your stomach, “Do you really?” You peered up at his face to be met with a very shocked expression, you chuckled nervously staring at his over exaggerated face.

Gojo could tell something was off for the past few days, frequent bathroom trips, slight nausea in the morning and your missed period. (He might be the strongest but he’s not the smartest) and now your cursed energy was changing he sensed it when he walked in it was almost doubled. “I mean this is the BEST way possible, let me stress BEST, are you somehow maybe- just a little bit ermm.. pregnant?”

Your mind went blank at the question, “Maybe?” You shrugged your shoulders, “it would make sense..” your mind tried to calculate the last time you and Gojo were intimate but Gojo calculated for you, “Christmas.” He said his mouth was still wide open, “yeah , maybe wrapping myself like a present wasn’t the best idea.” You giggled and Satoru was quick to retort with a red face, “you practically had nothing on! You can’t blame me!” Gojo pouted, rubbing the back of his neck, “can we go buy some tests to confirm your theory?”

About seven tests later it was confirmed, you were pregnant.

Of course tears and hugs were shared and you wanted to share the news with your friends but Gojo stopped you claiming he wanted to see how long you both could go unnoticed, he also opted to buy a camcorder to track your happy moments. It was more of a nostalgia thing. (Even while you're pregnant he’s still dramatic.)

By the time you were breaching your second trimester a lot of things changed, for worse and better, the spare room in your house was converted into a full baby room, all constructed by gojo himself since he was terrified of you getting injured. The baby room was filled with expensive baby materials and toys, “Satoru.. are you sure this isn’t too much?” You stared at the room in disbelief, your hand stroking your bump, He grunted, placing a heavy box with more materials down, “What? Think I can go bigger?” He winked and opened the package.

“We don’t even know the gender yet? you yelled walking down the hallway to lay down.

Everyone in Satoru’s life knew something was up, he walked with more pep in his step and glowed even more than he already was.

“So does anyone know what’s up with Gojo-sensei?” Yuji questioned sitting on his bed, Kugusaki and Megumi on the floor visibly not listening. “Don’t know, don’t really care either.” Megumi deadpanned which earned a grin from Kugisaki, “Not sure Yuuji, have you tried asking his wife?” she asked, peering from her phone. “She hasn’t been around here in like months!” The pink haired boy exclaimed failing to connect the dots but Megumi did for him.

“Maybe she’s expecting.” He shrugged it off going back to type on his phone, “What?! You mean they-they-“ yuuji stuttered.

“Yuuji they are adults, plus it would make sense right after the holidays too. So she’d be about.."Kugisaki counted in her head, “second trimester?”

“You guys are taking this a little too well?!” Yuuji exclaimed, “oh Kugisaki and I made our own theory a few weeks ago-“

“And you didn’t tell me?!-“

Later that day you had a teary eyed pink haired teenager yapping at the door about how you didn’t tell him sooner.

[stevie-petey]

pretty girl

“Unfair. I was at least–” he breathes out sharply as you begin to suck lazily just below his jaw. “I was gentle, pretty girl. This just, fuck, this feels like torture.” “Shush and let me kiss you, Stevie.”

Summary: steve has to get his daily kiss quota in somehow, right?

Rating: general, makeout session, cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, slight neck kink if u arent into that, mild makeout session (so so so mild tho) - not proofread, i just kinda wrote so pls ignore typos lmao

Words: 1.1k

Before you swing in: hello ! i was in a bit of a lovey dovey mood, and while i adore writing come home, i simply couldnt bring myself to write more repressed feelings tonight. so, heres a quick lil boyfriend!steve blurb. it isnt at all correlated with come home (although if u squint ... maybe) its just me being so engrossed in my current crush and needing to be severely kissed. rip. anyways, enjoy !

-

Every night, Steve throws rocks outside your window. 

The rocks pang softly against the glass, one after another, as they bounce harmlessly on their endeavor to get your attention. 

Every night, you answer. 

“What ails you tonight, Harrington?” You’ve opened your window now, leaning your head out so that you can see the boy standing below. 

He winks at you. “The usual.”

“Hm,” you rest your elbows against the wooden panel encasing your window. “How many do you need this time?”

“Hard to say, but if I had to guess… A million, honestly.”

You laugh. “A million, huh?”

“Maybe even more.” Steve smiles up at you, admiring how the moonlight frames your pretty face, making it even softer than he ever thought possible. It takes his breath away for a second, knowing how the face staring down at him is the same face that stares up at him whenever morning comes. 

“Give me five minutes, lovely.”

Steve smiles at the nickname, letting it warm his face as well as his bones. “I’ll go warm up the car.”

