#you can pay me one (1) potato chip

[nadas-dirthalen]

.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

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

Summary: Still questioning your mothering abilities, you finally agree to take a pregnancy test. But when you run into an unexpected familiar face, it leads to some intimate conversations.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), angst, misunderstanding, mention of alcohol consumption, nausea, Reader takes a pregnancy test, mention of menstrual periods/tampons, panic attack, use of medication (prescribed), dirty talk, mutual masturbation, breeding kink, choking, submissive!Reader, mention of public sex (this chapter has a lot so please let me know if I missed something!)

WC: 10.1k

A/N: Thank you to @pastel-pillows, @corroded-hellfire, and @vintagehellfire for beta reading and helping with some dialogue. Y'all make me a horny better writer.

Chapter 17/20

Divider credit to @saradika Harris's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers

--

It’s been one week since you’ve seen Eddie. The phone is silent on the hook, regardless of how strongly you will it to ring. 

A wave of nausea ripples through you and has you lunging for the Saltines box on the coffee table. It isn’t unusual for you to feel sick when you’re anxious, and this entire situation definitely has you on-edge. The Jerry Springer audience chants his name from the TV set, though you can barely pay attention to the brawl that’s about to occur. 

One week ago, you and Eddie broke up. One week ago, you realized you might be carrying his baby. One week ago, you began what you’d dubbed Self-Pity Spring Break, which was essentially a week of you wallowing in misery and ignoring the nagging question that constantly infiltrates your thoughts. 

The movement for the crackers allows you to get a whiff of the pajamas you’d been living in. You’d convinced yourself there was no need to shower since you were barely leaving your apartment, but the odor emanating from your clothes—and your skin—says otherwise. You resignedly stand up and grab a towel from the hall closet, scowling at the box of tampons that’s seemingly taunting you.

Fine, you silently relent, I’ll get a test today.

There’s a forceful knock on the door, and your heart leaps. Eddie. Eddie’s here, we can talk and figure this out–

“Hey, Hermit, you alive in there?” It’s Jess, speaking even as she knocks.

“Coming, coming,” you grumble, not even trying to feign excitement. Maybe it’s better that it’s not Eddie; you’re not sure what you’d even say.

“Jeez, you look awful,” Robin comments, clamping her lips together when Jess shoots her a glare. “Sorry.”

“You’re not wrong,” you mutter. You haven’t looked in the mirror in days, not wanting to confront the reflection staring back at you. Fingertips greasy with old potato chip residue, you wipe them on your pajama pants and sigh. “I feel like shit, too.”

Jess grabs your hand and gives it a little squeeze. “C’mon, let’s get you some wine,” she says kindly, already padding towards the kitchen in search of an open bottle. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

You shake your head, throat dry. “I, um, I shouldn’t.” An unspoken plea floats from your lips, begging her not to ask further questions, but you know better than to get your hopes up. 

She stops in her tracks, swiveling back in your direction. Her eyebrows pinch together, creasing in the middle. “No.” She waits for the punchline, and when there isn’t one, she envelops you in a hug. “Oh, honey.” 

You feel another gentle hand on your back as Robin’s palm rubs comforting circles between your shoulder blades. You can’t pinpoint the moment she became one of your close friends, too; it happened naturally as the relationship between her and Jess became more serious and they spent more time together. Yet it feels as though she’s always been an integral part of your life, and you couldn’t be more thankful, especially in moments like this one.

“I don’t…I haven’t taken a test yet,” you admit bashfully, blinking away rogue tears, “but I’m super late. Like, almost two weeks late.”

Robin scrunches her face, unsure of her response but plunging ahead anyway. “Does Eddie…”

You shake your head. “No, and I’m not telling him either way.” The vitriol in your voice is biting, and both of your friends are taken aback by your anger. “He said that taking care of Harris was too much for me to handle; you think he wants to raise a whole other kid with me?”

“Okay, okay,” Jess softly interrupts your tirade, not needing to hear your break-up story for the fourth time. “First things first: you gotta take a test. Do you have one here?” 

“Mm-mm.”

“Then Robs and I will go with you to the pharmacy.”

“I don’t wanna go,” you whine, sounding more like Harris than ever. 

Jess sighs. “You’re leaving this apartment whether you like it or not.” She motions towards her girlfriend. “She’s stronger than she looks, so we will use force if we have to.”

“Fine.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can I at least shower first?”

“Please,” Jess mutters, grateful that she didn’t have to make the suggestion herself.

The shower water is scalding hot, but you don’t have the energy to fiddle with the knob until it’s a decent temperature. Instead, you stand underneath the stream and idly sway back-and-forth. You grab the Dial bar from the soap tray, lathering your body and taking good care to scrub under your arms. The suds slide down and swirl around the drain before disappearing entirely. You can only wish they took your problems with them.

You dry off as quickly as you can, throwing on the first pair of sweatpants you can find and a faded concert t-shirt from when you saw Joan Jett perform in ‘89. Dragging your tired body back out to where your friends are waiting, you grab a jacket out of the closet, stomach turning as soon as you put your arms through the sleeves. You haven’t worn this since last weekend, and the smell of Eddie’s cologne still faintly lingers. It’s like he’s there wrapping himself around you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. 

Except he’s not here, his scent only serving as a painful reminder of what you used to have. 

If he was here right now, what would he be doing? Cursing the broken condom that led to this chaos? Berating himself for getting another woman pregnant? And not just any woman; this would be the second woman he’d knocked up who’d failed to be a decent mother. This time; however, he’d know about your shortcomings before the baby could even arrive, before it could develop fingers and toes and have its own little heartbeat…

With a heavy sigh, you drag your feet out the door and into Jess’s car. Nausea creeps up on you the closer you get to your destination, and for the first time in your life, you pray it’s only carsickness.

Murphy’s Law states that “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” and that’s exactly what happened to Eddie this week.

First, he’d all but gotten confirmation that you were overwhelmed at the prospect of being a family, of being his partner, and eventually being a parent to Harris. Your silence when he’d asked if it was “too much” was deafening. He’d thought about calling you, even picked up the phone and dialed the first few digits on more than one occasion, but ultimately hung up. There’s no sense in trying to force you into a life you have no interest in, no matter how badly it hurts him to be without you.

Then, this morning, Harris had woken up at 6:30 AM, howling in pain. Eddie had nearly fallen out of bed at the sudden burst of sound, rushing to his son’s side to figure out the issue.

“My ear!” Harris wailed, pressing a tiny palm to the side of his head. “It hurts so bad!”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie murmured. He tried to pull Harris’s hand from his ear to get a better look, but quickly stopped when the boy cried out in agony, rivaling a Wilhelm Scream.

He called the pediatrician and got the earliest appointment available, arriving at the office before they’d even opened. The receptionist had given him a strange look as he barreled through the doors, Harris hoisted in his arms.

Forty-five arduous minutes later, the doctor took one look inside Harris’s ear canal and diagnosed him with an ear infection, scribbled out a barely-legible prescription for antibiotics, and sent the Munsons on their way.

Now, Eddie slams the sedan door shut as he walks into the pharmacy for the second time today, mumbling about his shit luck. He’d brought Harris to Wayne’s trailer after dropping off the prescription once they informed him that it would be a two-hour wait. There was no sense in forcing the poor kid to sit around the drugstore when he desperately needed a nap, Eddie reasoned, ignoring his own exhaustion. He makes up his mind right then and there that, in addition to whatever bubblegum-flavored concoction he’s picking up for Harris, he’s getting a pack of Camels. The stress is just too damn much for Nicorette to handle.

He makes a beeline for the pharmacist, nodding along as she explains that the medicine should be taken twice daily with food.

“Do you have any questions?” she asks patiently, a kind smile on her lips. 

“N-No,” Eddie stammers, the paper bag crinkling in his grasp. “Thanks,” he throws out haphazardly, already hyper-focused on securing the cigarettes. He can practically taste the tobacco on his tongue, smoke filling his lungs. He’ll quit again tomorrow, once all of this is–

“Is this it? EPT?” A familiar voice briefly grabs Eddie’s attention, but he quickly brushes it off. It’s a small town; everyone’s bound to recognize each other after a while. 

It’s the response that truly draws him in, a timid, “y-yeah, I think so.” 

Eddie swivels around, cigarettes long forgotten, peering down each aisle until he finds you. You’re standing with Robin Buckley—the voice he’d recognized earlier—and Jeff’s sister-in-law, Jess. 

“Hi,” he blurts out, shoving his free hand in his pants pocket. His heart breaks at the defeated look in your eyes, swollen from days of crying. He wants to pull you in for a hug and feel your arms wrap around him, relishing in your safety. 

It only takes a half-second for his gaze to drop to the pink box clenched in your death grip, a pathetic attempt to hide it from him. “Wh-What’s that?” He’s suddenly all-too aware that you’re all standing in the Family Planning section, and unless science has made some extraordinary progress lately, it’s unlikely that Jess and Robin need anything here. “Are you—”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” You regain as much composure as you can. “But whatever I am, I can handle it by myself.” You’re unsure of the truth behind that statement, but you refuse to let him see you waver. 

Eddie takes another step forward, removing his hand from his pocket and taking the test from you. You’re hesitant to relinquish it, but you ultimately concede. 

“Let me pay for this, at least,” he says softly, not waiting for your reply before tucking it under his arm and heading to the cashier. 

“Eddie—”

“You’ll take it at my place,” he continues as though you hadn’t just spoken his name, “and if you’re…if it’s…we’ll, uh, we’ll figure out where to go from there.” 

You shake your head. “I don’t need your help,” you protest, firmly but not unkindly. “Seriously, I’ve got this.” Be done with me. Just let me go, Eddie. Find someone who deserves your—and Harris’s—time. 

Eddie places the test on the counter, digging into his wallet for the dingy MasterCard he keeps tucked away for emergencies. You cringe at the cost; if you’d known Eddie would insist on footing the bill, you would have chosen a cheaper option. 

“I can take this at home. Robin and Jess will be with me,” you push on as the four of you leave the store. You turn to them for back-up, frowning when Robin gives you a tight smile and Jess shrugs. 

“I…think you should take it at Eddie’s,” she offers, trying to ignore the death glare you’re sending her way. 

“If you need us, just call, and we’ll pick you up,” Robin hurriedly adds, quickly squeezing your upper arm before the two of them leave you and Eddie alone. 

Without thinking, Eddie’s hand slips into yours. Maybe it’s because you’re more scared than you’ve ever been in your life, maybe it’s because his gentle demeanor has breathed new life into your love for him, but you let him keep it there. 

The hum of the sedan’s engine is the only sound until Eddie speaks again. 

“How long have you known? Or, thought, I guess,” he asks, drumming his ringed fingers on the steering wheel. 

You don’t want to answer truthfully, but you’re too tired to lie. “Since last week.”

“Last week?” He slams on the break, instinctively putting an arm in front of you to protect you from injury. No matter that your seatbelt had been clicked in place since you’d sat down. “Shit, sorry.” He clears his throat. “Like, before the trip? Or…”

“On the bus ride home,” you clarify, shame seeping through every pore. It had seemed so natural to keep this information to yourself, but now you just feel stupid for not letting him in earlier. The baby–if there even is a baby–is his, too.

Eddie breathes out a long sigh, followed by silence until he poses yet another question. “Does anyone else know?”

“Yeah, I rented out a billboard in Times Square,” you quip before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, that was bitchy.” Maybe you’re just trying to fool yourself, but you swear you see a faint smile on his lips. “Um, no. Just you, Jess, and Robin.”

He nods. “Harris’s at Wayne’s, so it’ll only be us.” Eight days ago, that statement would be associated with passion; punctuated with a grab of your ass, a kiss to your neck, fingers gliding over your breast. Your heart lurches with longing, but you shove it deep down. That’s what got us into this whole mess, you remind yourself. 

Still, his grip on the gearshift as he throws the car in park has you internally shouting for him to grasp your knee in the same manner. You’re moving in slow motion, providing him with ample time to get out and open your door for you.

“Thanks,” you whisper, but when he extends his hand to help you up, you fight the urge to accept it. Whatever the results of this test are, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’d said that parenthood was too much for you to handle. And you refuse to selfishly burden their family with your inadequacy.

Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair, casually playing off the rejection, but you don’t miss the brief pained expression in the scrunch of his nose.

Neither of you utter a word as you walk up to his apartment, your footsteps echoing throughout the stairwell. His hands are trembling so violently that he drops the key in front of his door; it lands on the floor with a tiny ping. 

“Y’okay?” It’s an absurd question, but you’re unsure what else you can possibly say.

“Um, no,” he admits with a terse laugh. “I went into Rite Aid to get medicine and came out with a possibly pregnant…” He almost says girlfriend, but stops himself just in time. “So, yeah, I’m far from okay.”

He finally manages to open the door, pushing it open so you can go in first. You stand in the living room, feet glued to the floor. Your legs are weak beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment. 

“I can’t do this,” you mumble, words catching in your throat. Your vision goes blurry with tears. “I just…” you trail off, shaking your head incredulously. “We were so careful, and the condom went and broke that one time…”

Eddie’s palm cups your chin delicately, calloused skin grazing smooth. “Listen to me.” His voice is calm despite his body brimming with nerves, “what’s done is done, okay? You’re either having my baby, or you’re not.” My baby, my baby, my baby. As he says it, his gaze flits down to your stomach. “But we have to know.”

You nod, unable to fully accept the weight of his words. “Do you have, like, a paper cup or something for me to pee in?”

“Yeah.” He shuffles over to the small linen closet next to the bathroom and grabs a Dixie cup from a stack. “Did you want me to go in with you, or wait out here…I, um, don’t really know the protocol.”

You manage a tiny laugh at his candor, despite the unfavorable circumstances that brought you back to his home. “You can just wait out here,” you tell him. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Your heart skips a beat as you close the bathroom door, and lock it behind you. Eddie’s voice is muffled outside the door as he talks on the phone, ending the conversation with, “thanks, Old Man,” before you hear the soft click of the receiver being replaced on the hook.

You lay everything out on the countertop in front of you, scanning each object in disbelief. The words on the instruction sheet swim away, leaving only tidbits in their wake. 

If two lines appear, this indicates a positive result. Call your doctor for further evaluation. 

You read that line over and over. If two lines appear, you’re pregnant with your ex-boyfriend’s child. It’s going to take a lot more than an obstetrician to evaluate that chaos. 

You pull down your pants, then your underwear, nestling the paper cup between your thighs. Eddie’s reminder replays in your head: what’s done is done. 

It’s easier for him to say; it’s not his body, but the sentiment remains true. All you have to do now is find out exactly what you’ve done. 

You gingerly drop the paper strip into the cup, watching as the control line begins to darken. The instructions advised you to wait twenty minutes for the results; according to the digital watch adorning your wrist, that will put you at 12:18 PM. 

You don’t have to wait that long. 

The familiar reddish tinge that stains the toilet paper is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. It almost seems too good to be true, so you take a fresh square and wipe again. This time, it’s even more pronounced. 

An involuntary laugh that bubbles up from your throat, scaring even yourself. You can hear Eddie outside the door, stumbling over his feet to stand. 

“Wh-What’s going on? What happened?” His hands twist the knob with no success. “Can I come in?”

“Y-Yeah,” you manage, smiling so wide you can barely speak, “I just got my period.”

There’s a long pause, then, “like…now?”

“Right now. At this very second,” you confirm, sending you into a fresh fit of giggles. You grab a tampon from your bag with far too much enthusiasm, unlocking the door once you’ve washed your hands and put yourself back together. 

“We can still wait for the result, if you want,” you tell him. A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes when he nods in agreement; without thinking, you brush it away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble. You feel yourself shrink inwards, palpably embarrassed of the intimacy of your slip-up. 

“Do it again.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

“Do it again,” he repeats, and when your fingertips make contact with his hair, gently tucking it behind his ear, his own hand slides into place against your cheek. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

You say nothing, letting your body language speak for you in the slight upward tilt of your head as your lips find his, noses almost colliding in haste. Your hand slips down to his bicep as you accept his touch, parting your lips to allow his tongue to enter while your own breathy moan exits. 

The sound has him tugging you closer, grabbing the hem of your shirt and inadvertently pinching a bit of skin in his hurry. The sudden twinge of pain snaps you out of the moment, and you take a step back. 

“We can’t…” You take a deep breath, gathering the thoughts that have been jumbled by his touch. “We’re not together anymore,” you finish dumbly, cracks splintering through your heart as you hear it aloud. Not together.

Eddie’s voice is hardly above a whisper. “I know.” But his thumb traces over the plush of your lips in memorization. “Can I ask you something before you go?”

You contemplate it, rolling it over your tongue and finally relenting when you remember you’re still waiting for the official test result. “Sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in his voice, and more than a hint of anger, though you certainly can’t blame him.

“I didn’t want to worry you in case it was nothing…which it was,” you hastily add, needing to hold on to the lightness of the false alarm. 

“No, I’m not talking about that,” he rebuts, continuing when you cock your head in confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me that taking care of Harris was too much for you?” Realization floods his body, carefully curated thoughts giving way to a horrified stream of consciousness. “Or was I too much?”

Bewilderment raises your eyebrows. “I never said that taking care of Harris was too much for me. You did.”

“Me?” He scoffs, pushing his body back with a slight bend at the hips, hands shoved into his pants pockets, rings peeking out over their seams. “No, I didn’t. I asked you, and you never gave a straight answer. Any answer, really.”

You think back to that confrontation, trying to remember the inflection in his voice: ‘s too much for you, isn’t it? In your insecurity-laden state, you’d assumed that it was a declaration of your shortcomings; now, you’re able to see what he’d actually meant.

He was trying to reach out, his own self-doubts bleeding through, but you were so consumed with all of the ways you’d failed him and Harris that you couldn’t see it.

“I…” Your brain is scrambled, unable to catch a single thought. You inhale for three, lungs expanding under your ribcage. The exhale is slower; you need all the time you can to collect yourself. “I messed up so badly…the donut…the elevator…the market…”

Spots dance across your vision as your breathing becomes more rapid and shallow. All you can picture is Eddie’s fear when Harris ran off; your chest is heavy with the same sinking feeling that as when you’d turned around and he was missing. 

Your legs wobble beneath you, no longer attached to your body, but a separate entity. 

Eddie’s voice is an echo in a tunnel, loud but far away. “I got you,” you hear him say as he leads you to the couch. Your feet move robotically, left right left right until you’re sitting on the lumpy cushion, the same one you’d gotten well acquainted with on that fateful August night. 

Donut—elevator—market. Donut—elevator—market. An internal chant that served as a reminder of your failures. “I’m right here, okay? ‘M not going anywhere.” The couch dips a bit as he sits next to you. He hesitates for a split second before his hand is making small, concentric circles on your upper back. 

Safety’s warmth crawls in as your physical and psychological worlds slowly merge. You’re in Eddie’s apartment, on his couch, next to him. 

“Eddie…” you croak out, but he silences you with a shake of his head. 

“Let me talk for a second. Please.” He sighs, not out of impatience, but as a means of gathering his thoughts. “You…you’re everything I ever wanted for myself and for my son. And, I’m gonna be real honest with you here, that scares the shit outta me.” A peal of disbelieving laughter accompanies his confession. “I shouldn’t have had you take him to the playground by yourself or leave you alone with him at the market. Not,” he hurriedly adds, ‘because of you, but because, sometimes, he needs the supervision of two people.” His hand drops from your back and lands on your own fingers, splayed on the couch next to him. “I think I just got so excited that I finally wasn’t parenting solo, y’know? And I relied on you too much.”

You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “You’re supposed to rely on me,” you counter. “That’s what partners do.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t acting like such a dick, you could’ve told me you felt overwhelmed. Partners tell each other those kinds of things, too.”

“You’re not a dick because you got upset that I lost Harris.” You roll your eyes, not wanting him to downplay his own emotions just to protect yours.

Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces, ‘but I was a dick when you bought him a donut in the morning, like it was the worst thing that kid’s ever eaten for breakfast.” You both smile at that, knowing full well that Eddie’s had to bribe his son with a Pop-Tart on more than one occasion. “And then you took him to the playground without me even having to ask, just so I could get some rest. And don’t even start in with me about the Great Elevator Meltdown of 1997, because we both know he just would’ve flipped out about something else.” He scoots a millimeter closer to you, wanting to bridge the gap between your bodies without barging past any boundaries. “He was tired and in a new place away from home. A tantrum was damn near inevitable.”

