The First One Is Tempting Me To Write...

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Amajiki Tamaki x F!Reader [ALTHOUGH MADE WITH A FEMALE READER IN MIND, THIS POST DOES NOT CONTAIN ANY GENDER SPECIFIC QUALITIES REGUARDING READER]

Description: Every once in a while Tamaki got into these sort of...moods. He’d wake up slightly agitated, hungry, needy, and worst of all incredibly horny. However, as his girlfriend your always ready and willing to tend to his needs. 

Rating: Smut

Disclaimer: Edging, Begging, Teasing, Handjob, (slight) Oral (m. receiving), Established Realationship

Word Count: 838 Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything,  Tag List

“Y-Y/N! Y/N please, please!”

 You could only laugh at the sight before you, your boyfriend's hands tied up to the headboard, tears welling in the corner of his eyes, hips squirming as he tried to chase the pleasure your hand gave him, it was all too much. 

"What is it Tama? 'M just helping you out," you teased, giving the head of his achy cock a squeeze which had his hips stuttering. You had been edging Tamaki for close to an hour now turning him into a mess before your eyes, when he called you practically begging for you to come to help him cum you just couldn't resist. After all, a desperate Tamaki meant it was your chance to cease control.

 You would stroke his poor leaking dick until his muscles started spasming and his words became incomprehensible through his moans, key signs to look for when it came to know if your boyfriend was going to finish. "Please let me cum, please, I can't take it," Tamaki whined as you pulled your hand away from him once more as he came close to sweet release causing his hips to jerk in the air in an attempt to push him over the edge to no avail. He had fisted himself to the thought of you almost all day without having a satisfying release, what made him think he could cum without you now? 

"I dunno, you've been real snappy today, what's wrong huh? I think work stress is catching up on you, poor baby, all pent up." You lean down to be eye-level with his pink tip, blowing cool air on the scalding flesh that had his dick twitching.

 "Oh god, I need you to touch me, it hurts so much, 'm so hard" Tamaki attempted to raise his hips again to encourage you to take him in your mouth but you were quick to push his hips down onto the mattress.

 "No Tama, you gotta wait." Your maneuvers were still teasing, providing small shocks of pleasure to the man below you who was whining. He was so sensitive that even the gentle trail of your hand at his thigh sent shivers down his spine. 

"But I've been waiting! I'm sorry I was rude, I'll be good just, please! Fuck my— ah!" His head fell back when he felt your small tongue lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, making sure to place a soft kiss on the sensitive head. It in no way satisfied his craving but compared to your past frugal touches the change had him desperate for more. 

You weren't truly mad at Tamaki, your boyfriend was not great at dealing with his emotions, his anxiety and triggers often played a significant role in his actions, so he tended to have mood swings here and there whenever life outside the home became too hectic. Just some dry responses and harsh slams of the door mixed in with his usual well-mannered attitude, nothing you were truly offended by, but you couldn't help but tease him.

"Really? You'll go back to being my good boy?" Your words leave his face a shade of red, clumsily attempting to hide his expression although his arms did nothing to obscure his face since they were restricted. Tamaki loved when you called him that, when your voice became gentle and full of praise, it was his favorite feeling.

"Yes, I promise!" He said enthusiastically, slowly turning to get a peak at your face plastered with a smile, cheek leaning on the flesh of his heavy cock. Tamaki swore at that moment the sight alone was enough for him to cum. 

Your soft lips wrapped gently around the pulsing red head, your tonguing softly dragging around the sensitive slit getting a taste of the pre that was drooling out. Tamaki cried out, clawing at the sheets below him as tears spilled out of his eyes. He'd been craving this for so long.

His orgasm built quickly, hot flashes of pleasure hitting him hard as for the nth time today he was on edge, but this time he was hopeful he would finally get to experience the bliss, to see his cum drip down your face and watch you lick it off your palms, to see you kiss his dick as it softened, to feel himself twitch and curse from the pleasure that would have his eyes rolling back, the feeling that only you could cause. Every action was lined up perfectly, your hot wet mouth gently suckling his sensitive skin, your hand gently stroking him at the base, the other being used to caress his balls.

Yes, this was the moment he was waiting for. Until you snatched it away slapping his thigh so it left a pretty mark in the shape of your hand and using your body weight to hold him down as he shook from the sudden loss of pleasure. 

"I don't believe you, Tamaki. Prove to me you'll be good for me." 

Authors Note: (*_ _)人 I BEG FOR YOUR FORGIVNESS!! Sorry for beeing gone so long, but I CAM BACK TO ALMOST 500 FOLLOWERS?!11!? THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I cannot express how happy I am! And thanks for all the love on Muscles!! ITS GOTTEN SO MUCH LOVE <333 Does this mean you guys would be interested in more SFW options? Please let me know!!  CYA SOON (❤ω❤) Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything, Tag List

Tag List: @katscki, @libidinous-weeb, @1-800-mocha, @krmtwnw, @loving-katsuki

Katsuki “I’m only nice to my girlfriend” bakugou

Do you write poly smuts?

I'm open to it! I never have before, and I would only do it with a pair I felt like had chemistry together! Hope that made sense :))

GOD I LOVE TEXTED STORIES SM

telling your boyfriend “i just paid $200 for air in the tires— is that normal??”

ft. izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijiro kirishima, hanta sero

|★|𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓|✩|𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓|★|

I'VE HAD THIS IN MY NOTES FOR THE LONGEST, THOUGH I WANTED TO WRITE A STORY BUT I ACCOMPLISHED SOMETHING

PS. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SMUT. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Yandere tendencies

Characters: Uzui, Suma, Hinatsuru, and Makio

Word Count: 300

Imagine arriving at your aunt's farm, relishing the fresh air and forestry that surrounded the acres of property, and discovering it to be a hybrid farm. She accompanied you around the farm, introducing you to the many hybrids she had until lastly she introduced you to the holstaurs.