You wave, blowing the boy a quick kiss, before closing your window to go over to your dresser. The top drawer has long come to contain your nighttime adventure outfits with Steve. A simple pair of sweatpants and his hoodie that you stole years ago but never gave back. 

He knows you have it still, but you know he secretly loves seeing you wear it. 

As soon as you’re ready, slippers and all, you quietly run down your stairs so you don’t disturb your parents and unlock the front door. The lock clicks harshly against the night’s quietness, but with one smooth turn you manage to undo the lock and open the door. 

Steve, true to his word, is waiting in his car with the heat blasting, just the way you like it. 

It’s winter, early January, and school hasn’t quite started back up yet. 

The second you approach the car, Steve gets out and walks to the passenger side so that he can open it before you even touch its handle. You scoff at the overdramatic mannerisms, but blush nonetheless. 

“I can open my own door, Steve.”

He shrugs. “Sure, but you’re beautiful and I love you.”

The words fall freely from his lips, and you intertwine your hand behind his neck and pull his lips flushed against yours. He hums into it, pulls you so that your chests are engulfed together and your legs stumble and enclose around his. It’s messy, your other hand clutches at Steve’s jacket and he relishes in the way your knuckles tighten around him. 

“One down, a million more to go.” Steve whispers against your lips. 

You laugh, throwing your head back and he watches the sight of it all. How your neck lengthens as you laugh, the way your hair cascades behind you and the way your eyes crinkle shut. You put on a whole show for him, and he can’t get enough of it. 

“You really think we can get through a million kisses tonight?” You ask, nudging your nose against the length of Steve’s jaw. 

He shivers. “Got a few ways I think we can manage that.”

You pull away now, though you keep your hand at the nape of his neck. “At least take a girl on a date first.”

“I’m trying, pretty girl.” He gestures toward the car, its engine humming softly. You roll your eyes, but when Steve finally opens the passenger door, you reluctantly let go of him and sit down. “Atta girl, Y/N.”

Before you can huff at him for the nickname, Steve gently closes the door and heads over to his own driver’s side. He opens the door, the warm air escaping a bit, and as soon as Steve is in the car he tugs at your hoodie (his hoodie) and once again you’re kissing. 

It’s longer this time, languid and lingering. He brings a hand up to your cheek and his thumb strokes the high point in a fluid back and forth motion. You lean deeper into him, your own hands coming up to his chest as if you could bring him any closer to you. 

Steve nips at your bottom lip and you let him in, you always let him in. 

You gasp as he sucks on the lip and you feel him smile at your reaction. With one hand still caressing your cheek, his other hand comes up to the base of your neck. It’s warm, he’s always so warm, and his calloused fingers find their usual place, splayed across both sides of your neck. His palm settles just above your collarbones and your breath hitches. 

“Steve…” You exhale his name, as if it were a prayer. 

He pulls away a little, his eyes a molten honey color in the moonlight. “Yes, pretty girl?”

You turn your head and press a kiss against the hand still on your cheek. “Three down, 999,999,997 to go.”

“Make that four,” Steve presses a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, then to the tips of your eyelashes. “Now eight.”

You giggle as he presses another kiss to your temple and then your ear. He’s everywhere, now, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he can find. “And here, and here, and here…”

Steve goes down to your neck now, his nose trailing down the bare skin, making you shiver, and his kisses are so soft. Despite his teasing and the hold he still has on your neck, his lips leave a trail so soft and sanguine against your skin that they burn like whiskey. 

He reaches for your hand now, bringing the length of your arm up to his face, and just before he presses even more kisses against you, you laugh and pull your arm back. Steve starts to whine, unhappy with his kisses being interrupted, but you comb your fingers through his hair. 

“Seems unfair to make you do all the work, lovely.”

Steve’s lips are red and swollen from earlier, they almost distract you from his response. “Shush and let me kiss you.”

He tries to duck his head back down to your neck for more, but you stop him. “Nuh-uh. My turn.”

Before Steve can argue some more, you tug at his jacket, and because you’ve caught him off guard, he falls so far forward that his neck is open for the taking. You press your own kisses against it, connecting the moles that litter his skin with a kiss, and Steve exhales shakily as you do so. 

“Unfair. I was at least–” he breathes out sharply as you begin to suck lazily just below his jaw. “I was gentle, pretty girl. This just, fuck, this feels like torture.”

“Shush and let me kiss you, Stevie.”

Steve’s hand tightens around your neck as the other flies up to your head, pressing you further into his neck as you suck on a spot that he particularly likes. “Yeah… Fuck, okay. Shutting up now.”

-

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