As much as you’d like to wallow in self-pity, you know that it’s true.

“Speaking of the playground,” he continues, “all I heard about for the rest of the weekend was how much fun he had with you.” He throws his voice up an octave to mimic Harris’s tone. “I had the BEST TIME with Ms. Sweetheart! She pushed me on the swing SO HIGH!” 

The corners of your mouth tug upwards at the memory. “He said that?”

“Mhm,” Eddie nods, contemplating the next piece of information to divulge. “He, uh, also told me that you love me. Not a little, but a lot.” You watch as the tips of his ears turn scarlet, visible even underneath his layers of curls. “Not sure if that still stands.”

You let your knee gently knock into his, a sliver of an olive branch. “Do you want it to?”

“So fucking much.” It’s a plea, breathy and desperate. “I love you, too.”  

You crack a small smile before teasing, “A little, or a lot?”

A ridiculous amount, he thinks. I wake up thinking about you, go to sleep thinking about you, and most of my day in-between is spent thinking about you, too. “A lot, baby. More than I ever thought I could.” His gaze doesn’t leave your lips, chocolate brown eyes drawing you in closer. “Before we…I just need to know. For Harris and for me.” He rubs his palms on his denim-clad thighs, hoping to push away his nerves. “Being in it for the long haul…is that what you want? Because if it’s not, I can’t…y’know…” 

You know. You know he can’t muddle through a relationship that has a certain expiration date. You know he can’t bring you into his son’s life any more than he already has if you don’t plan to stick around. 

“I’m in it for the long haul,” you tell him, relaxing as a smile overrides the anxiety previously etched into his features. “I’m just scared that I’ll fuck it all up. That I can’t be a good mom to Harris.” You realize too late what you just implied, but judging by Eddie’s unwavering expression, it’s unlikely that this is the first time he’s thought about you filling that position. “At the playground, um,” you fidget with your fingers, suddenly entranced by the ridges of your knuckles, “Harris said that he wants me to be his mommy, but you and Wayne told him not to ask me yet.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fist before flexing his fingers, rings gleaming in the lamplight. “And that freaked you out?” he supplies, noticeably shocked when you refute his assumption with a shake of your head.

“Not in the way you think,” you say, gnawing on your inner cheek. “He was just so excited, and I started thinking–”

“That was your first mistake,” he jokes, wincing overdramatically when you swat at his chest.

“I started thinking,” you continue, throwing him a playful glare, “that he’d eventually be let down by me, that you’d eventually be let down by me, and that both of you would regret ever meeting me.”

His face falls at your admission, eyes losing their sparkle as he recognizes your fear. He’s been there: anxious about not living up to Harris’s expectations; the inevitable fall from grace when he realizes his dad is flying by the seat of his pants when it comes to parenting. Yes, he knows the feeling all too well, and it shatters his heart that it weighs on you, too. And the fact that you hadn’t told him–hadn’t felt like you could tell him–forms a knot in his gut.

“Baby,” he murmurs. The warmth of his palms envelops your face as he rests them on your cheeks. “Oh, my sweet girl. Don’t you know that that will never happen?” He sighs at your downcast eyes. “I need to tell you a secret, but you have to promise you won’t get weird about it.”

That captures your attention. What does he mean by ‘weird’? Angry? Annoyed? Scared? “What?” you ask, extending the word with an abundance of caution.

“When you told me you might be pregnant…the thought of being responsible for another kid fuckin’ terrified me. But not,” he swallows, a huff of air sufficing for an incredulous laugh, “not the thought of having one with you.”

Your eyes widen, eyebrows practically reaching the edge of your hairline. His unspoken words reverberate in your head: I’m not scared of parenting with you. I’m not scared of whatever journey lies ahead, as long as you’re beside me. I’m not scared of loving you. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his. Tangled, messy curls find their way into your fists as you draw nearer to each other in a blur of hands and mouths. Though he’d kissed you only moments earlier, Eddie treats this one like a novelty; a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

To your chagrin, he abruptly breaks the kiss. “Wait right here.” You scrunch your nose as he dashes into his room. You can hear him rummaging through drawers, swearing loudly before slamming it shut and jogging back to the sofa. 

“This,” he announces, holding out a small paper bag, “is the reason I asked you to watch Harris at the market.” 

You take it, curiosity sufficiently piqued by the air of mystery. Tipping it slightly, you feel a delicate chain snake into your palm. Dangling from the center is a tiny heart pendant. 

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Eddie explains, trying to gauge your expression. “I know it’s not, like, the fanciest jewelry. There’s no diamond or any—”

“I love it.” And you do. God, you do. You quickly bring it to your neck, fumbling with the clasp for a half-second before you feel his strong fingers atop your own. 

“I got it,” he murmurs, and you shift slightly to give him a better vantage point. 

He adjusts the heart so it’s centered just below your collarbone, lingering a beat longer than necessary before pulling away. “Perfect.” He clears his throat and offers an apologetic smile as he ruefully adds, “I have to get to Wayne’s and give Harris his medicine,” he explains, nodding towards the paper bag on his countertop. 

“Eddie!”

“What?”

You laugh, fingers dancing across the prickled stubble along his angular jaw. “You should’ve told me that Harris was sick!” This whole time, you’d just assumed he’d been on a playdate, but now you have an explanation as to why Eddie was in the pharmacy and who the medication is for. 

“It’s an ear infection,” Eddie says nonchalantly, standing up and stretching his back. “Besides, when I told Wayne that you were here—I didn’t tell him why, don’t worry,” he throws in for good measure, “he said, and I quote, ‘don’t come back here until you make things right with your girl.’”

Your girl. You’re still Eddie’s girl. “We probably should check on the test before we go.” It’s been soaking in the cup of urine for twenty-three minutes. Padding to the bathroom, you double, triple, and quadruple check the singular pink line. Not a second one in sight, and you breathe out a sigh of relief before cheerfully announcing. “Officially negative!”

Eddie’s still fixated on one word. “You, um, wanna come with me?” 

“If that’s okay.” Feeling out boundaries, a toe timidly dipped into the water. 

“‘Course it’s okay. Fuck, ‘m just so happy you’re mine again. Missed my girl so much.” He plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “Harris is gonna be so happy to see you.”

Happy might be too strong a word to describe Harris’s reaction when you walk through the door of Wayne’s trailer, squeaking hinges waking him from a restless sleep. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” His voice is thick with grogginess and disbelief. “What’re you doing here?” He clumsily wipes his eyes with his little fists, sweaty from fevered sleep. 

You sit next to him on the couch, pushing his sweat-logged curls from his face. “Just came to check on you. I heard my favorite Munson wasn’t feeling well.”

Harris giggles, delighted to be so highly ranked. “Yeah, I got an ear ‘fection. But I just gotta take medicine for it and it’ll go away.”

“Got it right here.” Eddie holds up the bag. “Did you eat anything?”

Harris looks over at his grandfather, not yet awake enough to answer the question. 

“Had some toast and jelly right before his nap. ‘Bout…half an hour ago?” Wayne confirms. 

Eddie nods, taking the bottle of amoxicillin out of the paper bag and giving it a good shake. You watch as he unscrews the cap and meticulously pours the medicine just to the dosage line. “Here ya go, Har Bear,” he says, walking over to the sofa where his son is half-sitting, half laying. “This’ll make you feel better, okay?”

That’s not a strong enough sell for Harris, who promptly crosses his arms over his chest, wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head in protest. “Yuck.”

“C’mon, please?” Eddie’s face falls in desperation and exhaustion at his son’s refusal. “It’s bubblegum fl–”

“No!” The ferocity in Harris’s objection could rattle the entire trailer.

You take Eddie’s hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “Can he have a cookie?” you whisper in his ear, hopefully low enough that Harris can’t overhear.

“What?” There’s no way you’re going to reward his behavior with a treat, right? 

“Just trust me.” 

He can do that. “I think Wayne keeps some in the pantry.” 

Sure enough, you find an open package of Oreos, the same off-brand kind that Eddie had brought over on Thanksgiving, right on the top shelf. You slide the plastic shell from the case and pull out a cookie, carefully breaking it in half over the sink to avoid spraying crumbs all over the floor.

“Hey, Har, can I tell you my secret trick?” Harris perks up a bit at this, though he doesn’t give an outright answer. “Okay, so you take the medicine, and then you pop the cookie in your mouth super fast so you barely taste it.”

He considers this, mulling it over silently before warily agreeing and holding out his hand. Eddie gives him the medicine-filled cap and holds his breath that your trick will work.

Harris takes the medicine in one grimacing gulp, and as soon as he swallows it down, you give him half of the cookie. “Go, go, go!” you chant excitedly, grinning as he shoves the treat in his mouth, assessing whether it successfully masked the chalky aftertaste.

“Well?” you ask earnestly, heart beating in your chest as you await the outcome.

Harris purses his lips in contemplation, fueling your anxiety. After what seems like decades, he returns your smile tenfold, cookie crumbs wedged between his teeth.

“I did it!” he chirps with a level of enthusiasm that has you and Eddie doubting he’s even sick. “I like that trick.”

You feel Eddie’s arm snake around your waist as he grabs your side in appreciation. “You can have the other half when you take the next dose,” you tell the little boy, lovingly ruffling his curls. “C’mon, let’s get you home so Grampa can get some rest before work.”

The laugh lines around Wayne’s eyes crease in gratitude as Eddie scoops his son into his arms and thanks his uncle for the childcare. You grab the medicine bottle with the hand not holding the Oreo half, echo Eddie’s statement, and close the door behind you. 

Eddie buckles Harris in and starts the car, peering through his rearview mirror while the engine grumbles to life. “Y’good back there, Har?”

“Mhm.” There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before he speaks again. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me a story? Like a made-up one from your head?”

“Sure.” You lean back into the seat, thinking of a plot that will last until you get dropped off at your place. 

“Once upon a time,” you begin, donning your best narrator voice, “in a tiny little village, there lived three princes who were fighting to be the village’s next king. The villagers didn’t know how to choose between them; after all, they loved all three princes dearly—”

“Daddy’s turn!” Harris interrupts, pointing at Eddie, hands clapping together in gleeful anticipation for the game he’s created. 

“Uh, okay,” Eddie stammers, clearly caught off-guard by the request. “So instead of doing a normal vote, the villagers decided to have them battle the evil, ugly troll that lived up on the hill.”

“Now, Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Each prince would try and defeat the troll, and whoever won would be king,” you continue the story, improvising as you go. “The princes packed up their shields and swords—” 

“Daddy!”

“And rode their horses up the hill until they reached the troll’s house.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with a mischievous glimmer as he adds, “but when they got there, the troll refused the typical duel. Instead, he insisted on battling the only way he knew how: a competition of throwing balls into laundry baskets.”

Harris cackles at this but doesn’t ask you to take over, so Eddie keeps talking. “The princes were like, ‘um, this isn’t what we prepared for,’ but the hideous, grotesque troll didn’t care.”

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You have no idea where this story is headed, but Harris is having the time of his life, so you plunge along. “The troll bared his teeth and hissed to try and frighten the princes, but it didn’t work. They each picked up the ball and tossed it into the laundry baskets, easy-peasy lemon squeezy.” You pause there to see if Harris calls on Eddie, but he doesn’t make a peep. “The troll was so surprised at their skills that—”

This time, Eddie doesn’t wait for his son’s instruction and takes the story over. “—that he stumbled backwards off of the edge of the hill, plummeting into the piranha-infested waters below. The end,” he finishes proudly. 

Your jaw drops in disbelief. “Eddie!” you hiss, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. “You’re gonna traumatize the poor kid!”

“Nah,” he shakes his head, not even bothering to mask his laughter. “He’s out like a light.”

Sure enough, you twist around in your seat to see Harris sound asleep, head tilted against the headrest and mouth agape. A speck of drool collects in the corner of his lips, but he remains undisturbed.

“Medicine must’ve kicked in,” you agree, shifting back to look out your window. The trees flourish with leaves in various shades of green, a colorful promise replacing winter’s barrenness. Hawkins may not be the picturesque postcard town, but there is still some beauty in it.

“Yeah, about that.” Eddie’s brown eyes dance as he steals a glimpse of you before returning his attention to the road. “Do me a favor, ‘kay? Never worry about your parenting skills again.”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a brief moment. “Oh, you mean the trick?”

Eddie nods, tongue unconsciously swiping over his suddenly dry lips. 

“That’s just something Grandma did to get me to take medicine as a kid,” you shrug. “She usually gave us Nilla Wafers, but it looks like Oreos make a worthy substitute.”

He doesn’t respond to that directly, simply rests a hand on your lower thigh just above your knee, the hangnail on his thumb scratches against your cotton sweatpants as he tenderly rubs the spot. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to officially take on the ‘mom’ role in his life,” he starts, even and reassuring, “but whenever you are? God, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ best.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “Y’already are.”

With Harris still snoozing in his booster seat, you press a kiss to Eddie’s jawline, just below his earlobe. Your nose smushes into his cheek, tickled by the stubble of a few days of missed shaving. It will take more than a compliment to quell your anxiety, but you refuse to ignore the way it ignites a small fire within you. Self-assurance is a flame, soft and flickering, burning from the inside out. Insecurity is a rigid block of ice, one that has been poking at you for years, but it begins melting against the blooming bundle of warmth.  

Wednesday’s post-tutoring pizza party had an extra guest this week. Wayne helps himself to a pepperoni slice, humming some Bob Dylan to himself as he brings his plate to the table. Harris eagerly climbs into his lap, heaving a dramatic sigh as he plops down and steals his grandfather’s pizza slice. His ear infection has cleared up, thanks to the amoxicillin and your cooke trick.

“Hey!” Wayne barks out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “What’re you doing?”

Ever unfazed, Harris works on a mouthful of mozzarella cheese. “Eating,” he replies nonchalantly, a dot of sauce staining his nose. He barely swallows his giant bite before starting on another.

You giggle, handing Wayne a new slice before sliding into the chair next to Eddie’s. “I’m really glad you could have dinner with us tonight,” you tell the older man before tucking into your meal. Wayne had decided to cut back to part-time at the plant, citing older age and the desire to spend more time with his grandson, leaving his Wednesday evenings wide open.

Eddie’s the only one who hasn’t started eating yet, too busy soaking in the sight in front of him. He’s sitting around a table with his son, his father figure, and his girlfriend. The three people he loves more than anything in the world. He watches as Wayne presses a kiss to Harris’s messy curls, the little boy giggling into his piece of pizza. He watches as you lean over to wipe the sauce off of Harris’s nose with a napkin, shrieking happily when he sticks out his tongue and licks the side of your hand. “Gotcha, Ms. Sweetheart!” the little boy cackles, but while he’s distracted in his victory, you manage to clean his face.

This is happiness in its purest, most unfettered form. Maybe it won’t always be this easy, but he realizes now that he’s willing to fight like hell to get through the hard times if it means having more of these moments.

“Eds?” your soft, inquiring voice tugs him from his thoughts. “You feeling okay?” Your fingertips find his under the table, concerned by his preoccupation. 

“‘M good,” he reassures you, holding your hand and using the other to fold his slice. Once again, the room is filled with silly banter and kind conversation. 

Yeah, he’s good. 

You expect the three Munsons to leave altogether, so when Wayne tells Eddie that he can take care of Harris for the evening, you’re caught off-guard. 

This apparently deviates from Eddie’s plan, too, because he cocks his brow at his uncle. “Y’sure, Old Man?”

“Sure as sh—sugar,” Wayne says, catching himself at the last second. He scratches at the whiskers on his chin, an itchy reminder to pick up some new disposable razors at Melvald’s. “What good’s all this free time if I don’t spend it with my grandson?” He holds out his hand and Harris takes it eagerly.

“Bye, Daddy! Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” he chirps, already pulling Wayne towards the door.

“Hold on,” Eddie pipes up, forehead creased in feigned agitation. “Let me give you a kiss goodbye.” His jaw drops when Harris shakes his head in defiance; this time, he’s genuinely shocked. 

“I want a squish kiss. From you an’ Ms. Sweetheart.” Harris tells him, eyes darting between the two of you.

You turn to Eddie, feeling like you’re missing a crucial piece of this puzzle. “What’s a squish kiss?” you ask quietly, but Harris still manages to overhear. 

“‘S when Daddy kisses one cheek, an’ you kiss the other!” he informs you, clapping his hands together giddily. “An’ it squishes my face, like thith.” The last word is obscured with a lips when he pushes his cheeks together to emphasize his point.

You walk over to him and crouching down to his level. “I can definitely do a squish kiss,” you say, wincing slightly when he excitedly squeals in your ear. 

Eddie counts down from his other side. “Squish kiss incoming in three…two…one!” Leaning in simultaneously, you both feel the apples of Harris’s cheeks as he smiles, giggling again when you and Eddie pull back with an exaggerated, mwah!

“Now we gotta give Ms. Sweetheart a squish kiss!” the little boy announces. Heat creeps up your neck, and you silently place the ball in Eddie’s court. Before this, he’d always been cognizant to avoid displays of affection in front of his son. And while you’re not opposed to getting a squish kiss from them, you don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on him.

“You heard the man.” Eddie’s response is near-immediate, wasting no time directing Harris to your left side and shuffling in closer to you. “Count us down, Har.”

“Three…two…one!” Harris smushes his whole face into yours, little nose pressing into your cheek before his lips can. Eddie’s contribution is much less aggressive, but there’s ample love in both kisses. 

Satisfied with his handiwork, Harris skips back to his grandpa. Wayne just throws Eddie a wink as he grabs his car keys from the hook and closes the door behind him.

Eddie puts his hands up in surrender when you turn to him, the sounds of his uncle’s and son’s respective footsteps gradually diminishing as they walk down the hall. 

“I swear, I didn’t ask Wayne to take care of Harris tonight,” he says with a laugh, looping his pointer finger across his chest to make an X over his heart. Lithe fingertips broach your waist, drawing you closer into him. “Not that I’m complaining, though…” 

“Me either,” you murmur, lips finding their way to his collarbone, sucking so harshly that they threaten to leave a bruise. Your own fingers fumble to unbuckle his belt; a difficult feat considering your eyes are watching the vein that runs along his neck, beckoning you to mark it next. You crave the thrill of make-up sex, to allow hunger and desire to fuel your every move. 

You grimace at the cool sensation of his rings against the bare skin of your stomach, a painful reminder of one frustrating barrier. “Fuck, my period,” you grumble, taking a small step back. He doesn’t let you go far; instead, he grabs your ass and pulls you towards him. “Eds,” you whine, trying to focus on your words rather than the way he’s beginning to strain against his pants zipper, “did you hear what I said?”

Eddie nods, tongue prodding at your mouth so he can kiss you deeply. “We can put down a towel,” he mumbles into you. 

You sigh, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you, quelling the fierce ache settling between your legs, but it seems like Mother Nature is making up for the two weeks she’d lagged behind. Still, you don’t want to leave your boyfriend turned on without any reprieve; he’s practically quivering with anticipation to explore you already. 

“C’mere,” you whisper in his ear, though it’s wholly unnecessary given his absurdly close proximity. You hook your forefinger into his waistband and lead him to your bedroom. “Pants off,” you order, and he obeys without hesitation, exposing plaid boxers that fail to constrain his hardening length. 

You give him a little shove onto the bed, sensing his heart beat faster underneath your palms. Locking onto his widened eyes, you straddle his waist as he sets himself up against the pillows. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You nibble on his earlobe, grinning when a shiver courses through his body. 

“A-Anything,” Eddie manages, hissing when your clothed core drags over his tented shorts, the newfound pressure only weakening his resolve. 

You hum your approval. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

His breath hitches, hands clamping down on your hips so possessively that his fingerprints might be etched into your skin. “You,” he whispers. “Always you.”

“What about me?” You wrap a curly lock of hair around your finger and give it a playful tug. “What do you picture me doing? Or what are you doing to me?”

“Fuck.” He starts to palm himself over the fabric but you swat his hand away. 

“You tell me, and I’ll make you feel so good.” Your fingers tug at the elastic band until his cock springs free. He’s mouthwateringly hard, but you don’t allow yourself to taste him. Instead, you wrap your hand around the base, lean over, and spit directly onto the tip. “‘M ready when you are, baby.”

He needs a moment to collect himself, to allow his mind to create coherent thoughts. It takes too long, apparently, because he hears you softly snicker. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

And, fuck, all of the blood in his body rushes south at that. He’s reminded of the dream he’d had all those months ago; the one that catapulted his feelings from schoolboy crush to full-blown lovesickness. Dream You had said the same thing. 

“At work,” he croaks, twisting his fists into your bedsheets, desperate for your hand to glide up and down his shaft, “you surprise me a-and suck me off behind the counter, and a c-customer walks in.”

“And then I stop, right?” you tease, thumb swiping at the pre-cum pooling at his slit. “I let you attend to the customer because I’m a good girl?”

“N-No.” Eddie furiously shakes his head. “You k-keep going; such a bad f-fuckin’ girl. Keep your pretty little lips wrapped a-around me.”

You finally relent, giving him what he wants, and he bucks into your hand with a groan. His fantasies flow freely now with each stroke. “Once he leaves, I grab you, spin you around, and–f-fuck–flip your little skirt up.”

“Am I wearing anything under this little skirt?” you coo, tightening your grip on his cock.

He shakes his head, curls already beginning to stick to his temples with light perspiration. “Not a thing. J-Just on display f’me.” He sucks in a harsh breath as he moves you so you’re sitting next to him, knees grazing one another. He quickly shifts to unbutton your jeans, meticulously working the button like he’s opening the gift of his dreams. “And only me.”

“Eddie, I–”

“Gotta touch you,” he mumbles. The way your panties cling to your cunt makes it easy for him to find your clit through the fabric. “Gonna lose my fuckin’ mind if I don’t touch you.” 

And, God, you might lose your mind if he does. His nimble fingers rub your sweet spot, a delicious friction created by your underwear. Desire oozes from his pores, only heightening when you whimper at his touch. 

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” Eddie’s voice is low in his chest, “‘m gonna make you feel good, too.” He pushes your panties to the side; the cool air hitting your pussy makes you shiver. 

“Wish you were inside me right now,” you moan, almost drooling just thinking about being stretched open as he pushes into you. “You always fill me up perfectly.”

His cock twitches at your words, and you take the initiative to quicken your pace. “Is that what you think about?” he asks, groaning in pleasure when you lean in to spit on his dick again, saliva messily snaking down his shaft and nestling in the thatch of curls on his pelvis. “Y’think about me filling you up?”

“Mhm.”

“M-Me too, Princess. Want to fuck you full of my cum.” Eddie leans back onto the headboard. “You’d look s’good filled with my cum.”

Your widened eyes and the way your stroking motions end abruptly inform him that that was not the response you’d been expecting. 

“Shit, I—”

You recover from the shock remarkably fast. “Yeah? You’d like that?” You resume your pace, fist sliding up and down his length, paying special attention to the overstimulated head. Your breath tickles his ear as you whisper, “tell me about it.”

He’s suddenly shy, softening slightly in your hand. “You sure?” His gaze shifts to your lower stomach; only a few short days ago, there was the possibility of you carrying his child there. “‘S not weird?”

You shake your head, trailing kisses down the side of his throat. “Tell me about it,” you repeat with a bit more charge, inciting him to let go. “I want to know all of your fantasies, Eddie.”

His name is so pretty coming from your lips, accompanied by a gentle smile. “Never thought about it until you,” he admits, the weight of anxiety lifted at your insistence, and you feel his length begin stiffening once more. “Keeping you bent over, coming inside your perfect little pussy, and fucking it all back into you so it…” he trails off, still too sheepish to compete the sentence.

But you have no problem with finishing it. “So it sticks?” you ask innocently, as though you have no idea what the mere utterance of that phrase will do to him. He nods, unable to speak. “Do you think about everyone knowing what you do to me? Hmm?”

There’s so much that he wants to say, but he swears there’s no blood flowing anywhere but his cock. “You’d look fuckin’ gorgeous havin’ my baby,” he manages, mind filled with images of you in maternity dresses, bump pressed against his stomach as you kiss him deeply.

There’s further implications; namely, that he wants you and only you to bear his children, which you quickly make a mental note to unpack at a less sensual time. For now, you focus on taking his words at face value. “Bet you’d show me off everywhere we went. Wouldn’t keep your hands off of me.”

“Can barely keep them off of you now,” he says, finger circling your aching clit to prove his point, “but seeing you pregnant with our kid…” He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years, enveloping your busy hand with his free one, wrapping it around his erection and moving it faster. “Jus’ like that, fuck, sweet girl. Tell me what gets you goin’ now, yeah?” When you bite your lip apprehensively, he sighs. “Don’t be shy; I know you’ve been holding back on me.”

“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce with a knowing smile, “I think about you taking control. Just…using me however you want.”

Your toes curl as he rubs faster, clearly just as turned on as you are. “Y’need me to boss you around? Treat you like my little toy?”

“Mmm,” you agree, settling into the mattress. “Want you to choke me, too.”

His eyebrows raise at this, and his lips soon curl into a mischievous smirk. “Come ride my thigh an’ tell me more.” He pats his leg, his gaze never leaving your body as you reposition yourself to straddle it. You keep your hand on his member, spitting on it once again while moving your hips back and forth. “Take what you need, baby.”

“Need you,” you moan, the cotton fabric of your panties dragging along him. “Need you to decide if I come…” It’s a delectable thought: Eddie pounding you into the mattress, reminding you that good girls take what they’re given, and nothing more. Quieting all of the noise in your head. Day after day, you’re supposed to make choices for others; some major, some minor. All you want is for someone to tell you what to do.

Eddie’s rings are cold on your neck, giving it a hesitant squeeze. “That good?” His eyes are kind but fiery, willing you to beg for it.

“More; more, please.” And give you more he does, only stopping when you cough. “‘S good now.” Words barely audible between his tight grip and your own descent into submission. 

But Eddie hears you loud and clear, voice firm when he orders: “Come with me. Don’t wanna come without you.” He’s pulsing in your grasp. “An’ if you don’t come now, don’t even think about trying to get yourself off later.”

Relief floods you as the coil snaps, his dominance scratching an itch too often left untouched. You come with a cry of his name, feeling his own hot release coating your hand. You’re both giggling and gasping for breaths as you float down from your respective highs, lips crashing together in sloppy, needing kisses. 

“I love you so much,” Eddie mumbles into you, blindly reaching for the Kleenex box atop your nightstand. “I’ve never trusted anyone like this before.” He wipes your hand clean before brushing his thumb across your lower lip.

“Me either.” You kiss him again, tongues mingling before you confess, “for the record, the thought of having a baby is a little less scary when it’s yours. Someday,” you add for good measure.

Eddie smiles, cocking his head and looking up at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. “I can live with ‘someday.’”

The school week draws to a close on Friday. Coming back from a break is never easy; the kids act like they’ve never been to school before. Just nine days out of the classroom and you’re fairly certain they’ve lost the ability to stay seated for more than ten seconds at a time. 

Will is cleaning the tables with Clorox wipes, washing away crayon residue and softly whistling to himself. You’re filing away some paperwork, scrawling For Monday on a Post-It note and sticking it on top of a stack of handwriting practice worksheets. 

There’s a light tap on your classroom door followed by an enthused voice. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

You look up to see Harris and Eddie standing in the doorway. Harris excitedly waves you over, holding a piece of construction paper tight to his chest.

Eddie clears his throat, hands tucked into his back pocket. “Harris has something for you,” he says softly. His eyes light up when he notices the heart necklace that drapes over your collarbone. “Go ‘head, Har Bear,” he encourages his son with a tiny nudge.

“Um, well,” Harris starts, uncharacteristically nervous, “I know you’re still just my almost-mommy, but Ms. Marion had us make cards for Mother’s Day. An’ we learned that mommies love their babies, an’ take care of them when they’re sick, an’ cheer them up when they’re sad, an’ read to them, an’ play with them–”

“Har,” Eddie prods gently, not wanting him to lose himself in a tangent.

“Oh, yeah. An’ I don’t have a mommy-mommy yet, but you do all those things for me, so I wanted to give you this.” He hands you the paper. Two handprints, one pink and one purple, serve as flowers in a pot. 

One of the teachers–Marion or Paula–has neatly written at the top, Thanks for helping me grow! and Mother’s Day 1997 on the bottom. In the pot, Harris has printed his name.

“I love it,” you manage, blinking away the tears that spring to your eyes. “It’s the best card I’ve ever gotten.”

Harris wraps his arms around you in a hug, and you embrace him with everything you have. When you look up at Eddie, he grins and mouths, thank you.

You just smile back, feeling as though you should be thanking him. Thank him for allowing you into his little family, for letting you make mistakes, for being there to help you fix them. Thank him for that fire inside you, burning a bit brighter each day, reminding you that this is where you belong.

--

taglist (closed):

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @lost-in-the-stars03 @aysheashea @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiemunsonslittlemetalhead

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

            The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

            You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

            “W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

            You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

            Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

            You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

            “Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

            You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

            He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

            “That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

            In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

            “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

            The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

            The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.          

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

 You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro ­- had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

            Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

            You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

            Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

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

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

[candycandy00]

Pick Me Up - A Gojo x Reader x Geto Halloween Fanfic Part 3

Gojo and Geto are two serial killers who enjoy seducing their victims before killing them. Every year on Halloween they have a friendly competition, and this year the target they both choose is you. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The first two parts will be fairly short and just serve to set up the way these two operate. The third part starts the “main part”. Any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated! Divider by @violetbudd

Smut. 18+. Fem Readers. Smut mostly just thought/talked about in this part. Gojo and Geto are both bisexual. 

You’re standing in line at the convenience store, two giant bags of potato chips in your arms. Your friend told you to bring some to the party, so here you are, standing here in a silly white Angel costume. There’s a fake halo on a stick over your head, small white wings attached to a white top that is way too sheer for your comfort. The skirt is shorter than anything you’ve ever worn, and your white thigh-high stockings have little bows at the top. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to look innocent or slutty. Probably both. 

Your friends picked out the costume for you, saying it fit your personality. You don’t know what that says about you, but you’ve decided to take it as a compliment. 

The teenage boy working the register stares at your chest, not even trying to be subtle. You pay for your chips and for some gas you just put into your car, then you head out. 

A group of trick or treaters nearly mow you down as they run into the store, excitedly chanting the familiar phrase as the teenager rolls his eyes and begins dropping handfuls of cheap candy into their colorful buckets and bags. You smile as you watch the little goblins, remembering how much fun you always had as a child on Halloween. 

This year is going to be just as fun, you tell yourself. You’ve never been to a large Halloween party before, but you’re really excited. You hum the Ghostbusters theme to yourself as you toss the chips into the backseat and climb into the driver’s seat of your car. 

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

Satoru and Suguru have been sitting in the white van, parked far away from the pumps at the gas station, for a couple of hours now. They’re watching the various people who stop for gas, each trying to pick out their special Halloween victim. 

Suguru has one hand buried in a bag of popcorn. “How about her?” he asks, pointing to a “nurse” strutting by. 

Satoru takes a bite of the king sized candy bar in his hand. “Nah. Too easy. I want a challenge tonight. Besides, you need to focus on picking your own target.”

“My taste is more discerning than yours,” Suguru says, holding up the small bag to pour the rest of the popcorn into his mouth. 

“Wait,” Satoru says, pointing with his free hand toward the door of the convenience store, “look at her.”

Walking out of the store after nearly bumping into some kids is the sweetest looking Angel either of them have ever seen. 

“Fuck, she can barely walk in those heels!” Suguru says breathlessly, “Can you imagine chasing her?”

Satoru’s eyes are shining above the rims of his dark sunglasses. “She’d trip so fast. That flimsy outfit would rip… she’d be crawling on the ground, crying her eyes out, begging me not to hurt her…”

Suguru laughs. “Easy, you’re gonna bust a nut.”

“Only in that sweet angel’s mouth,” Satoru says. 

“I’m picking her,” Suguru suddenly declares. 

Satoru swivels in his seat immediately to look at Suguru. “What? No, I’m picking her!”

“Too late. You didn’t get a chance to cut her fuel line.”

Satoru frowns. “I’ve got other ways of getting her into my van.”

“Really? Like what?” Suguru asks. 

Satoru gives him a meaningful look, pulling the shades down. “These baby blues. I could roll up covered in blood, carrying a machete, and she’d still wanna ride my dick after one look into my eyes.”

There’s a moment where Suguru just stares at Satoru silently, allowing himself to get lost in those eyes. Then he looks away. “You’re too full of yourself.”

Satoru laughs, taking anther bite of his candy bar. “Just admit you think my eyes are pretty.”

Suguru ignores him and stares out the windshield, watching the angel climb into her car. “How about we make the contest interesting this year? Let’s both pick her.”

Satoru raises his eyebrows, clearly intrigued by the idea. In years past, they competed to see who could fuck and then kill their individual target first on Halloween night. The rules were pretty simple. They had to act suspicious, and they had to get the target to willingly have sex with them despite throwing up glaring red flags. It was their fun way of testing their own charm and good looks. 

“Okay, let’s do it,” Satoru says, grinning. “If you’re lucky, I might just give you sloppy seconds!”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “I hope you like fucking girls with no skin, because that’s the only way you’re having her tonight.”

They both laugh, and then Suguru gets out of the van, heading to his own vehicle so that he can use the backroads to get ahead of her. 

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

You sit for a minute in your car, trying to send a text to your friends to let them know you’ve picked up the extra chips and are heading towards the party, but there’s no service in this area. Too wooded and remote. You sigh and cram your phone into the small white purse beside you. 

A couple miles down the road, you’re blasting Monster Mash on the radio, singing along with the lyrics, when you notice someone walking along the side of the road. You hit the brakes, your car screeching to a halt beside a man with long dark hair, dressed all in black. 

If he’s walking along the road in the dark, he probably needs help! You roll the passenger side window all the way down and lean across the seat as he steps over and bends down to look in at you. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask him, concern obvious in your voice. 

He smiles at you, and you can’t help noticing that he’s incredibly good looking. “I ran out of gas,” he says.

“Well hop in and I’ll take you to the gas station,” you tell him, patting the seat beside you. 

He blinks, hesitating for a moment before that charming smile returns to his handsome face. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice creamy and smooth. “It’s dangerous to pick up hitchhikers, you know. I could be a serial killer.”

You look him over, from his smile to his clean and simple clothing. He sure doesn’t look dangerous. “It’s fine,” you say with a grin. “I’ve got a good feeling about you!”

His eyes widen slightly, then he breaks out into laughter, so much that he clutches his side. “I can’t argue with that logic!” he says, opening the passenger side door and climbing inside. 

“Wow, you smell nice,” you say to him, noticing the fresh fragrance of soap, or maybe laundry detergent. “Is that Gain or Tide?”

He glances at you sideways, seeming a little caught off guard by the question. “Uh, I just use whatever’s handy… I don’t pay attention to brands…”

“Well whatever it is smells great.”

He stares at you for a moment before saying, “Thanks.”

You hate the awkwardness of silence so you decide to keep talking. “Do you live around here?”

“No, just traveling through,” he tells you. 

“I’m going to a Halloween party,” you say brightly. “But I guess that’s obvious.”

He looks you up and down. His gaze feels hot, and you notice his eyes lingering on your legs. “That’s a cute costume,” he says. “So are you sweet like an angel?”

You laugh and slap his arm playfully. “Is that a pick up line?”

He gives you a strange look, unreadable, then smiles again. “I’m just kidding.”

“Well, if you really want to know the truth, I didn’t pick out this costume. My friends did. It’s a little more, uh, risqué than I’m used to.”

“It looks good on you,” he says. 

“Aw, thanks! You’re really sweet!”

Again, that strange look, but then a second later he’s laughing again. You’re not sure how your words were funny at all, but you giggle along with him, caught up in the moment. 

He laughs so much he’s nearly in tears, then he looks over at you with a smile that seems genuine for the first time. “Has anyone ever called you naive?”

You nod, smiling proudly. “Yep! All the time!”

He tilts his head, black as night hair falling over his shoulder. “And you’re not bothered by that?”

“Nope! I’d rather see the good in people and be wrong occasionally than always assume the worst of everyone.”

He chuckles. “You’re like one of those virginal heroines from a horror movie.”

You look at him sharply, then quickly look away, heat spreading across your face. 

“Haha, you’re totally red right now,” he says, then suddenly his smile disappears as his eyes seem to focus on your face. “Wait… why are you so red right now? Are you… a virgin?”

You wince. “Is it really that obvious?” 

His face seems frozen as he stares at you. Then one eyebrow twitches. There’s an excitement in his eyes that confuses you but also gives you a little thrill. 

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” he asks.  

**********

When the angel pulls back into the gas station, Suguru doesn’t even have to ask if she’ll drive him back to his car. She volunteers, of course. He smiles and thanks her, and heads into the store to pretend to buy some gas. 

To his surprise, Satoru is standing by the magazine rack, thumbing through an issue of Fangoria. 

“Not in any hurry, I see,” Suguru says to him. 

“I know your patterns,” Satoru shoots back. “So, how is she?”

Suguru picks up a random magazine, not even looking at the cover, and pretends to flip through it. “She’s totally innocent and naive. Kind and sweet. She has absolutely no sense of danger, but I don’t think she’s an idiot. And…”

Satoru looks up at him. “And?”

Suguru meets his eyes. “Satoru, she’s a virgin.”

Ahh, there it is. That positively depraved, monstrous gleam in Satoru’s eyes. “Oh fuck,” he says, dropping the magazine back onto the rack. “I could wreck her so bad.”

Suguru understands the appeal. The thought of ruining something so pure and so good is irresistible to people like them. An image creeps into his mind, of that innocent angel choking on Satoru’s huge cock, and he doesn’t know why it turns him on so much. Because he’s also imagining her thighs trembling on either side of his face, gasping moans spilling from her lips. 

“I better get back to work,” Suguru says. 

Satoru waves him off with a smile. He must have some kind of plan in mind, Suguru thinks. 

After buying an empty red gasoline container, Suguru returns to the car, where the angel is waiting patiently for him. She opens the trunk for him to put the gas inside, and soon they’re on the road again. 

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

The man beside you doesn’t talk much on the drive back to his car. You wish he would. He has such a nice voice. But he smiles warmly when he catches your eye, and he has a way of putting you at ease. You hate to admit it, but you might just be developing a bit of a crush on him. 

He tells you where to pull off the road, and soon enough a car comes into view, parked in a wooded area, behind some trees. You stop your car and turn to him, feeling a little sad that it’s time to part ways. 

“Here you are! Do you need any help?”

He makes no move to get out of the car, but looks at you with an expression you could only identify as “predatory”. But on him, it just looks sexy. “I’m not in any hurry tonight,” he says, turning to face you. “Are you?”

You feel your face heating up again. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’re feeling heated in another place too. “Well my friends are waiting for these chips,” you tell him. “Do you want to come to the party with me?”

“Actually, I was hoping we could spend some time together, just you and me.”

Ohhhh. He wants to hook up. Right here in the woods. You’re not sure how you feel about that. On one hand, he’s smoking hot. You’ve been getting wetter with each passing moment that he’s been in your car. But on the other… do you really want your first time to be with a stranger? You think about it for a moment, looking at his beautiful face, inhaling his pleasant scent. 

Why not live a little? 

“Tell me your name,” you say. 

He blinks at the sudden shift in the conversation. “Huh?”

You turn in your seat to face him. “I don’t want us to be strangers.”

“Ah, I see,” he says, then he smiles. “I’m Suguru.”

You smile back. “I like that name.”  You introduce yourself and then you take a deep breath. “Okay, so what did you wanna spend time doing with me?” You know the answer, but you want to hear him say it. 

He scoots closer to you, then leans his upper half toward you. “I don’t think you can handle what I want to do with you,” he says, his voice practically dripping with honey. 

You feel a shiver run through your body. Is this really happening? Are you really going to have sex with a guy this gorgeous? That you just met? There’s something scandalous about it that thrills you. “I probably can’t,” you admit, “but you’ll take care of me, right?”

There’s fire in his eyes as he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours and kissing you gently. One of his hands moves to your hair, caressing it, pulling you closer, making the kiss deeper. When his tongue slips into your mouth, you offer no resistance. After a few moments, he pulls away to look at your face. You’re breathing slightly harder than usual as you say, “Wow, that was some first kiss.”

His eyes widen. “That… was your first kiss?”

You blush. “Yeah. Thanks for making it a good one.”

All at once, as if a switch has been flipped, he’s upon you, his hands rubbing over your body, his lips on yours, then on your neck. It’s a bit overwhelming, but it feels good, and there’s a thrum of energy coursing through you. There’s no doubt in your mind that by morning, you’ll no longer be a virgin.  

And then you hear it, a strange sound, like someone breaking a large stick in the woods. You put your hands on Suguru’s shoulders and lightly push him back. “Did you hear that?”

He presses forward, nuzzling your neck. “I didn’t hear anything,” he murmurs. 

You push him with a bit more force, causing him to stop and look up at you. “There’s someone out there,” you tell him. 

He sighs. “There’s no one out in these woods. Trust me.”

You turn around in the seat, looking out all the windows. There! Someone ran by some trees! “I saw someone,” you yell, pointing toward the spot where the figure disappeared. 

He looks in the direction you pointed. “I don’t see anything.”

“It might be an elderly person who needs help!” you say, starting to open your door. 

He gives you an incredulous look. “An elderly person?”

“They had white hair!”

Suguru’s eyes flatten to unamused slits. “Ah. I see. It’s probably some asshole playing a prank. It’s Halloween after all.”

You slide out of the car. “But what if it’s not? What if some grandma got lost in the woods and needs our help? I won’t be able to relax until I check.”

A look of annoyance passes over Suguru’s face, but he quickly replaces it with a warm smile. “Okay. I’ll help you check.”

“Thanks! You’re a really great guy!”

The two of you move around the car, calling out shouts of “Hello?” and “Is anyone out there?” and even “Shout back if you need help!”

When no answer comes, you run over and open the trunk of your car with the key. “I have a flashlight in here,” you say, digging around. You push the container of gas out of your way, and you notice something strange about it. The container is so light! You reach over and pick it up, and it’s immediately clear that the container is empty. Why would it be empty? Just as the terrible, obvious answer dawns on you, Suguru appears right beside you. 

You look up at him with wide eyes. The empty gas can is still in your hands. 

His eyes shift to the can, then back to your face. “Ah, I guess the jig is up then,” he says in a casual tone. “What a pity. I really, really wanted to fuck that virgin pussy before I kill you.” 

You back away as his words sink in. You watch helplessly as he pulls your keys from the trunk lid and then dangles them in the air. Before he can take a step forward, you fling the empty gas can at him and break into a run as he knocks it out of his way. You only make it a few yards away before you realize running in stiletto heels on uneven forest ground is impossible. 

Stopping for just a moment, you tear off your shoes. When you glance back, Suguru is running toward you. In a panic, you throw the shoes at him one at a time before sprinting into the woods. 

“Ow, fuck,” you hear him shout, “you almost hit my eye!”

“Sorry!” you yell back, a reflex you couldn’t subdue. 

Branches from small trees and bushes scratch you as you flee. Your skirt gets ripped up the side, the thin, cheap fabric of your top is nearly shredded, and your cute white stockings have holes in them now, one of the bows from the top missing. You ignore all of this as you make a beeline for the road. 

You haven’t heard Suguru since you threw the shoes. No yells, no footsteps, no crunching leaves. Either he’s a very quiet pursuer or he’s got some other plan for how to catch you. Both options are terrifying. 

Finally you break free of the trees and reach the road. You scan the area for Suguru, or your own car. He could easily use it to chase you down. You see headlights approaching and you decide to take the chance that it’s not him. You run up alongside the road, waving your arms. 

The vehicle that stops in front of you is a rusty white van, but it looks like a blessing to you right now. The passenger side window rolls down and a man in sunglasses leans over from the driver’s seat. 

“You okay, miss?” 

“No, some guy is after me! I think he wants to kill me!” Your voice is a bit frantic, but you’re trying to stay as calm as possible to avoid scaring him into leaving you behind. 

He looks around as if checking for attackers. Even in your distressed state, you notice how distractingly beautiful he is. He pulls his sunglasses down and looks at you with eyes so blue you almost forget you’re in danger. “Get in,” he says with a disarming smile. “You can tell me all about it and I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

Feeling lucky to be rescued by such a charming prince, you hurry to climb into his van. You look over at him as he pulls back onto the road. “Thanks so much,” you tell him. “You saved my life!”

He grins at you. “Don’t mention it, angel!

Now where can I take you?”

You exhale as you slide down a bit in the seat, trying to decide whether to go to the police or not. You feel like the night has lasted forever, having no clue that your Halloween was only getting started. 

Tag List:

@loyal-to-my-dilf @unearthlydream @noodlejitsu @itzmeme @themonst3rqu33n

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please comment to let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged!

[apollabarnes]

when you pick a sport because of your friend and then there's actually a game between the two teams in the time frame you picked. (time to see if my fictional score is correct or not)

december 28, 2024: alcohol or alchemy

tommy shoved his free hand in his pocket, refusing to engage with her. she could think that he was remodelling his house for his ex all she wanted, but as long as tommy didn't confirm it, a hunch was all she had. "does that mean that you and jason aren't sticking around to help today?"

"we'll see. apparently he got tickets to the kings game tonight."

he laughed at the face she pulled.

"i'm still trying to convince him to put them back up for sale. we could probably take a weekend trip somewhere with the money some idiot will pay for them." lucy continued, examining her nails with feigned disinterest. "hockey's better at home where you're not so freaking cold the whole time. right?"

"i'm not a good person to ask about that," he said, shrugging.

"right, i forgot, you have a sport for every season." she rolled her eyes.

tommy ignored the fact that she had been dragging him to sparks and angel city games since they'd started working together. "hey lucy, do you want me to go with your brother to the hockey game tonight?"

"well… if it isn't any trouble. i don't want to put you out."

tommy huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "i wouldn't want you to get cold."

"take him and i'll help with the floor today."

"oh, you mean the plan wasn't to just drink all my coffee?"

"tommy, you have an entire shelf of coffee beans in there. i couldn't drink all that in one day. it would take at least a week." lucy knocked her shoulder against his. "i actually came out because jason and sal are both awake, so whenever you want to get started we can get going."

they were halfway through the second period and lucy was settling in with a glass of wine and a bowl of potato chips when it happened. the camera panned over the crowd and settled on tommy and jason. lucy laughed to herself and snapped a picture immediately. of course tommy, who hadn't even been planning on going to a game, ended up on the tv feed. better him than her. she was going to post this all over harbor. oh, and instagram. she'd set up tommy's to send him notifications when she tagged him in things. the only thing better than teasing him in person was annoying him from a distance.

"hey, what's the score?" buck called across the loft, frowning down at the chili. the outside edges had burned to the crockpot while they were out on their last call.

"oh, it's—" hen glanced over at the tv, nudging chim urgently in the side. "change it, change it right now. — it's 2-1 edmonton, buck!" she called back, leaning over the back of the sofa.

"change it, change it because…" chim fumbled the remote, gaping at the television. "is that—"

"—tommy." buck said, a little breathless, staring at the frozen hockey game.

chimney stared back and forth between the screen and buck. "do you want me to unpause it?"

"yeah, sure." buck rubbed the back of his neck, looking over at them. "food's ready."

"great, we can dish up." eddie nodded, pushing himself out of the chair and smacking chim's shoulder. "get us caught up before we miss a kings goal, huh?"

"right, right." chim nodded, fast forwarding until they were current.

"don't forget the salad buck, we need vegetables!" hen called after them, glaring at chimney. "what part of change the channel didn't you get?"

"i was surprised!" chimney defended himself, following her to the table. "who was expecting that? it could have been worse though, right, at least it wasn't a kiss cam."

"stop. talking." hen stepped on chim's foot, glaring at him. "bobby! food!" she added, calling towards the captain's office.

"like you've never pressed the wrong button on a remote," chim hissed, sitting down across from eddie. his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, eyeing the notification. "hey, it's ld!" he started laughing when he saw the photo she'd posted. "listen to this. 'get yourself a friend who's willing to tag in when you're all family'ed out for the week. i get: a night in with my fuzzy socks. you get: a kings ticket and three hours with my annoying baby brother.' guess we know who that was now, huh?" he continued, looking over at buck.

"awesome." buck agreed, frowning down at the table.

chimney liked the photo before putting his phone away, nudging hen. "so, i bet denny's excited he was out of the cast for christmas, huh?" he asked, changing the subject.

"he's very glad to be done with that, yeah. not so stoked about the physical therapy, but buck gave him some tips from his rehab and they're also…" hen sighed. "having a competition. denny tells buck how many exercises he did, and buck tells denny if he beat buck's record."

"and how many times has denny won this contest?" eddie asked.

"we're on day ten of physio, so… nine?" hen looked over at buck.

"hey, i can't just crush a kid," buck protested at their disbelieving looks. "also, my first couple weeks were not great."

"sure," hen raised an eyebrow. "well, either way, it makes him feel better, so thank you."

[hangmatts]

taz takes hook chip shopping.

[ drabble. part 1 ]

—

The grocery doors opened and Hook quickly shuffled over to the chip aisle

“Alright kid. I know you’re excited but try to go easy, okay? We don’t need fifty bags of chips.”

“You said all the chips I want.”

“There’s no way you want fifty chips. Look, just grab the ones you know you like?”

Hook nodded as he scanned the aisle.

He immediately grabbed a bag of classic potato chips and a bag of flaming hot ones. He walked over to the Doritos, pointing at three flavors.

“Why do you need three flavors of Doritos?”

“One is spicy but sweet, one is cheesy, and one is… ranch-y?”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“You like that flavor, Dad. You said it’s the best.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. And they do not taste… “ranch-y”. Just put them in the cart.”

Hook smiled, grabbing each flavor of Doritos and dropping them in the cart.

“Okay, I think that’s everything.” Hook said after scanning the aisle.

“Grab a sour cream & onion bag and a barbecue bag.” Taz responded.

Hook raised his eyebrow, confused.

“Don’t give me that look. Your mother likes sour cream and onion and I like the barbecue.”

Hook’s expression quickly changed to disgust.

Taz raised his finger to point at Hook. “Don’t give me that look either, kid. You used to love the barbecue chips.”

“Maybe when I was like five.”

“Just grab the damn bags.”

“Okay, sorry.” Hook quickly grabbed the bags of chips Taz asked for and placed them in the cart. “There. Now, are we good to go?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

They walked over to the self checkout and scanned each bag of chips one by one.

“Having a party?” The worker asked, just out of curiosity.

Hook was about to lie when Taz interrupted.

“No, no. You see, my son over here, he just got dumped tonight-”

Hook’s eyes widened. “DAD!”

“So, his favorite snack is chips and I’m buying a bunch of chips for him since he’s heartbroken.”

Hook was officially mortified that his dad was telling all this info to some random stranger they had just met.

“DAD! Stop talking!”

Taz brushed it off, turning around to pay for the chips. He grabbed the receipt and bags.

“Okay, let’s go. Have a good night.” Taz said to the worker.

“Thanks, you too. Hopefully, things get better for your son.”

“Thank you for that. See, kid? She’s being nice.”

“Can we please leave?!”

“Alright.”

They both walked out the store and to the car. Hook sat in the front seat, trying to erase the interaction that just happened. His face was red out of embarrassment and he didn’t speak a single word to Taz on the way home.

[deceptive-daydreams]

California Dreamin’

Chapter Three: Roxanne (18+ ONLY)

Modern!Eddie AU - In which Eddie travels to California searching for something more out of life.  And then he meets you.   Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: smoking weed, drinking alcohol, eventual smut, mentions of a deceased parent, mentions of abuse, brief moment of abuse, please let me know if I missed any

6.8K words

Eddie x reader, Friends to lovers, Slow burn

<;- Prev | Next ->

Note: I’m kinda experimenting with my writing style so forgive me if this seems a little different than the first two chapters. I’m just trying to have fun with it til I figure out what I like :) and then hopefully I can create more series later on.

Masterlist

—

Red, white, and blue smother the interior of the local grocery store, sparklers stacked neatly in their boxes on a shelf near the checkout and supplies for s’mores settled nearby.  Those tiny American flags are staged in a matching flag design cup by the register, ready for patriotic citizens to purchase for the local Fourth of July Parade.  Barbecues along with bags of charcoal are lined up at the front of the store awaiting homes where the dads cook up burgers and hot dogs in the backyard for their eager families.  And last but not least, the bags of chips and the tub of potato salad that occupied your arms are tossed onto the conveyor belt to ring up.

Every year for the past five—was it five?  Maybe it was six years, who knew anymore—a potluck was held at Marlene’s.  Everyone would bring one or two things either homemade or store bought, it didn’t matter as long as you contributed something.  The tradition required using the fire pit in the backyard, loud music, and of course once the fireworks started, a quick drive to the top of the hill that overlooks the city where you could see at least ten different sets of fireworks in the distance along with roasting marshmallows after that to make s’mores, the goo sticking to everyone’s lips and caking onto their clothes with one wrong move.

There was a list in the group chat where everyone designated what they were bringing this year.  Marlene usually cooked up a few things, this year her menu including a vinegary pasta salad, a DIY taco station with various meats along with the fixings, cilantro, onions, her homemade salsa, some Mexican rice, and finally, some jalapeño poppers that are so delectable your mouth salivated at the thought of them.  Of course she would also have Jos grilling up some hot dogs and burgers just to cover all bases and El would most likely bring her signature brownies.  They were always nice and fudgy, just enough chew to them but not enough to stick to your teeth.  As always you opted to bring some store bought items, you were never much of a cook, not that you weren’t capable, you just never feigned interest and would stick to the basics — spaghetti and meatballs, sandwiches, and every now and then a nice salmon dinner for yourself.  Marlene would often send you home with leftovers when you had dinner at hers which was quite often so you had her to thank for the less frequent trips to the grocery store. 

The store was booming with people hurrying around the aisles for their last minute barbecue essentials.  Many of them were in a rush to get back before the parade took place, you on another hand had taken your time, never sticking around for the parade as you weren’t interested in all of the in-your-face USA imagery.  Jos and everyone else felt the same which is why you all celebrated at her house.  Paying for the items, you make your way back home and although you didn’t plan to cook, you still planned to put together a quick treat for the dessert table.  It was something you accidentally threw together one time that had become a favorite among the group.  It was as simple as some crushed up Oreos and a block of cream cheese molded into little round spheres which were then chilled.  Also known as ‘Oreo Ballz’ among the group.  Jonathan tacked on the ‘z’.

Weeks had gone by since the beach where you’d witnessed Eddie staring into the ocean like it had parted just for him.  You couldn’t get the vision out of your head as you drove home.

The afternoon was now dissipating into evening, a sliver of gold left as it cascaded along the shore and took with it the sun’s rays.  A light breeze danced through the air to a melody no one could hear.  The night was within an hour of kissing the sky, leaving a trail of stars behind until morning.  

You and Eddie had walked back from the pier and returned to your friends among the waves.  The remainder of the day was spent splashing, swimming, and repeating.  You didn’t dare go out too far into the water, the height of the waves intimidating you and leaving you closer to the shore where you could better predict their movements.  Jonathan, Eddie, Will, and El on the other hand had no fear, they faced the waves head on, swimming into them and riding them all the way back to land.  Jos and Argyle opted to do the same as you, playing it safe closer to the beach.  The three of you tossed around a foam football, the kind that soaks up the water enough for you to then squeeze it out.  You can’t help but giggle as you spot Eddie in the distance being tackled by a wave, his sopping wet hair thrown over his face at the impact.  He’s then bantering with Will, shoving him by the shoulder as he shakes his hair out of his face like a wet dog.  Will gives him another push back, sending Eddie off balance and into another oncoming wave.  “You’re gonna get what's coming to you, Byers.” He jokes, pointing a stern finger at the boy, bangs draped across his eyes.  “Oh, really?” Will looks at him quizzically.  “Cause what I’m seeing is you on your ass most of the time.” He finishes, leaving Eddie with a dropped jaw, astounded at Will’s true nature coming out.  It was heartening seeing Will warm up so quickly to Eddie, a contrast to what the boy was used to in his social life.  Besides his friendship with El and the group.

Exhausted, everyone disperses from the water—Jos and El to the pier for some fries, Will, Argyle, and Jonathan laying on beach towels, more than likely falling asleep, you sitting atop the wet sand staring off into the ocean, and Eddie standing a few feet away doing the same.  He looked angelic, his head of hair outlined by the remaining daylight, broad shoulders all burned and freckled, and his eyes twinkling as if he were a child on Christmas morning.  You almost don’t notice him backing up to claim a spot next to you in the wet sand, his knees to his chest and arms draped over them.  “Shit’s unreal.” He mutters quietly.  “Never thought I’d get to see the ocean to be honest.” He admits, never once looking away.  His bangs are just tickling his eyelashes in the most endearing way.  

“How’d you like your first official beach day?” You ask, squishing the sand in between your fingers, repeating the motion over and over.  “It was better than I imagined.  I thought the beach was just sittin’  around all day on your ass, sand getting everywhere and in everything—which, that part is true but I don’t mind it now.”  He explains, eyes squinting in the remaining sunlight.  “Oh and sunburns.  I’ve been sunburned before but this has that beat by like a thousand percent.” He pushes his palm into his bicep, the flesh turning white and then back to red again when he pulls away.  

“You’re gonna need a lot of aloe.  And you’re gonna peel like a lizard.” You joke, taking a leap and pressing a finger into his arm just as he did with his palm a moment before.  “Ouch!  Don’t do that!” He flinches away, softly rubbing his arm although his face almost says that the touch was welcome, a small grin displayed on his lips, eyes meeting yours for a brief second.  You could drink up the Coca-Cola fountain in those irises.  You murmur a humorous ‘sorry’ as he turns his focus back to the water.  And there he is again, enamored with the horizon and the tide’s movements.  The water meets at your legs every once in a while before retreating back into the ocean.  There is comfort in the silence of conversation between the two of you.  An understanding of some kind that just being in each other's presence is all that is needed right now.  You haven’t known Eddie for long but there is something—a kind of empathy detected in the air that neither of you could quite put your finger on.

—

Firewood was stacked into the fire pit in preparation for later and the backyard was coming together for its annual Fourth of July potluck.  Marlene assigned Eddie to hosing off the back patio where the fire pit and chairs sat while Jocelyn set up the fold out tables alongside the house near the back door so food could easily be set out.  Sunflower patterned tablecloths were then laid across both tables, creating one long table.  Marlene plugged the lights in, the bulbs hanging above, draped diagonally across the patio creating a perfect summer setting.  

It was nearing six o’clock which was just around when everyone agreed to show up.  Eddie winded up the hose as he finished, his hair in a messy-barely there-low bun and one of Jocelyn’s old snapbacks with the ‘Monster’ logo jokingly on his head.  They’d been rummaging through her room earlier as Marlene asked her, even at the grown age of 23 to clean it and he took it as a souvenir or as he called it “an homage to Jocelyn’s emo phase”.  He’d been wearing it all day, refusing to take it off and now here he was on the patio in only his ripped jeans and a snapback.  If only you could have avoided the sight by arriving a few minutes later. 

You arrived at Jocelyn’s at six on the dot, always punctual.  Stepping out of your car with the items you’d bought at the store earlier in a grocery bag as well as the tray of ‘Oreo Ballz’, you made your way to the front door and let yourself in, heading straight for the kitchen.  Many smells flooded your senses, Marlene had been preparing food throughout the day for tonight.  The bag was placed carefully on the counter and just as you began to turn around to place the dessert into the fridge before setting them out for everyone to devour, you just had to catch a glance outside the kitchen window into the backyard only to find Eddie Munson in probably the best outfit he’s worn so far.  If you could even call it an outfit seeing as he wasn’t even wearing a shirt…again.  Usually a guy in a ‘Monster’ snapback would be deemed as a douche by your standards and you wouldn’t give them a second thought however Eddie made it work in a way that seemed almost ironic and he looked good—really good. 

Before any drool leaks from your mouth, you avert your eyes and spin around to place the treats in the fridge as originally planned.  A dampness made itself known in between your legs, a throbbing accompanying it as you stood pathetically in Marlene’s kitchen alone, thirsting over the sight in the kitchen window you’d just witnessed.  It’s then you realize you possibly have to face him in order to place the bags of chips and potato salad out on the tables.  Hiding out in the kitchen is an option, maybe even the bathroom but then you risk Marlene asking why you’re late since you’re always on time and you knew she’d see through any little white lie, she always did.  

Hands clammy, you grab the bag of food and bravely slide open the screen door just off the kitchen that leads to the back patio.  All three faces turn at the sound as they wrap up what they’re doing, Jos throwing the cushions on the chairs around the fire pit, Mar straightening out the tablecloths, and Eddie fighting with the water spicket the hose is connected to.  “Hey, there’s Peach.”  Eddie announces, almost as if they’d mentioned you right before you got there.  “Yeah, weren’t you gonna help us set up?” Jos raises a brow playfully.  “I said I’d try and be here before six but I got caught up on some stuff, I had to run back to the store for more cream cheese cause there wasn’t enough for the Oreo Ballz.” You explain as you pull the noisy bags of chips out and set them on the table followed by the potato salad.  “Hang on—‘Oreo Balls?’” Eddie questions as he finally gets the water turned off.  “Ballz.  With a ‘z’.” Jos corrects him as she picks up a bag of charcoal near the door, setting it next to the grill.  “Yeah that helps.” Eddie replies with a roll of his eyes.  “Peach was experimenting one day and came up with Oreo Ballz, it’s cream cheese and Oreos rolled into…y’know balls—or ballz, I guess.” Jos enunciates the z with finger quotes as she explains.  

The fact that she’s now calling you Peach unironically has you giddy.  You’d never had a nickname before and now you felt somewhat special as stupid as it sounded.  “Pretty straightforward name, I like it.” Eddie decides while nodding his head.  “Those are Jonathan’s favorite, you better hide a few for yourselves.” Marlene teases while doing one more sweep through of the patio with the broom.  You nod to her before answering.  “Don’t worry I made extra.  But if he does eat them all this time he’s going to have some serious digestive problems, that’d be like eating two blocks of cream cheese.” Your face scrunches in disgust as you finish the sentence.  “You know that’ll be no problem for him when he gets back from his ‘walk’.” Marlene points out with a smirk.  She wasn’t necessarily against it but she did find it funny how everyone tried to hide it from her.  “Boy could eat like it’s the last supper if we let him.” Jos adds, you and Eddie laugh.  

“Help me get the food from the house?” Marlene asks the three of you as she leans the broom back in its spot and  opens the sliding door, stepping inside.  Without a word you each follow and grab what Marlene instructs you to grab.  Holding a tray of searing chicken, pork, and asada, you walk it out to the table outside, setting it down while pulling the foil over it to keep bugs away as well as to keep it hot.  Soon enough one of the tables is full of the meat, taco fixings, pasta salad, rice,  some bowls of chips that Marlene had transferred them into, the famous jalapeño poppers, and the tub of potato salad now accompanied by a large serving spoon.  Eddie emerges from the kitchen carrying his contributions to the potluck, some pinwheel sandwiches in a plastic container bought from the store and a seven-layer dip, also from the store.  From this, you gather he isn’t much of a cook either.  

Jos adds her offering to the table, her famous deviled eggs sprinkled with paprika that she only makes because she enjoys them the most.  Around six fifteen everyone else shows up in Jonathan’s car, the vehicle coming to a noisy halt in the driveway letting you know they’ve arrived.  

El carries a fruit salad medley along with a Tupperware container filled with her delicious brownies while Will holds a tray of sweet and sour meatballs.  Jonathan brings his cheesy potatoes and Argyle his chocolate drizzled potato chips and a liter of Sprite.  Everything is laid out to soon be feasted on as everyone greets each other.  Eddie and Jos rush upstairs to change since they’d been cleaning up the patio earlier, their clothes having absorbed a thin layer of sweat.  Well Eddie wasn’t even wearing a shirt so you assume he’s gone to throw one on.  

—

The sky was still coated with some daylight, a cool tone as the day winded down.  Everyone stuffed their faces as their paper plates were piled high with food and every once in a while a firecracker would go off in the distance and the speaker played a 70’s rock radio station as you ate without a word, the group too hungry and occupied to engage in a conversation at the moment.  Jos had grilled a few burgers and hot dogs for those who wanted them, she called herself ‘the neighborhood’s best dad’ as she did so.  The dogs, Winnie and Diesel waited patiently for a bite to miss someone’s mouth so they could act as the cleaning crew should any food hit the floor.  It was like Thanksgiving in Summer.

As plates were discarded in the trash can , bellies full, Argyle lit the firewood placed in the above ground fire pit.  Each one of you found your seats around it, the smoke now filling the air smelling like a campfire.  The dogs now laid at Marlene’s feet lazily while she listened to El enlighten her about something she learned in her agriculture class.  

“Peach, we’re gonna go for a walk in like fifteen before hitting up the table for seconds, you gonna come?” Jonathan asks, leaned back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the edge of the fire pit.  Peach seemed to be your nickname according to everyone now, not just Eddie and Jocelyn.  You liked it, it made you feel special which wasn’t really a major occurrence in your life.  “I think I’ll sit this one out, I don’t know if I could eat another bite—even after a ‘walk’.” You reply, he nods in understanding.  Your eye catches Eddie from across the fire pit, the flames dancing along your view of him, his hair down and his torso now adorned with a plain white t-shirt—he was scowling towards Jonathan though Jonathan didn't notice.  Why was he looking so intensely at him?  

Before you could register it, the look displayed on Eddie’s face was gone just like that as he glanced down and fidgeted with a rip at the knee in his jeans.  You’d have to tuck away your curiosity for now.  Glancing back over at Jonathan, you spark up a new conversation, quietly.  “Have you invited Eddie on a ‘walk’?  I told him your stuff is unreal.” You almost whisper, leaning toward his ear, not wanting Marlene to hear.  “No, but thanks for reminding me.” He whispers back, snapping his fingers.  He stands up and before walking away, looks back to you.  “You sure you don’t wanna come and just walk?  Like actually walk?”  He whispers the last part, sneaking a glance at Mar to make sure she isn’t looking.  It’s as if you’re teenagers sneaking around when in reality you’re all adults now.  You suppose everyone is just scared to disappoint Marlene since she’s like the group mom.  “I’m okay, have fun.” You giggle, waving him off.  He smiles and proceeds to move toward Eddie on the other side of the fire pit who has a distant expression on his face.

“Peach.” Will flops down next to you with a mouthful of pasta salad.  “Hm?” You hum tearing your gaze from Eddie and Jonathan.  “You got the booze for later?” He asks, swallowing his food.  You give him a look of bewilderment before answering.  “What are you, 85?!” You laugh as he scoffs.  “Okay, first of all, rude.  Never say that to me again.” He crosses his arms, his eyes wide.  “Then don’t say things like that!” You justify, giving his shoulder a nudge with your palm.  “Do you have it or not?” His face is now pleading, his lips pouting.  Taking a moment to think for longer than nexessary you finally give him a response.  “I don’t but Jos does.”  Will grins and sighs out a ‘yes’.  It was also tradition to get drunk at the end of the night every Fourth of July and have a sleepover in the garage.  Was it really considered a sleepover if everyone actually just passed out before being given the chance to Uber home?

“We’re going to take a walk.” Jonathan announces as Eddie, Argyle, and Jos follow.  Will hops out of his chair a little too enthusiastically to join them.  El remains seated next to Marlene, she was never really one to participate and you only dabbled occasionally when you felt like it.  Marlene shoots Jonathan a knowing look, not mean, just teasing.  He awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets and avoids her eyes as he gives the three of you a small wave.  

“So…” Marlene begins as she directs her attention to you.  “How is everyone treating Ed?” She asks like the concerned mother she is.  “What do you mean?” You inquire, tilting your head to the side, looking at El who is wearing the same puzzled expression you are.  Marlene sighs before answering.  “Is everyone getting along?” She vaguely clarifies.  Searching your brain for anything she may be referring to, all you can recall is that everyone got along, especially with Eddie.  “Yes, why?  Did something happen?” You ask with furrowed brows.  Mar shakes her head, running a hand through her long dark hair.  “He’s just been through a lot for someone so young.  Just wanted to make sure things were okay.” She says, worry evident in her light brown eyes.  You’re unsure of what exactly may be stirring up this uncertainty and you’re not sure if you should impose by asking either.  El doesn’t give you the chance to decide when she blurts out “What happened?” concern filling her features.  Marlene ponders for a moment, her eyes shifting back and forth in thought.  “It’s not really my place to say, if he feels comfortable he’ll talk about it.” Mar replies, glancing down with almost a look of guilt.  As if she brought up something she wasn’t supposed to.  “Just keep an eye out for him?” She asks gently.  You and El nod.  “Of course.” You assure her with a small smile.  This only made you want to gravitate toward Eddie even more.

—

Jonathan, Eddie, Jos, Argyle, and Will smoked in the field or the ‘reservoir’, near a tunnel that led to the sewers at the edge opposite of the dam.  They stood on the concrete at the opening of the tunnel.  It was covered in graffiti, tagged by people who had stopped by long enough to give it the time of day.  The skunky smell wafted through the air between them as Jos puffed on the joint.  “This is our little stoner spot.” She explains to Eddie, gesturing around as if to say welcome.  Eddie nods, his curls bouncing with the motion.  “Don’t have the balls to do it in front of Mar?” He mocks.  Jos hands the joint off to Will as she answers.  “I’ll have you know Jonathan is the one who’s fucking terrified of her.  I just do it on the down low in the yard.  I don’t even think she cares.”  She shrugs and Jonathan’s eyes widen in disbelief.  “You are SO scared of getting caught, don’t pin it on me!” He says in his defense.  Will passes the joint to Eddie, he takes a long puff as the two continue to argue.  “At least I don’t get all anxious and weird when she gives you the ‘look’ every time we take a ‘walk’!” Jos states factually.  “I do not!” Jonathan shoots back.  “Oh dude, you so do.” Argyle butts in as Eddie passes him the joint.  “Argyle!” Jonathan pleads.  “Sorry, dude—it's true TV.” He puffs on the joint, blowing it toward Jonathan’s face.  “Jonathan, just drop it.” Will pipes up shaking his head.  “Dude, not cool, I’m your brother, you’re supposed to be on my side.” Jonathan whines.  Will shrugs in response, leaving his brother defeated.  “I love this kid.” Eddie giggles, eyes glassy and heavy, a dopey smile on his face while he slings his arm around Will’s shoulder.  

The rest of the conversation that took place was not remembered by any of the participants, too stoned to even know what was being said moments after saying it.  High and happy, they retreated back to the fire pit to resume the night’s activities which would hopefully involve devouring any leftovers.

—

As the evening darkened and more fireworks appeared throughout the sky, the cracks and pops heard through every neighborhood, the fire got brighter and created a glow across everyone’s faces.  Not even five minutes after coming back, Argyle and Eddie had finished off the chocolate drizzled potato chips, another serving of everything, and a couple dozen Oreo Ballz.  Jonathan only put up a slight fight, giving up after Eddie set aside a plate with a few of them, Jonathan too dazed to keep up with the two boys and returning to a seat in front of the fire.   

Conversations were flowing and you had been chatting to Argyle about his disgust for cats.  Eddie and Jonathan were both holding acoustic guitars, strumming random melodies as discussions continued and they gave their two cents every now and then.  Argyle removed on about how terrifying cat claws were and you suddenly weren’t listening when you overheard Marlene telling everyone else about her younger years.  The side conversations ceased as everyone tuned in on her, even Argyle forgetting he was even talking while turning his attention to her.  

“She did not!” Jos yells in disbelief at her mother.  “She did!  Stacy Harrington worked with us at The Hideout.  Before she was all rich and housewifey—“ “—and snobby!” Jos interrupts with a nasally voice laughing to herself.  “And snobby…” Marlene confirms.  “She was just like us regular folk.” She speaks with a sudden southern accent, causing El and Will to bark out a laugh.  All attention was on Mar as she relived her younger years, a glow in her aura as she spoke.  

“Yeah, me and Roxanne had to teach her pretty much every single little thing, even wiping down a table!  She didn’t have a clue how to clean things!” She describes through a wide smile.  “So even before she was known as ‘Stacy Harrington’, I guess she still didn’t know how to work?” Mar guesses with a shrug.  “Oh my god, but me and Roxy would always have to go behind her after she cleaned and do it again.  There was no point in even hiring her since it was double the work.” Jos’s expression is amused as she learns this information.  “What about the time you had to ride on Roxy’s motorcycle and you peed yourself!  Tell them about that one!”  Jos remembers, excitement seeping out of her.  “No!!  I only told you that one out of confidence!”  Mar jokingly scolds her daughter, taking a sip of a beer she had been nursing.  Everyone roars with laughter around the fire, warmth felt inside and out.  “We got into some situations back then, she was my best friend.” Mar smiles, replaying the memories in her mind.  “Where is she now?” Jonathan asks, a grin on display.  It gets quiet, crickets chirping in the distance, mirroring the atmosphere just created.  What was just a cozy and inviting environment was now uncomfortable and tense.  Marlene glances at Eddie so quickly you would miss it if you weren’t looking directly at her but you were.  

Eddie’s eyes are void of life, glassy but not from smoking, you don’t think.  His face is pale from what you can tell in the glow of the fire in front of him.  He makes no movements and is seemingly frozen, breaths quick and staggered as his chest heaves ever so slightly.  Suddenly in one quick motion, he stands and is gone before your eyes, leaving his guitar on the seat and making his way out to the front yard away from everyone.  All eyes are on the chair he was previously occupying, no one knowing what to say.  Marlene clears her throat quietly.  “Roxy—Roxy was Eddie’s mom.” She manages to get out, a shake in her voice.  “But…” she continues as she straightens her posture.  “I think that’s enough for tonight.  Once Ed gets back we’ll go up the hill for fireworks?” She questions.  A simple nod is all she’s offered from the group.  Jos speaks up and shifts to a new topic, hoping to aid her mom.  

As they move on to a new subject, you’re confronting the fact that all those stories about Roxy Marlene had told you and Jos about, were about Eddie’s mom.  Everything they’d been through together, all the good times, all the bad.  The time they took their kids to the local water park when they were little, their first day of kindergarten when they dropped them off together, the nights Roxy would drag Mar along to a local concert on their night off and they had extra tip money before they had kids.  But not once did she mention Eddie was her son in the time he’s been here.  Eddie was the renowned Roxy’s son, the woman in Marlene’s stories.  And Jos didn’t mention anything either.  You’d concluded that since it appeared to be a sensitive topic, they didn’t mention anything to protect Eddie—that is until they got caught up tonight and forgot he was right there.

Wild mocha colored curls, wide doe eyes, and deep dimples etched into her face, the woman in the photo you recall Marlene showing you is the spitting image of Eddie.  She wears a denim jacket with several pins and patches placed throughout the front pockets.  Some display logos for bands such as Black Sabbath, Dio, Metallica, and several others.  A few of them are for different causes such as one that reads ‘Women’s rights are human rights’.  She’s beautiful and from what you can see and what you’ve heard, she was the definition of a badass woman who was also the most kindhearted soul in the small town of Hawkins.  

Pulling yourself from your recollection of Roxanne from the stories and pictures, you come back into your body and find that everyone was once again conversing among each other as normal.  A tinge of worry swirls in your mind, Eddie coming to the forefront of your thoughts—where was he?  Was he okay?  Probably not, you decide based on his reaction however it seems Marlene wasn’t worried and she probably had a better idea of what was going on in his head seeing as she didn’t run after him to console him.  You could leave it at that—you probably should leave it at that and just wait for him to come back on his own but there’s a surge within you that’s forcing you to gravitate to him.  “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” You mutter to no one in particular before making your way through the kitchen door and then through the front door.  

There’s not a soul out front, not a trace of the curly haired man, only the bugs making their presence known as the crickets play their tune and mosquitoes buzz through the air.  It’s dark out now, the stars are sprinkled across the night sky almost intentionally placed.  Fireworks are booming and echoing as they explode, the prominent smell of several barbecues still  happening throughout the community.  Approaching Eddie’s van, you peek through the windshield looking for any signs of life but to your disappointment he’s not there.  The end of the driveway calls your name and you're walking toward the street, searching to the left and to the right for any signs of where he could have gone.  It occurs to you that maybe you’re thinking too hard and Eddie just ended up going upstairs and called it a night.  That is until you catch a glimpse of a figure seated on top of the dam across the reservoir, too far to actually decipher who it is though no one else really hangs out there and he seemed drawn to it like a moth to a flame that day you went up there with him.  Much like how you were becoming toward him.  

—

Things were quiet atop the dam as usual save for the occasional pop of a firework.  Eddie had found himself sitting up there quite often throughout his stay, usually when he wanted to be alone and think, sometimes he’d smoke and let off some steam.  The city lights twinkled at him and the moon beamed, creating a bath of celestial light around him.  Eyes blurry with unshed tears and his mouth wobbling as he tried to keep his cool, Eddie sniffled and inhaled a deep breath as he stared up at the moon.  His lashes were wet, collecting as much liquid as they could without spilling toward his cheeks.  A nervous hand ran through his hair, trembling while he exhaled shakily before he spoke softly into the night.

“Hey mama.” His voice wavers as a tear escapes the confines of his eyes, rolling down his cheek and onto his lip.  He licks it away and brings his hand up to wipe any remnants away.  Shaking his head and sniffling harder than before, the dam cracks and hot tears spill over his cheeks while his lip quivers.  As much as he tries to keep them at bay, the salty tears continue streaming down his face while he smudges his hands over them again and again as if each time he does it will be the time they vanish.  “I miss you.” He chokes out, finally relaxing his shoulders and releasing a sob, burying his face in his palms.  “I fucking miss you.” 

A memory plays out in his mind, a memory of mama, his mama…

“C’mon baby, there’s no use crying over spilled milk—or—spaghettios.” Her eyes are kind as little Eddie wails from his spot at the table, the watery tomato sauce coating the wooden surface and spilling into his lap,  little ‘o’ shaped pastas scattered throughout the mess.  “M—mama.” Snot drips from his red nose, his small hands rubbing it all over his face and mixing it with his tears.  “D—daddy’s gonna find o-out I—I spilled—m’ sorry mama.”  Roxanne grabs the mini white plastic trash can from the kitchen, not too far away from where she’d been sitting across from Eddie.  The house was cramped and could barely fit the three people living in it.  She takes an old rag and starts swiping the mess into the trash, kneeling next to her son still sitting in his chair.  The tomatoey spill is cleaned from the table and wiped from Eddie’s lap, leaving some stains behind on his ripped denim shorts and a few on his shirt.  Mama tosses the soiled rag into the sink still kneeling.  She looks to the little boy in front of her and rakes her fingers through his curls that were just barely falling into his face.  “You let me worry about that, okay Peach?” She assures him, a touch of her southern drawl slipping out.  The six year old looks into his mom’s deep brown eyes, nothing but love filling them.  

“No—no, don’t want him to hurt you again.” He whimpers as he clutches his mama’s shirt into his little fists, tucking his face into her shoulder, the scent of coconut shampoo overtaking him.  “He’s not gonna find out, Eddie.  Okay?  We’ll wash your clothes before he gets home, don’t you worry.” She promises.  Eddie nods, sniffling into mama’s shirt, she’s unbothered and welcomes it as she cradles his head with her hand.  Letting out a gentle sigh she vows to him “I’m gonna get us outta here, you hear me?  Gonna go some place where he can’t scare us or touch us.”

Eyes now bloodshot from crying and his face puffy, Eddie lets out a few hiccups before calming down and engulfing himself in silence once again.  Little does he know that as you approached the dam, hoping to check up on him and see if he needed anything, you’d see him sobbing and froze.  It felt wrong to watch but you physically couldn’t move as you rapidly tried to figure out what to do in your head.  As he seemed to settle down, you figured this would be the moment to make yourself known.

“Eddie?” You speak softly, slowly stepping toward him.  Shooting up, he does one more wipe of his face, hiding away as much emotion as possible.  “I was just leaving.” His voice is deep and raspy, nose stuffy.  “Eddie, you don’t have to—I’ll go back right now, I didn’t mean to…” you trail off trying not to startle him more than you have as if he were a horse just seconds away from being spooked.  “I was going to anyway.” His expression is stoic as he clenches his fists to his sides.  You don’t know what overcomes you but a second later you’re wrapping your arms around his waist in a tight hug, head to his chest, offering your support through your actions.  He becomes paralyzed, arms in the air as if defending himself and a gasp falling from his lips while you hang onto him.  Every emotion hits him at once, overstimulating his mind and before he knows it he chokes out a sob he didn’t know he was holding onto, hands grabbing at the back of your shirt tightly while he cries into your shoulder.  

He’s lost his cool in this brief moment, memories flashing in his brain, “Men don’t cry.”, “Boy, I’ll give you something to cry about if you don’t quit!”, “Stop being such a sissy and man up.”  All of it rushes through his thoughts, the vision of his dad rolling his sleeves up with fire in his eyes while mama was working the night shift at The Hideout and he was supposed to be asleep.  

He got curious when he heard another woman’s voice from where he was laying in bed, the one he shared with mama.  Dad usually took the couch, always passing out after coming home late and crashing onto the nearest cushion.  It was rare when mama would leave Eddie alone with him and this was one night she couldn’t find anyone else, she had to work to keep the bills paid and food on the table for her only son.  Before leaving she instructed him to stay in bed and that she would be back before he knew it.  He could never forget the fear that coursed through him when his dad caught him peeking around the corner, a bright red hand print delivered to his cheek and a bloody lip to match.  He swore the devil lived in his fathers veins.  Told Eddie “Suck it up, you stop pouting that lip at me or I’ll put it back for you.”  And when mama came back home that night to find Eddie asleep with a bruise under his lip crusted with blood and a handprint on his face, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer to pack up and leave.  They couldn’t go far with such little money but she had to do something.

Eddie’s hands are still clenching your shirt, tears soaking the fabric at the collar.  Stroking his back gently over his leather jacket, you stayed there for as long as he needed, whispering to him “It’s okay, I’m right here.  It’s alright.”  He was shaking uncontrollably, cries consuming his body.  Until you feel him tense up and his entire demeanor shifts.  Letting go, he stumbles backwards, a flash of fear in his eyes.  “Are you okay?” You ask with concern, taking a step toward him.  He quickly steps back again before his features display something you can only make out as anger as his brows come together and his stare becomes cold.  “Just—“ he croaks out, his face still wet, eyelashes separating delicately.  He appears to be having an internal battle with himself.  You frown at him, unsure if words would help the situation so you opt to remain quiet.  “Leave me alone.” He says sternly, brushing past you and back toward the house.

Within seconds Eddie disappears into the night and back toward the house.  Confusion clouds your brain, unsure of what just occurred.  He was suddenly so upset, his energy completely devoid of the sadness he previously displayed.  Anger seeped through his pores with a hint of embarrassment.  You didn’t know how to take it.  Was he angry at you for coming out and finding him when he wanted to be alone?  Was he just taking it out on you because his mother was mentioned?  You couldn’t be sure and you’d have to carefully address the subject the next time you had a chance.  Eddie was a closed book that you were determined to read.

~end~

<;- Prev | Next ->

Masterlist

[bixiebeet]

Winston’s First Day: part 3

I will put this onto Ao3 once I reset my password and get into my account! I also like giving a first glimpse here on Tumblr. It feels like I can still edit if needed.

Earlier chapters: https://www.tumblr.com/bixiebeet/718131221788524544/she-waits-for-me

Chapter 3: The Firehouse Tour

Egon slid past Janine and entered the office. He introduced himself and shook Winston’s hand. “Has anyone done a brain scan on you yet?” Egon asked.

Winston panicked until he realized that this must have been a joke. “You guys are real pranksters,” Winston said.

“I’m serious. I’m curious why someone would willingly join a business like this,” Egon said flatly.

Janine raised her eyebrows from behind him. “Not for the pay. But don’t tell Dr. Venkman I said that,” she muttered.

Winston was trying to come up with a good answer when Ray burst into the office. He slammed his Tobin’s Spirit Guide on Peter’s desk. The cover and pages were very worn down. “Sorry it’s a bit rough. We can get you a new copy.”

Egon brushed some potato chip bags off the desk and revealed a pristine copy of the same book. “I’m sure that Peter won’t mind us borrowing this. He didn’t open it once in grad school,” Egon said with a smirk.

Janine dashed back to her desk to take an incoming phone call. Egon and Ray took Winston on a tour of the firehouse, starting with the upstairs. The snacks and refrigerator were open to everyone. Same with the arcade games—they were ready to play anytime, no coins required. Ray and Winston each played a game of pinball, while Egon grabbed a pack of Twinkies to eat later.

The shared bunk room was plain but functional. Ray explained that they’d all lived in furnished apartments at Columbia University before moving into the firehouse. That’s why they didn’t bring much decor with them. (“We were unceremoniously thrown out on our asses thanks to Venkman,” he said. “And it was the best thing that ever happened in my life. Despite being scary as hell.”) They offered to get a new bed for Winston or have him sleep on the firehouse’s pull out sofa. However, he insisted that he’d rather keep his apartment in the Bronx. Even though the subway commute would be long, Winston told himself that it would be nice to have his own space.

Although most of the areas were for common use, Egon’s lab and Ray’s book collection were off limits. These were some of the only spaces with a modicum of privacy—something that felt quite elusive while working and living all in one place. (“This is a 24/7 gig. Even Janine works late. Peter always tells me to escort her home, and he tries to insist that I spend the night. As if I want to sleep on her sofa when I have a perfectly good bed here,” Egon scoffed. Winston silently suspected that Peter wasn’t trying to force Egon to sleep on Janine’s sofa.)

Winston was extremely impressed by what he saw in the lab and makeshift library. Egon had stacks of drawings depicting the various Ghostbuster gadgets. Some items were adapted from existing tech, while others were totally new creations. Moreover, Egon obviously loved building things just as much as he loved drawing them. Winston had worked with a lot of military and construction equipment, but he’d never seen anything quite like Egon’s work.

After playing around with an early neutrona wand prototype, Ray led them over to his books. He had a very unique ordering system and preferred that no one meddle with it. (It was a mix of theme, author, and how many pictures were inside.) But otherwise, anyone could ask to borrow a book at any time. Unlike Egon’s gizmos, none of Ray’s collection had the potential to blast a hole through the ceiling.

Winston tried his best not to get overly excited, even though he felt like a kid in a candy shop. His childhood library paled in comparison to this. Ray had sourced books about spirits, hauntings, and the paranormal from all around the world. He had a whole section dedicated to major cities: Cairo, New York, Tokyo, and more. Ray’s section on London hauntings filled up a whole shelf; he explained that he had studied there and brought home a suitcase full of supernatural reference books. Winston couldn’t wait to start reading.

They continued the tour and passed through the lobby, stopping to ask Janine about ordering Winston’s jumpsuit. Then Ray remembered that he’d left another full ghost trap in the back of the Ecto-1. They grabbed the trap, and the three men went down to the basement.

[wiltingredroses]

Venomous: An Extreme Horror Novella Chapter 4: Daugherty Farm: Part 1

This chapter got too long so I had to split it in two. This is actually Chapter 4: Part: 1. The adult adventures of Maeve and Evelyn will continue in Chapter 5. Until then, enjoy this wholesome detour where everything is fine and nothing bad happens at all!

Evelyn and I stand outside of a convenience store, counting what little cash we have left. We have gone almost three days without eating at this point, forgoing food in favor of filling up the truck. We had befriended a group of people back in Minneapolis, one of whom told us about an uncle that lived on a farm in Oklahoma. He said that he'd be happy to let us stay, and even pay us to work for him. Being in pretty desperate need of money, we eagerly accepted the offer. The money Shane gave us lasted us about three months due to my aggressive budgeting. We pulled the lost girls con many times, which worked more often than not. Evelyn was good at finding a couch to sleep on whenever that failed. Worst case scenario, we could always find a cheap motel somewhere. Now, we've found ourselves with five dollars to our name, which we can't afford to spend on anything but gas.

We have become desperate. The hunger pangs are so intense we can't sleep anymore. We need something, anything, to keep us going until we get to Oklahoma. We've done our best to refrain from committing crimes thus far, if only to prevent an encounter with the police. It looks like that is about to change.

“Okay, you distract the clerk. I'll grab what I can.” She says. That's all there is to it. Nothing too complicated. She won't need long, anyway. All I have to do is give her a minute or two.

“Alright, let's do this.” I say. The bell above the door dings as we step inside. Evelyn hurries into a nearby isle before the clerk can spot her. The apathetic long-haired boy lifts his head just as she disappears from view, before his attention drifts back to the comic book in front of him. I smile my friendliest smile as I walk up to the counter. It's just him, as far as I can tell. No other customers either. This should be easy.

“Hello!” I greet the bored-looking clerk behind the counter. He looks up, disinterested.

“Hi. Can I help you?” He asks with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

“Oh, well, I'm a little bit lost. I was wondering if you could give me directions?” I ask.

“Don't you mean “we're a little bit lost”?” He asks.

“I'm not sure what you-”

“The girl that came in with you, that's your friend right?”

“I'm not sure-”

“The girl currently stuffing potato chips into her backpack? That ring a bell?” He asks. I panic, immediately trying to think of an exit strategy. How did he even notice? He barely spared us a glance when we walked in.

“Lucky guess.” He says, noticing the panic in my eyes.

“Look, I don't care. They don't pay me enough to. You two are homeless, right?” He continues.

I nod.

“Take whatever you want. I'm not a nark.” He says and returns to his comic once again.

“Really?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah. Really.”

I look up at the surveillance camera on the ceiling. Even if he doesn't stop us, we'll still be caught.

“Doesn't work. Don't worry about it.”

I stare at him for a few more moments before turning and beginning to search for Evelyn. I find her towards the back, stuffing granola bars into a backpack. She looks up as I approach.

“What are you doing? You're supposed to be distracting the clerk!”

“He knows what we're doing. He doesn't care.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, shit, help me out then!”

Quickly, we fill our bag as much as we can. I keep glancing at the guy behind the counter, just to be sure he doesn't call the police while we're not looking. He doesn't move the entire time, except to flip a page. As soon as we have taken as much stuff as we can carry, we hurry out the front door. I climb into the passenger's seat with our stolen goods and Evelyn peels out of the parking lot. Regardless of what the clerk said, we aren't going to stick around to get caught.

We drive for a while before pulling into an empty field. Seeing as this is going to be where we are staying for the night, we do our best to make the bed of the truck comfortable. Thankfully we have a few pillows and blankets with us to help. Once we have semi-successfully cushioned the truck bed, we empty out our bag to see what we made off with. There wasn't a whole lot of logic when it came to what we took. We were just blindly grabbing and stuffing whatever looked passable into the bag. Thankfully, we have plenty to get us to Oklahoma without having to ration it out.

We immediately begin stuffing our faces. I'm halfway through my second candy bar when Evelyn stops me.

“Slow down, bunny. You're going to make yourself sick.” She pulls a bag of trail mix out of the pile and hands it to me.

“Eat this. You need something with actual nutrition.” She says before returning to her protein bar.

Once our stomachs are satisfied, we try to get comfortable. I lay next to Evelyn underneath a blanket, but I can't seem to relax.

“What's wrong?” She asks.

“I feel exposed being in a wide open space like this. What if someone finds us? We're probably trespassing.”

“Then you sleep and I'll keep watch. We'll take shifts, okay?” She says. I would feel guilty having her take the first shift. She's probably far more tired than me, seeing as I'm not the one driving.

“You sleep first.” I say.

“Yeah, and have you fall asleep on me? I don't think so. Shut up and sleep.” She says, tossing a pillow at my face. I don't bother to argue further. Once she's made up her mind, there's no convincing her otherwise.

-

I don't know how long I manage to sleep before I am awoken by raindrops falling onto my face. I look over to see Evelyn hastily packing up our stuff.

“Of course.” I mutter under my breath.

“Looks like we're spending the night inside the truck.” Evelyn says.

Together, we gather our stuff and cover it with a tarp to protect it from the rain. By the time we climb back into the truck, we are dripping wet and freezing. We try to get some sleep, unconcerned with being confronted by any strangers now that we are safely locked inside. Neither of us manage to sleep for very long considering the uncomfortable position we found ourselves in. With the promise of a roof over our heads waiting for us in Oklahoma, we waste no time getting back on the road first thing in the morning.

-

It takes us another two days to reach our destination. We get very little sleep as the rain seems to follow us, forcing us to sleep in the cramped conditions of Evelyn's truck. When we finally drive up the dirt driveway to the farmhouse we are exhausted and filthy.

We spot a man on the front porch of the house. I can only assume this is the uncle we have been told about. He is younger than I expected. I doubt he is any older than forty. As we climb out of the truck, I become instantly aware of the fact that we haven't showered in about two weeks and our clothes haven't been washed in three. God only knows what is running through that man's head as we approach the house.

“Can I help you girls?” He calls out to us. I decide to take the lead for once, as Evelyn doesn't always leave a good impression on this type.

“Hello! We met your nephew about a week ago. He said you would be expecting us?” I say as we walk up the front steps. Recognition falls over his face almost immediately.

“Why, you must be Maeve and Evelyn! I was starting to think you were a couple of no-shows!” He says, practically jumping to his feet in excitement. He hurries over to us, grabbing my hands and shaking them enthusiastically before doing the same to Evelyn.

“Come in, come in!” He says as he pushes us into the house. The inside is about what I expected. The décor seems to have been pulled straight out of the 1940's, which tells me that he probably inherited it from an elderly relative. I don't see anything resembling modern technology other than an ancient radio perched on a side table. The air is musty and stale like the room had sat empty for a decade before we arrived. Despite this, the room is remarkably clean. While a bit cluttered with relics of the past, I don't see a speck of dust of dirt. You would expect a farmer's home to be a little dirty. I would assume it is simply an unavoidable result of the profession.

“As excited as I am to give you the full tour, I think you girls are in desperate need of a bath and a meal first.” He says. We glance at each other briefly. Our faces are dirty and our hair is slick with grease while our clothes are stained and torn. I'm sure that our combined stench is overwhelmingly foul, but we've long grown blind to it. We've found that people are increasingly unkind the more homeless you appear. So many people were happy to help us when we were well-kept and nicely dressed, but that help soon dried up when it became obvious that we were not prim and proper girls that just happened to take a wrong turn somewhere.

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”

-

The man shows us to our room where we drop off our meager belongings. We learn that his name is Wayne Daugherty, and that he inherited this farm from his great aunt and uncle about a decade ago. After we properly introduce ourselves, he hands us each a stack of clothes and points me towards the bathroom just down the hall. He then goes to show Evelyn the second bathroom upstairs, leaving me by myself.

I enter the bathroom and set the clothes down on a nearby stool. Much like the rest of the house, the bathroom features are quite old and outdated. There's no shower, just a slightly elevated clawfoot bathtub in the middle of the room. I let the water run while I get undressed, inspecting my clothes as I do so. It used to be my favorite dress, having been a Christmas gift from my aunt. The once mint green dress had turned brownish after not being washed for as long as it had. It was covered in rips and tears and missing a button or two. I clutched it for a moment, sighed, and tossed it into the waste bin.

I test the water before stepping into the tub. It feels weird to be taking an actual bath for the first time since leaving home. Evelyn and I have become used to doing things as quickly as possible, never slowing down long enough to do something as simple as having a bath. These days it's mostly truck stop showers and skinny dipping in rivers. Every once in awhile Evelyn and I can sweet talk some horny guy into using his shower before leaving him high and dry. The hot water is comforting, like an all-consuming hug. The aches and pains from weeks of poor sleeping conditions are relieved almost instantly.

I scrub down every inch of my body, not leaving a single crevice untouched. I wash my hair with probably three times the amount of shampoo required, watching as the water turns a disturbing brownish color as I do so. Suddenly disgusted by the realization that I am sitting in my own filth, I rinse myself off and get out of the tub.

I grab a towel from a nearby shelf and press my face into it for a moment. It's a pure, clean white color and doesn't smell like mildew. I bet this guy actually washes them more than once every three months. I dry myself off and start going through the pile of clothes. They consist of a yellow short-sleeve t-shirt and denim overall shorts. They certainly aren't my style, but they are my size weirdly enough. I get dressed and look at myself in the full length mirror in the corner of the bathroom. I can't help but wonder why he just had this stuff sitting around. In the moment though, I can't find it in me to care all that much. I'm just content to not look a Victorian street urchin anymore.

I leave the bathroom and return to the room we'll be staying in to find Evelyn is sitting on the bed, waiting for me. I almost don't recognize her dressed in bell-bottom denim jeans and flannel.

“How goes it, cowgirl?” She asks with a smirk. I laugh. We barely resemble ourselves dressed the way we are.

“You're missing a vital part of the look, though. C'mere.” She says, gesturing to the spot on the floor in front of her. I have many questions, but in lieu of asking them, I give into her request without a fight. I sit on the ground, my head resting between her knees. She grabs strands of my hair and begins braiding it.

“How do you even know how to do that?” I ask.

“I was in just as many braiding circles in scouts as you were. Now sit still.” She replies.

Eventually, she decides that she is done and allows me to stand up. I walk to the mirror and admire her look. She had tied my hair in a loose braid that hung over my shoulder, fully completing the farmer girl look. Honestly, it kind of works.

“You like it?” Evelyn asks, draping herself over my shoulder.

“I love it.” I reply. She leans in for a kiss and I happily accept. A knock at the door startles us and she jumps back.

“Dinner's ready, girls! Come down to the dining room when you're ready.” Mr. Daugherty calls through the door. We look at each other. We are absolutely desperate for actual food. I don't know how good this guy's cooking skills are, but I'll take unseasoned potatoes and tough overcooked meat over another convenience store snack. If I eat another potato chip I might actually die on the spot.

We eagerly head downstairs to the dining room to find Mr. Daugherty seated at the table. He gestures for us to sit and we do so. Noises in the kitchen imply there is another person living in the house. Just a few moments later, a girl emerges from the kitchen, carry a tray. She looks to be around our age, if maybe a year or two older. She's a tall, skinny girl in a simple blue cotton dress underneath an apron. For a moment I think I've found an answer as to why Mr. Daugherty has girl's clothing on hand, but I quickly realize that we are not the same size at all. She does not make eye contact with us, simply looking forward with a vacant stare.

“Evelyn, Maeve, this is my daughter Mabel.” He says, introducing us.

“Hello!” I say with a wave. Endearing ourselves to the homeowner's daughter is probably the smart move if we wish to stay longer than a few days. I don't know about Evelyn, but I'm not particularly eager to hop back into the truck after the last few weeks we've had.

Mabel does not respond, however. She simply places the tray onto the table and begins handing out our portions. Her gaze is unwavering and for a second I wonder if she can hear or see us at all.

“You'll have to excuse my daughter. She's been a mute since birth.” He says dismissively. After everyone has been served, she grabs the tray and retreats back into the kitchen before returning a few moments later. As much as I want to dive into the bowl of stew and devour it like a feral dog, I manage to restrain myself out of politeness. Evelyn does too, but only because I shoot her a look. Once everyone is at the table, Mr. Daugherty says grace while Evelyn and I pretend to go along with it, sitting awkwardly in silence while shooting each other uncomfortable glances. I sneak a peak at Mabel once, only to catch her piercing eyes staring back at me, forcibly diverting my attention back down to my hands.

Finally, after what seems like forever, we are allowed to eat. I try to maintain an air of courtesy and grace, but the second the taste of food hits my tongue I begin shoveling it down like I'll never eat again. I can't help but feel slightly embarrassed at how quickly I manage to wolf it down. This is somewhat alleviated when I glance at Evelyn to find she had finished long before I had.

“Well that's about the highest compliment you can give a cook, isn't it, Mabel?” He says. Mabel looks at him and nods, acknowledging that she was spoken to for the first time since we've met her.

With my hunger now sated, I decide it's probably a good idea to start asking questions about this strange man and his farm. Inviting teenagers that you've never met to come stay at your farm several states away is a bit... suspect... to say the least.

“So, have you had guests like us before?” I ask, trying to hide my skepticism.

“Oh, many times! I help young people like yourselves whenever I get the chance. If you take a look at the pictures on the walls, you'll see my many, many success stories.” He explains.

“Success stories?” Evelyn asks.

“The ones that are able to get their act together and learn skills that will help them get out the situation they've found themselves in. I don't turn anyone away; whether they be addicts, unwed mothers, prostitutes, runaways, or some combination of the four. Hell, I adopted Mabel as my own so that her mother could get a college education without having a child to worry about.” He says. I find it odd that he talks so openly about the circumstances of Mabel's adoption in front of her, to complete strangers nonetheless, but she doesn't seem to care.

“What about the not-so-successful ones?” I ask, curiously.

“Usually they just up and leave in the middle of the night. As much as it pains me, sometimes I have to ask them to leave if I feel they're making a negative impact on the others.” He says.

“But I never get discouraged! No matter how many refuse my helping hand and go back to their old ways. That's why everyone I know has my permission to send me any strays that cross their path.” Mr. Daugherty says with pride in his voice.

“Sorry to change the subject, but exactly is it that we'll be doing here?” Evelyn asks.

“Oh, just helping me out around the farm. Nothing two strong-willed girls can't handle. Maeve, you seem like the more domestic one out of the two of you, so you'll mostly be inside helping Mabel out around the house. Evelyn, you'll be working outside with me. Does that sound okay to you? If not, you can just stay here for the night and be on your way tomorrow, but I won't have any freeloaders just laying about.” He says.

Evelyn and I look at each other. We don't really need to discuss it. At this point we'll do just about anything to have a bed for the night. When we get bored of it, we'll leave, just like we always do.

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need from us.” I respond.

“Wonderful, just wonderful! Now, you two seem like you're in great need of a rest, so you two can sleep in tomorrow and we won't get started until the day after.”

Evelyn and I exchange glances once again. A real bed, in a real house, that's clean and pest free, plus free food and a salary? We really owe that guy back in Minneapolis big time. Come to think of it, I should really give him a call tomorrow to thank him.

This could be good for us, being able to live normal lives again, even if just for a little while, before we move on to our next adventure.

[thisislizheather]

Winter Wednesdays Vol. 2

Above Photo: Mississauga, January 2024

BAKING/COOKING

I haven’t made it in years, but this cacio e pepe recipe is definitely an all time favourite to make.

Above Photo: Cacio e pepe

CRAVING

Tres leche cake. So she’s getting made this weekend.

EATING

So many one egg omelets, I have a problem.

EXPERIENCING

The new renovated Mississauga Central library. And it’s awful. All that money and it’s absolutely soulless. The book/movie shelves are so low to the ground, it’s as if some alien designed this place. And I understand that’s helpful towards children, but this isn’t a library exclusively for children. It’s literally the main branch in all of Mississauga, so there’s no excuse. And to top it all off, it’s PAY PARKING. The Burnhamthorpe location is so much better thankfully, so I don’t think I’ll ever go back to Central again.

Above Photo: Her expression is accurate

LOVING

Behold my new favourite photo of Baby Dog.

Above Photo: Baby Dog, over Buffalo

SHOPPING

Got these turkey stuffing potato chips and they didn’t blow me away.

WATCHING

I started watching The Morning Show and the acting is great, but the dialogue is pretty terrible at times. And the whole COVID second season, UGH. Not for me. We’re not far enough away from 2020 to have any kind of real perspective on anything, so this was just bad television. I’ll truck through season three and see if it can get the glory of season one back.

WEARING

I live in this Aritzia headband this time of year. The matching mittens are perfect.

You can see last week’s Winter Wednesdays Volume 1 over here.

[i-hate-my-drawing]

All of the ask game questions 👀

1. Chipotle order?

chicken, white rice, sour cream, guacamole, and tomatoes :)

2. Thoughts on Veganism?

I genuinely have no idea what that is

3. a specific color that gives you the ick?

Honestly, none. Stuff to color with is a different story.

4. mythical creature you think/believe is real?

Idk if the Grim Reaper counts but it’s him & Dragons

5. Favorite form of potato?

I don’t have a favorite :)

6. do you use a watch?

Yes but no. I use it, but I forget I have it when I have it on :>

7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

The seals! Their the most interactive animals there, plus, the area their placed is sensory friendly (for me at least)

8. do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

Yes, my pajamas

9. do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

No , people keep telling me I should but I’m not the best at self care (which is why people tell me I should 🥲)

10. on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

Apple. Orange juice overloads my tastebuds and has a weird taste XP

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

Almost everything.

12. brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

No comment 👀

13. first thing you’re doing in the purge?

First thing I’m doing is looking for a goddamn battle Axe and swinging that shit around and breaking shit (You thought I would kill someone? 👀)

14. do you think you’re dehydrated?

Ok, here’s the thing. According to my blood tests, I’m dehydrated, but technically I’m not so…probably?

15. rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

I’m not doing that…👀

16. thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

Never had it 🤷

17. an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

I bite my nails

18. your boba/tea order?

I’ve only ever had it once so I can’t really say

19. the veggie you dislike the most?

Eggplant

20. favorite disney princess movie?

It used to be sleeping beauty when I was younger, then it was the princess and the frog (it’s still my favorite)

21. a number that weirds you out?

Numbers like 210,458 annoy me and weird me out, the number is hard to say and it confuses me

22. do you have an emotional support water bottle?

I do, but I don’t really consider it one. It really just tells me how much water I should drink before a certain time and it says stuff like “your almost there!” But I don’t pay attention to it

23. do you wear jewelry?

Yes and no. I wear necklaces, but I put them in my mouth so I don’t wear them a lot, and earrings make my earlobes hurt sometimes so I don’t always wear any

24. which do you find yourself using, american or british english?

Idfk dude I just use words

25. Would you say you have good taste in music?

I mean, compared to half the music that’s being listened to in this society, I’d say I would

26. How’s your spice tolerance?

I have one…that’s really all I can say

27. what’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

Any baggy clothing if it’s appropriate for whatever I’m wearing it to

28. last meal on earth?

I honestly try not to think about stuff like that tbh

29. Preferred pasta noodles?

No :)

30. Ask me anything!

Ngl, I’m honestly really happy someone gave me an ask it made my day so much better

[venusianbbaby]

Short Observations Part Ten

@venusianwrld

I would love to hear if you have any comments or questions about these!

Or any you would like me to talk about?

1. I think Gemini placements especially love the word the cuss word bitch lol

2. Libra placements seem to use the word fuck a lot too

3. Why are Pisces Suns usually so good at singing??? Idek

4. ^ Also never really know what they’re doing (naturally ruled 12H sign) soo

5. I’ve never seen many Scorpio or Sagittarius placements want to go to college.. it’s just not for them

6. Gemini and Cancer placements don’t go through many relationships. I feel like they have three to four major ones.

7. Leo Venus love language is gifts. They love giving them to their s/o too.

8. Virgo Venus love language would probably be doing things together

9. ^ Kinda same with Sag Venus but they like going places and maybe adventuring

10. Aries Mars just like to fight. My bf has this placement and has said he would like to just fight for fun.. huh???

11. Sagittarius Mars just like to do things and can’t sit still stg

12. Geminis I know do not care about grammar or spelling lmao I feel like Capricorns and Aquarius will pay attention and will check you on it.

13. Scorpio placements seem to be in very isolated homes???

14. TW !! Pisces seem to be the ones who struggle most with substances like alcohol and also definitely pills.

15. Sagittarius and Leo placements cannot hide their facial expressions. You will see their moods on their faces lol

16. Taurus placements rly love potato chips

17. Ive seen many Aries and Libras struggle with school ???

18. ^ Those placements seem to like hot cheetos

19. I feel like Aries words can be brutal..

20. ^ They can also be very childish too

[r3inventedd]

How to Master a Champion (Ch. 2)

Lewis Hamilton x Original Female Character 

Summary: Coming out of the 2021 season Lewis Hamilton has lost all faith in Formula 1 and its rules. He needs a reset, something or someone to make him trust again. Andy Masters has something to prove. She moved halfway around the world for a man only for it to fall apart within months. When an opportunity presents itself to get her life back on track, she takes it without question. But the job is nothing like imagined.

Warnings: Asshole Lewis at first but he hold out for Soft Lewis / slow burn / co-workers / I know OC’s can be really annoying but give Andy a chance / if any real warning arise later I will update 

Author Note: This is also on AO3 but I figured I would put it here too. Thank you to all of you who read, you make my day x

Ch. 1 Ch. 3

------------------------------Chapter 2-----------------------------------

It occurred to Andy only minutes after her conversation with Toto as she was being given a tour of the office with Marilynn that she still had absolutely no idea what she was actually going to be doing. “Hey Lynn?” She questioned after being shown the fifth conference room in a row, “What exactly is my job description?” The realization that she had just accepted a job with practically zero description of what she would be doing began to set in. An uneasiness began to keep up her neck. What did I just get myself into?

“Toto didn’t tell you?” The blonde looked slightly taken aback.

Andy began fidgeting with the button on her blazer, “Um… no?”

Marilynn stared in disbelief, “Did you just accept a job you know nothing about?”

The fidgeting continued, “Um… yes?”

“Andy, how could you not ask about that?” Marilynn’s hands failed as she looked at her protege with incredulity.

“Well, Mr. Wolff asked me about why I left Haas and then I started talking about Ryan which led to him giving me a very inspiring speech - I now understand why he has the job he does - and I got all caught up in the moment and just said yes!” Andy felt exasperated and a headache was forming right between her eyes.

“Andy I thought I taught you better than this,” Marilynn seemed to be having the same problem as she was currently pinching the bridge of her nose. Before they were able to speak further, two figures dressed in athletic wear rounded the hall.

“Hey Pickins,” a tall brown haired man began, “If you could be chip or a crisp, which would you choose?”

Marilynn shook her head in confusion, “Huh?”

The other man beside him with longer, jet black hair clarified “Forgive my uncultured friend. Let me translate to American, ‘Would you rather be a french fry or a potato chip’” The last part was said with a terrible American accent but it made Andy laugh.

“Obviously I’d rather be a fry,” Andy chimed in, “A is almost certainly going to spend its life in a bag, a fry has the possibility of spending its life with a deliciously greasy cheeseburger or a perfectly cooked filet mignon.”

Marilynn looked at Andy as if she’d grown another head, but the two men seemed to genuinely enjoy her response, “Well said!” The tall man said. “The name’s Peter Rand. You?”

“Andy Masters,” she shook the hands of Peter and the black haired man whose name was Niko Sakurai. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Nico said, his smile turning to a look of realization, “You’re the new girl, right?”

“New woman,” Marilynn corrected.

“Oh yeah” Peter mused, not paying any mind to Marilynn, “You’re working with Hamilton. Good luck with that one.” There was no envy in the statement.

“What?” Andy’s eyes snapped to Marilynn. The blonde however was looking disapprovingly at the man who blabbed. “I’m working with Lewis Hamilton?” Andy said, not being able to hide the shock in her voice.

“You didn’t know?” Niko questioned.

“I was getting to that,” Marilynn said through gritted teeth.

Andy lost all ability to pay attention to the conversation happening around her. Lewis Hamilton . She thought to herself. Lewis Fucking Hamilton. Images of sprayed champagne and flashy clothes came to the forefront of her mind as her heart began to race. No way would they assign me to a seven-time World Champion. That would be absolutely insane. Ludicrous. Unimaginable. Honestly, misguided.

“Well I better get back to showing Andy around the office,” Marilynn raised her voice just slightly knowing that Andy was drowning in her own thoughts, something that happened to her often. “I’m sure we’ll see you both soon.”

The two men nodded in agreement, “Nice to meet you, Andy. We’re pulling for you.” And with that, they continued on their original path.

“How,” Andy turned to face Marilynn, “In God’s name would you not mention that I am going to be working for Lewis Hamilton. ” She was beginning to struggle for air and her heart was beating at a rapid pace.

“Would you have said no if I had?” Marilynn tried to match Andy’s instability with a shield of calm.

Andy’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, “I would have told you that you were nuts for even thinking I was remotely qualified for the position. Like actually certifiably, looked up in a looney bin, insane.”

“And why would you have said that?”

“Because you are! He’s one of the most experienced drivers on the grid. He is certainly the most decorated in history, and he’s involved in five million different things, from fashion lines, to charity work, to I- I- I don’t even know what. He should have an entire team taking care of him.”

“He does,” said Marilynn, spotting Andy from making excuses as to why she shouldn’t work for Lewis Hamilton.

“He does?”

“He does.”

“Well… where do I come in?” She felt pink embarrassment creep into her cheeks at her outburst.

“If you give me more than 5 seconds to complete a sentence I will tell you,” Andy felt like she was being scolded by her mother. In some ways, Lynn was her work mother. Especially not that her mom lived on another continent. “It’s no secret that Lewis had a tough season last. If we’re honest, we weren’t sure he was coming back.” Marilynn spoke in a casual but soft tone, trying to make it seem like they were simply chatting about the weather.

“He basically went AWOL for a month after the season was over. No contact with anyone. Quite frankly, everyone is worried that he’ll do it again. Toto says he’s completely disillusioned with the FIA and isn’t sure he can trust the system to make the right call.”

Andy felt for the man, but she still wasn’t sure where she came into all of this. Especially if he already has a team. Marilynn seemed to be reading her mind, “We, Toto, Angela his Physiotherapist, and I, think he needs someone a little bit closer to him, that isn’t yet part of the Mercedes machine. Someone that he feels like isn’t already jaded by the system here. You’ll be an assistant to him, in charge of his day to day schedule, making sure he gets from point A to point B, but we want - well really what we want is for you to make sure he has some fun.”

Andy eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “From this description I honestly can’t tell if I am supposed to be his assistant, camp counselor, his escort or all of them wrapped into one.”

“Oh Andy,” Mariylnn sighed, lightly smacking her on the arm, “If anything, we just want you to be his friend. Someone he can confide in and feel comfortable talking to. He doesn’t trust anyone fully anymore. We have to get it back.”

“This isn’t going to be some sort of emotional spying thing where I report on his whereabouts and well-being, right? Because I am not doing that.” Andy crossed her arms in defiance.

Once again, Marilynn's fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, “Jesus Andy, I know you just had someone break your trust but we’re not all out to get each other.” Andy’s face quickly became an unreadable mask, something that rarely happened as she usually tended to be a physical representation of the masks of comedy and tragedy.

“I’m sorry, Ands. That was entirely out of line,” Marilynn reached for Andy’s hand and to her slight shock, she gave it to her. “Listen, I know this is not how any of this should have gone but we are flying by the seat of our pants here. Until a few weeks ago, we didn’t know if we were going to have our star driver and when he did come back he wasn’t the same. We were scrambling for ideas and when you called me after everything with Ryan, I came up with a half-baked brilliant idea to put you in charge of his life for a while or maybe forever if it goes as well as I think it will. Andy, you really have an opportunity to grow here. You and I, we could be running this place eventually if we play our cards right. Just, trust me for a while.”

Andy looked in her eyes and saw a similar desperation to succeed as she does when she looks in the mirror each morning. Both hungry for success in a field they did not grow up in but had learned to love. The drivers got all of the glory, but there was an intense satisfaction in knowing you were behind it all.

Andy gave Marilynn’s hand a squeeze, “I trust you. And thank you,” she paused just a moment, “for always thinking of me.” The women allowed themselves a quick moment of appreciation for each other before continuing on their tour.

…

A few hours later Andy found herself alone for the first time since stepping foot in the Mercedes headquarters. They had not assigned her a desk quite yet but they said she could spend some time filling out paperwork in a break room for the drivers and trainers. Neither were supposed to be in today so the room was free for her use. It was a room with one large window, a few couches on the perimeter of the room, two tables with four chairs each, and most importantly a coffee machine. Oh thank God Andy thought to herself. The first day at work was always mentally taxing, but the news of what her true position would be was taking its damn time to sink in.

She was thankful that British coffee makers were not all that different from American ones as she made a pot of much needed caffeine. As the water began to boil and drip into the clear pot, Andy plopped down on the couch directly across from the door before making sure it was shut. While it wasn’t a particularly inviting piece of furniture, it was exactly what her aching feet needed after being stuffed in a heeled boot all day. She grabbed the papers she was meant to fill out and started scribbling away at the employment documents - page and page after white and black page. Working internationally was not as romantic as it was cracked up to be.

The click of the coffee maker signified that the coffee was done and Andy made a mental note to make sure to get up to grab a cup after the next page, but almost as soon as she thought it, her eyes began to sag and her mouth stretched open from a yawn.

If she just closed her eyes for a few seconds it wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Can I help you?”

Andy nearly leapt out of her seat at the sound of a man’s voice, sending papers flying everywhere. She couldn’t tell if she had just closed her eyes for a moment or for an hour but she knew either way she had to wake up. Immediately she dropped to her knees to start gathering the loose papers and some sense of dignity.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was filling out paperwork and I just closed my eyes for a second. They told me no one was coming in today.” She glanced up at the man to give him a shy smile and almost dropped the papers she was gathering. “Oh it’s you.” It wasn’t exactly an accusatory statement, but it didn’t come out as a warm surprise either.

“Again I ask, can I help you?” Lewis Hamilton stood in front of her in a hoodie and sweatpants with a duffle bag hanging from his shoulder. Seven time motorsport world champion was in her presence and she hadn’t had to do anything illegal to make it happen.

“Um hi!” Andy said as she scrambled to her feet, a stack of papers in her left hand. She crossed the room with the empty hand extended as a greeting with a smile to match. “I’m Andrea Masters, your new assistant.”

Neither her smile nor her handshake was not returned . “I don’t have a new assistant.”

Andy only let her smile falter for a second, “Well as of 9:30 this morning do you.”

“Let me rephrase,” Lewis dropped his bag on the couch next to the door, “I don’t need a new assistant. Especially one who falls asleep on the first day.”

“Then I just filled out a lot of paperwork for no reason,” she joked, hoping to lighten some of the tension suffocating the room.

“Yeah. I guess you did.” No amusement registering on his blank face.

Rarely was Andy at a loss for words, but this was not the reaction she was expecting. In fact, she was not sure she had ever had a more uncomfortable interaction. She tried to come up with something to say as Lewis red-shouldered his bag and brushed past her to put away his things in a compartment. “Well, um… I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this. According to Marilynn this was a pretty recent decision.”

Lewis let out a short laugh that lacked mirth, keeping his back to her “So Toto decided to hire a glorified babysitter to make sure I don’t disappear again, right?” He muttered something that Andy could not quite make out. She decided that was probably a good thing.

“Should I go get one of them? Maybe it would help sort this all out.” Andy silently prayed that one of them would walk in right then, speak of the devil right? Unfortunately, the devil does not often work in the ways you want.

“There’s nothing to be sorted,” he said with his back still turned, “I don’t need a new assistant. Plain and simple. Sorry they wasted your time but your services are no longer required.”

Ouch.  

Now Andy truly had nothing to say. All thoughts went completely blank as it set in that she had just been fired from a job that had barely begun.

“Hey Ands, did you get a chance to finish that paperwork? Oh. Good afternoon Lewis,” Marilynn stopped at the door in apprehension. It was impossible not to pick up on the tension permeating from the walls of the now very small room. A little late, Lynn Andy thought, turning to her friend with accusing eyes. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Good save.

“Hopped on an early flight just in time to find out my boss thinks I need a nanny,” Lewis replied, only just now turning around. The frustration was radiating off of him in waves and Andy felt like she might drown in them.

“Oh come on, Lewis, that is not what she is here for.” Andy gave the blonde next her side glance that told her to be careful. She didn’t listen. “You know as well as I do that your schedule has become almost impossible to manage. There are more races this year than ever and you’ve got a million balls in the air to juggle.”

“I can look after my own balls just fine, thanks.” A laugh escaped from Andy, before she could contain it. Her eyes went wide immediately, hoping to God or whatever deity had damned her that no one else could hear it. From the disapproving looks on both Lewis and Marilynn’s faces, the gods were still not on her side.

Marilynn let out a sigh before saying, “Please just come up stairs and let Toto explain everything. I’m sorry that you found out this way. It was absolutely not our intention to drop a bomb on you.”

Lewis turned to the coffee station, pouring himself a cup before taking a sip. He made a face of surprised approval, “Did we get a new kind of coffee?”

Marilynn did her best not to roll her eyes, “Not that I am aware of, no.”

“Hmm,” he took another long sip, “It’s better than before.”

Andy knew there was a large possibility that they had switched the coffee and Marilynn was simply unaware, but with how everything was going, she was willing to take a small win. Her boss liked her coffee. If she could even call him that.

“I will give you all the coffee you want if you would just come upstairs for a moment to discuss Andy working as your assistant.” Marilynn was pleading now and she was certainly not above bribery.

Again, he took a long sip of the coffee. He stared at the cup in appreciation, giving it a swirl like you would a glass of wine. “Only because this coffee has put me in a forgiving mood.” He pushed off the counter and started making his way to a destination he knew all too well.

As soon as he rounded the corner Andy mouthed her frazzled friend, “What the fuck was that?” Marilynn just shook her head before grabbing the stack of employment papers and following the driver down the hall.

Andy looked up to the ceiling in desperation, I am so fucked.

…

Andy waited in a chair identical to the ones in the lobby, but now she was happy to focus on not slipping off as long as it distracted from the raised voice in the room behind her. She’d been staring at a scratch on the wall for the past thirty minutes. She was starting to see it scurrying around like a spider at minute fifteen and now she practically considered it her closest confidant as she vented to it silently.

Yesterday I was questioning whether or not I made the biggest mistake of my life moving to England. Now I know I made a mistake leaving my friends, family and job for a life completely ill suited for me.

Never in my life have I made such a bad impression within the first five minutes of meeting someone. That includes the time I threw up on Johnny Burke’s lap at a party my freshman year of college. He actually laughed and ended up being my study buddy for stats the rest of the semester. I have always been able to talk myself out of a bad situation but I honestly have no idea where to begin.

And Lewis Hamilton is absolutely nothing like I expected. Everyone also said how humble and kind he was, even to the littlest of people on the totem pole. But the man I just met was rude, arrogant, and frankly unkind. He is the stuff nightmares are made of. It is people like him that breathe life into my anxiety and people-pleasing issues.

Oh scratchy. What the hell am I going to do?

“Fine,” the firm statement from Lewis drew Andy’s attention back to the room, “She gets one month and one month only to prove that she will actually be useful to my life and not a hapless distraction.” Andy’s stomach rose to her throat. One month to make myself indispensable to a man who does not want me?

“That is all we ask,” she heard Toto say, “Just give us all a chance to prove that this is a reward, not a punishment.” Again Andy found herself wondering if there weren’t late night extracurricular activities in the fine print of her contract. She did not like being seen as a reward or a punishment. An asset maybe, but not a chew toy.

Andy stood as soon as the door opened. Lewis exited in a rush only giving her a short look of displeasure that an older brother would give a younger sister he was forced to babysit. “Nice to meet you as well,” Andy muttered before entering Toto’s office when it became clear the other two were not leaving.

“That went well.” Sarcasm dripped from her statement. Marilynn was leaning against a window and Toto was sitting on the edge of his desk. Neither one looked like they had any energy left.

“Yes well, that was not how you two were supposed to meet. Or how the subject was supposed to be brought up,” Toto said, clearly frustrated by the situation.

“But this is precisely why we need Andy. Not only to communicate with Lewis, but to make sure we are in the loop with his schedule. The year is going to be tougher than ever and we need to know if he is going to hop on a flight early or spend an extra day somewhere. Right now, he is angry and he feels betrayed by the system. We are simply not people he wants to speak with.” Toto knew that Marilynn was right. It was hard for him to come to terms with the fact that there was a clear rift in their trust. Even though Toto and the team had nothing to do with the championship decision, Lewis couldn’t exactly take it out on the FIA. It didn’t help that legal tried to threaten Lewis with his contract agreement when it looked like he may not return.

“I know,” Toto acquiesced, “I just wish we are able to get it started on the right foot. Now we are on the defensive.”

They spent the remainder of the day strategizing how best to win Lewis over and explaining Andy’s duties. The three were gathered around Toto’s desk, heads in hands and buttocks clenched.

Apparently the original plan was to have Andy move in with Lewis right away which raised a few caution flags for the new girl. “You thought he would be okay with me living in his house?” From her albeit brief but impactful experience with him, she would be surprised if he even allowed her to know his address let alone live with him.

“He’s had many trainers and assistants live with him over the years. With a schedule like his, it doesn’t really make sense to pay for permanent housing when you’re never in one place for long,” Marilynn explained.

Andy nodded like she understood but her head was swimming with a growing understanding of the commitment for this position. That was if she lasted past the month.

“Andrea,” Toto started, a bit sheepishly which made Andy nervous, “I want to give you advice on how to deal with Lewis and best give him what he needs. But after last season, I’m not sure if any of my guidance would be useful. Just know that he is an incredibly driven man, who does not like to lose, in any facet but more than that he hates equality. What last season represented to him was inequity and instability in the sport. If you can, try to make him trust the sport again; to fall in love with the sport again. But first, make yourself indispensable.”

“No pressure,” Andy muttered.

“Oh no. Lots of pressure,” Marilynn added helpfully. Andy looked at her sideways before looking at the large clock on the wall to see that it was already almost 7:00pm.

“Mr. Wolff,” Andy chimed, “Don’t you have a dinner for Formula E with your wife in thirty minutes?”

Both Toto and Marilynn’s eyes snapped to the clock on the wall. “ Scheisse, ” Toto muttered, jumping up immediately to gather his coat from the back of his chair and the rest of his belongings. “Well Andrea Masters,” he said as he headed for the exit, “You may not save my driver, but you may just save my marriage. We’re happy to have you.” With a nod of his head in goodbye he disappeared quickly from the office.

“You better not be coming for my job again,” Marilynn broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood with an obvious joke.

It hit its mark but only just, Andy let out a noise that sounded like she was releasing a trapped breath rather than a laugh. She threw her head back in the chair and spun around. “What have you gotten me into, Lynn?”

“Nothing you can’t handle.”

“Beg to differ.”

“Oh come off it, Ands,” Andy’s eyes widened at her command, “He’s just an athlete with a wounded pride. You can handle this. I know it’s been a tough run for you but you still have the fire in you. I mean you’re only twenty-five, please don’t tell me your best years are already behind you.”

Andy turned her head away from Marilynn, not wanting to look her in the eyes, “I don’t know why you have so much faith in me.”

“Because you gave me no choice not to,” Marilynn got out of her chair to kneel beside Andy, ensuring she would have to look and listen, “When you walked into Haas 3 years ago, I took one look at you and wrote you off as a young girl completely out of her depth. You saw that and didn’t care. You said, ‘I’ll show her what I’m made of’ and pulled a move I will tell my kids about to show them what real balls look like. Maybe not with that phrasing, but you changed something in me.”

Marilynn could see the confusion in her friend’s green eyes, “When I decided to leave Haas, I had no plans to continue working for the foreseeable future. Two kids are a lot harder than one, but three? Terrifying. And with Gerett’s job at the bank, there was just no way we were going to be able to both work and take care of three kids under seven. Then you waltzed in with all the unbridled confidence and a work ethic to back it up, and it made me think that maybe my career wasn’t over.”

Andy slid off her chair to put the two women on equal ground, “I thought the fact that Gerett was going to be able to work from home indefinitely because of Covid was the deciding factor.”

“That has certainly ensured that our kids aren’t going to grow up as virtual orphans being taken care of by nannies 24/7. We decided to say that so his family didn’t try to use my career goals to question my validity as a mother for the millionth time. But the truth is,” Marilynn took a deep breath, “I had decided I was going to go for my dream position before we knew anything about Gerett’s job. I just knew that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. And I am lucky enough to have married a man who has never tried to hold me back from that.”

Andy’s eyes began to stink with tears. She’d spent many nights with Marilynn, sharing many bottles of wine but her friend had never told this. Andy always looked up to the older woman as a mentor and role model as everything she wanted to be. She never could have fathomed that it went both ways.

For what felt like the millionth time that day, words failed her. She threw her arms around Marilynn to give her a tight hug, hoping to convey all the gratitude and admiration she felt for the woman beside her. Marilynn squeezed back with matched emotion. It was a moment filled with mutual adoration that would get them through many tough times to come.

[hailhydra920]

The Edge of Tomorrow

Pairing: Bucky x reader Modern AU

Summary: When Bucky Barnes' arm gets blow off in Afghanistan, his mental state is shaky. Steve tells him that he needs someone to be with him to make sure he's okay. You just happen to be the girl that answered the ad in the newspaper.

Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst. Bucky thinking he’s a freak :(

Word Count: 1.5k

           Tap. Tap. Tap. Bucky’s right leg moved up and down quickly, his combat boot heel hitting the room floor rhythmically. His hair was disheveled, strands sticking out violently against his head, and his eyes where rimmed red. A smart phone was clutched tightly in his hand, knuckles white, as he listened to Steve talk over the phone. The next words that came out of Steve’s mouth made Bucky want to smash the phone into a million pieces. A low growl traveled through the device and Steve sighed.

           “Buck, you have no other choice.”

           No other choice. He was losing everything, his agency was now being snatched away. Jaw clenched, his leg came to a stop. “No, Steve.”

           He heard shuffling on the other side of the line. “Buck, I’m not gonna argue with you on this. Just put an ad in the paper, if you don’t have someone picked by the end of the month, you’re going to the Center.”

           Bucky clicked his tongue as he exhaled. “Afghanistan blows off my arm and you’re acting like they blew up my mind. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anybody. No one would even want to be in the company of a one-armed freak, anyway.”

           Freak. He’s one of those now. The kind that mothers cover their children’s eyes when they come across them. The kind that would hear every tiny little murmur and cry of disgust that people threw as he walked by, because his ears were perfectly fine, but his missing arm turned him into some sort of monster.

           “You’re not a freak, Buck, so stop calling yourself that.” Steve’s reprimanding tone bounced into his ear. “And this is exactly why I want someone to be there with you. It’s not right to leave you alone in this mental state.”

           Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, my mental state. You think paying someone to babysit me is going to help? ‘Cause I’m gonna tell you right now it’s not.”

           “They wouldn’t be there to babysit you. They’d be there to help you and to bring you companionship, at least until I know you’re okay by yourself.”

           Companionship. How’s companionship going to make his nightmares go away or make his sudden panic attack wisp into thin air? How’s companionship going to make him stop telling himself horrible things? How’s it going to make him human again? All he wanted was to feel human again, but it’s not like this companion is going to wash away years of war or bring back his arm. Where were they when he was knee deep in bloodied mud, sloshing around in the trenches trying to protect their freedoms?

           “I’m not putting out an ad, Steve. You can’t make me.”

           “You’re right, I can’t. That’s why I took the liberty of putting out the ad myself. If you don’t have anyone for me to meet by the end of the month, you’re coming to the Center. End of conversation.”

           “Punk.” Bucky breathed out just before Steve hung up.

           He slouched in his seat, dread overcoming him. His blue eyes wandered onto the worn copy of The Hobbit sitting on his coffee table. He didn’t need a companion, he already had one. Grabbing the book, he ran his hand over the weathered cover before thumbing through the coffee and potato chip-stained pages. All he needed was a good book to take him away from all the chaos. A world where he could imagine himself there as a warrior, with two arms, fighting mightily alongside the Company as they took on Orcs and Wargs, swords clutched tightly in their hands. There he could be anyone, conquer anything. And all he wanted right now was to be anyone but himself.

~~~~~

           You were doomed. So doomed. Walking out of the office last week with fire in your eyes as you said to your boss, “I’m not working for you anymore, ‘cause I can find someone who can appreciate my time way better than your skimpy excuse for a check every month.” Seemed like such a grand idea until you realized you hadn’t had any other jobs in mind. You were looking for a job, but nothing was piquing your interest in the slightest. You were down to your last leg checking the newspaper ad section, of all places, to find a potential job.

           The cap of your red sharpie marker was caught between your teeth as you circled an ad for a jailer position. At least that would be somewhat interesting. You’d probably meet lots of new people. Criminals, sure, but that’s what made it interesting. Your eyes flitted down the browned paper, your other hand sticking to the paper uncomfortably. Just as you were about to set the paper down in a huff, your eyes landed on the last ad square. It was a simple one. A Nice Person Needed. Call xxx-xxx-xx for more information

           Now that piqued your interest. You considered yourself a pretty nice person, well, you were friendly to everyone who deserved it. Which was basically everyone except your scumbag of an ex-boyfriend Bradley. He completely burned that bridge and spread the ashes everywhere. It wouldn’t hurt to call the number. Maybe they just needed someone to talk to for a bit. You had plenty of time before you needed money for next month’s rent. You just needed to find a job in a week. Grabbing your phone, you carefully typed in the number, not wanting to screw up the number and end up calling some creepy construction worker with a bad smoker cough.

           Checking the number one more time, your finger hovered over the call button. Biting your lip, you pressed down and brought the phone to your ear. It rang a couple times before a smooth “Hello?” traveled through the screen.

           “Um, hi. I saw your ad in the paper about needing a nice person. I was just calling to say I could help.” You said hoping this was the guy who actually put the ad out.

           “O-oh. Uh, trust me, you don’t want to help me. I’m…scary.” His voice was a soft baritone, and honestly, you could have fallen asleep to it.

           “Look, I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t want to help. And you can’t be that scary. You got like three eyes or somethin’?”

           “Try a missin’ arm, doll.”

           Your brain froze for a second at the way he said doll. You liked it. “So what? Do you need help carrying something?”

           “You want to help me carry the weight of PTSD and inevitable depression?”

           Wow. That wasn’t what you were expecting to hear from his mouth, but okay then. “Well, I don’t know how much I can do, but I can try.”

           You heard him sigh on the other side of the line. “Sleep on it. Call me back tomorrow if you really want a job helping me. I give you more details if you call me back.”

           “Wait, so will I be getting paid for this?” You asked sitting up straighter on the couch.

           “Like I said, I’ll give you more details if you call me back tomorrow.”

           “Okay then. Guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”

           “Just…” You could almost picture his exasperated exhale. “Just sleep on it. Don’t make your decision now. Goodbye.”

           He hung up before you could say it back. You were so calling him back tomorrow. Looking into your kitchen, you shook your head. You didn’t really feel like making anything today. Guess you were having Chinese takeout tonight.

~~~~~

           Bucky tossed his phone onto the coffee table with a sigh. Whoever was on the other end of the line was going to inevitably call him and he was not looking forward to that. You didn’t seem fazed that he was missing an arm though, so that was something. Bucky groaned. He wasn’t exactly jumping for joy looking for someone to share his apartment with. It had plenty of room, he just didn’t want to share. But when did anyone ever care about what he wanted?

           He was banking on you declining the offer once he brought up having to live with him and seeing him all the time. That should scare off all the well minded people, so if he did find someone who was willing to live with him at least he’d know they’re crazy. He honestly wasn’t expecting someone to call him so soon, but maybe this person was just desperate.

           A sharp pain caused Bucky to squeeze his eyes shut tightly. He moved his right hand quickly to press against his left nub of a shoulder. The pressure seemed to ease the pain and he let out a huff. Images of the war flashed through his mind as his eyes stayed squeezed shut for too long and he shot his eyes open, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Why was he like this? He hated himself. Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt hated himself.

[myperfectdad]

42. Linked up

This story was originally published on My website. Read new My Perfect Dad stories at JayHypnoWriter.com a full week before they drop here, and follow Me @JayHypnoWriter on Twitter for more updates.

Neil balanced his laptop on the arm of the sofa and stretched, his foot knocking a half-empty bag of potato chips onto the floor in the process. It was the middle of the afternoon, but he still wore the ratty gym shorts and faded concert T-shirt he’d slept in the night before. The TV blared. Some trashy daytime talk show host was reading out the results of a paternity test amidst raucous jeers from the studio audience. A pyramid of soda cans balanced precariously on the windowsill, and a trio of empty takeout containers sat on the coffee table. 

One of the dozen browser tabs Neil had open chirped with a notification. He turned the TV down and sidled back to his laptop, quickly clicking through his social media profiles.

Your post, “I sold my first company when I was 24. What’s your excuse?” has received 127 likes. 

BusinessBoss65 and six others have shared your post, “Don’t play hard if you’re not willing to work hard.” 

User CSuiteBound29 has added you to their list “Corporate Inspiration.” 

Nothing Neil posted on his profiles was true. He was 30, underemployed, and serially unmotivated. After graduating from college in the middle of a recession and trying for years to parlay his entry-level jobs into something more, Neil finally gave up. Eventually, he settled into a steady but go-nowhere position, where the expectations were almost as low as the pay. His professional frustrations and disappointments played out online, where he cultivated the persona of a hot-shot, successful businessman. @NeilExec was everything Neil wanted to be but wasn’t. 

The newest notification was a direct message sent to his LinkedUp profile: 

Dear Neil, Thank you for being a LinkedUp user. As the #1 social media network for working professionals, we take the proper use of our platform seriously. We want you to know that we have partnered with Truth Analytics, Inc., to help us crack down on spammers, bots, and fake profiles on LinkedUp. We hope this new partnership will bring you an even more authentic experience. Happy networking! 

“Good,” Neil said out loud. “About time they get rid of all the bullshit that gets posted on here.” 

Neil navigated back to his profile and noticed a question mark icon next to each post. When he hovered his mouse over it, a popup appeared. Does this post contain accurate information? Click to verify. 

Neil reviewed the posts, clicking to verify each of them in turn: 

“Your out-of-office auto-reply might say you’re on vacation, but it’s telling me that you don’t want to be promoted.” 

“Someday, when I write the check for my kid’s college tuition, he’ll understand why Daddy worked so much when he was little.” 

“Work isn’t everything, but wanting to work is.” 

Once verified, a checkmark replaced each question mark. While working his way down the profile, Neil delighted in his alter ego. @NeilExec was the big-shot Vice President of Global Sales. The Venn diagram of his career and his identity was a perfect circle. Even so, he couldn’t help chuckling at how extreme some of his posts were. 

“Man, I kinda sound like a dick,” he mused as he verified a blog post about all the wasted productivity between Christmas and New Year’s. The further he went back on his timeline, the more his posts sounded like a caricature of a business executive, and the drowsier he began to feel. 

3:45 a.m. 

Neil woke up. Instantly. He’d evolved beyond the need for an alarm years ago—so in tune he was with his circadian rhythm—but he still set one for four o’clock every morning. Weekdays, weekends, holidays, it didn’t matter. Time was money, and no one ever built a successful company by sleeping eight hours. He loved waking up before his alarm. He loved how he was instantly ready to tackle the day, from the pleasantness of sleep to the zeal of wakefulness in zero seconds. 

Every day was like this. Or was it? As Neil gently kissed his sleeping wife’s forehead, he felt momentarily confused. Disjointed memories and erratic mental images filled his mind. He saw himself lying on a sofa in the middle of the day, watching bad television and eating junk food. Neil didn’t typically remember his dreams, but these images felt unsettlingly vivid. At the same time, his current reality felt nebulous and ill defined. He knew the woman sharing his bed was his wife, but he couldn’t recall her face or any memories of their life together. 

As he proceeded to his morning routine, Neil couldn’t shake the feeling that things were out of place. After his shower, he looked at himself in the mirror for several minutes, examining his face and body in the bright bathroom lights. His bald pate and salt-and-pepper stubble were both familiar and foreign. He looked younger than 49, but even that number struck him as wrong. Going through his routine calmed him, and he felt reassured when he knew precisely which drawers to open to find his toothbrush and razor. Thick cologne dulled his senses and quieted his mind just long enough to tear himself away from the bathroom mirror and dress. 

Glancing into his children’s rooms, Neil felt somewhat envious of their carefree youth. His memory continued to play tricks on him, but even in his foggy reality, he knew little of the people they were growing up to be. There were so many hockey games, piano recitals, spelling bees, and birthdays he’d missed. “Sorry, I have to work late” might as well have been painted on a sign in their living room instead of “Live, laugh, love.” 

He straightened his necktie and proceeded downstairs to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled his senses. The tidy suburban McMansion he lived in was at odds with what Neil remembered as home. Images of a studio apartment, a pull-out sofa, and takeout containers everywhere clashed with his memories of buying this six-bedroom, five-bathroom beige and gray palace with media room and in-ground pool. 

He peered out the window, and the calming darkness eased his rising anxiety. Intermediate havens of light shone as beacons from the dozen backyard lights. With coffee in hand, Neil went downstairs to his home office. Twenty-four screens erupted to life as he entered. The glow startled him, but his surprise vanished as his memories continued to jostle about in his mind. 

“Hey, SmartHome,” he said. His voice sounded deeper and more commanding than he remembered. “Unroll my day.” 

Neil’s packed schedule of meetings, calls, and projects populated the center screen. He immediately noticed a block from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. entitled “Family time (Feel free to schedule over).” 

He sat down in his office chair and opened a web browser. One of the preset tabs was his LinkedUp profile. Confused realization hit him like a freight train. 

“Fuck,” he said as two lifetimes’ worth of memories battled each other. He pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged the pain away. Finally, after a long moment, Neil reopened his eyes. A tag accompanied all the checkmarks on his timeline: Truth Analytics, Inc., has verified the authenticity of this post. 

He felt the energy, the excitement, the passion. It was barely four o’clock in the morning, but the workday was already half over in EMEA. It was time to get cracking. 

A new day had begun.

Want more works like this? Buy Me a cup of coffee as a way to help support this and other writing endeavors.

[h50europe]

Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.