The male holstaur introduced him and his wives to you: Uzui, Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma. All were enthusiastic to meet you, teasing your aunt for not bringing you sooner and cooing at how adorable you appeared— you were ignorant of the obsession that slowly aroused within their eyes.

The longer you stay the more it revealed it self to you; Uzui would challenge and run other males hybrids and humans off, The girls would accompany you to your chores every chance they got, Suma begging you to sleep in their stable, and them insisting you be the only one to milk them—getting hostile when they didn't get their way.

When Uzui overheard your aunt concern to you about their obsessive actions as of lately and expressed that it would be the best for you to headed back home, it sent Uzui in a raging fit. He snarled loudly and stumped his feet angrily, shouting that you were his.

When you and your aunt came out, wondering where all the ruckus was coming from. Uzui charged towards her, penetrating her with his horns and trampling on her until she wasn't breathing or moving. He breathed harshly through his nostrils as he turned towards your sobbing figure, which was surrounded by his mates who tried to soothe your crying.

“You are not leaving, you'll learn to be a good little mate and love us.”

seventh heaven | s. todoroki

contains : f!reader, service dom!shouto, pre-established relationship, dubcon [reader under effects of lust quirk], pet names, pillow humping, spit, oral [f!rec], snowballing, praise, raw sex, quirk play [temperature play + branding], cervix fucking, creampie, cum stuffing, overstim. 5.1k word count.

bisous, twig : vewy self indulgent + poorly proofread + certain parts recycled from a post on an old blog :> if you liked this, you can also reblog it <3

mdni ♱ masterlist

shouto doesn’t think he’s ever driven as recklessly as he is now— running red lights and stop signs, abusing the horn of his car, going nearly 25 mph over the posted speed limit while muttering profanities under his breath. it’s a bad look for a pro-hero of his caliber, but frankly, he doesn’t have it within himself to care— especially after the phone call you had given him not ten minutes prior.

your voice plays in his head as he thinks back to the shakiness of it, desperation obvious in its breathlessness, ‘shou, can you come home— please come home? r-really need you here.’

you had hung up before he could even open his mouth to ask you what the matter was, and it wasn’t much longer after that when he’d abandoned the lunch you packed for him this morning, leaving it sitting on the desk in his office while he rushed to his car— which is where is now— avoiding crashing and causing collisions as he tries to make it back home to you as fast as he can.

worry sets in his chest as he flits through all the possible worst-case scenarios he could think of: had someone broken in? maybe it was a villain with a personal vendetta against him— or just a regular thief… no, it couldn’t have been; the house’s security system was far too strong for a low life criminal to be able to break through.

whatever it may be, shouto mentally prepares himself to face what’s on the other side of the front door when he arrives in record time— 15 minutes from the heart of the city to the gated neighbourhood in the suburbs where the two of you reside in a house you always complained was too big for just the two of you.

the harsh friction of rubber on pavement screeches loudly as he pulls into the driveway, disregarding his poor parking job before making a beeline for the front door. he inhales deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves and the frenzied voice in his head before shakily punching the four-digit code into the padlock. throwing the door open, shouto rushes in, eyes darting around the space of your home to look for you and any signs of disturbance.

everything seems to be in place in the living room— the photos of you and him and your mutual friends on the fireplace mantel, the empty sake bottles and deck of cards on the coffee table from saturday night’s drinking escapade, the bouquet of burgundy roses he had placed on the closed lid of the grand piano— nothing had moved an inch from where it was this morning when you sent him off to work with his lunch and a goodbye kiss.

he continues his inspection of the first floor, making thorough work of the kitchen and powder room before skipping every other step as he hurries up the spiral staircase. stopping at the top, he looks both ways— snapping his head towards your shared bedroom from which he hears muffled whimpers.

“honey?” no response. he feels his heartbeat audibly in his head and fear settle in his bones when your noises only increase in volume as he nears, his right hand covered in frost in preparation to confront the situation going on behind the closed door, “honey, are you alright?”

“shou…”

his eyes shoot wide open at the break in your voice, all sense of precaution flying out the window when he runs towards your room and flings the door open.

shouto didn’t know exactly what he was expecting to be welcomed with when he barged in— dark red painting his mulberry silk sheets with his lover bloodied and beaten and on the brink of death or being held at gunpoint.

he definitely was not expecting to find you curled up and writhing on the bed, nothing adorning your frame except a shirt that belonged to him.

he stands breathless and dumbfounded at the doorway as he tries to make sense of your current state, but is quickly knocked out of his thoughts when another whimper of his name pushes past you, “baby, what happened?” shouto rushes over to your side and raises his hand to cup your cheek soothingly, only to slightly retract it from how abnormally warm your skin felt, “you’re heating up…”

“i, hah— lust quirk… my co-worker accidentally hit me with it…” you whine out through little gasps for air, and suddenly his attention is averted to the pillow you had in between your legs— his pillow, and shouto feels a blush start to cover his face when he sees your bare cunny grind against it.

he finds himself in a trance— cool palm stuck to your heated cheek as his gaze travels up and down your body: from your parted lips to the labored rise and fall of your chest and all the way down to the wet patch on the pillow in between your thighs that only seems to be getting larger with each passing minute.

he’s heard of lust quirks before— heard of their side effects: increased stamina, better orgasms— he’s also heard cheeky remarks from his friends about how they wished their lovers had them. he remembers you telling him some time ago that someone you worked with had one, but never in his wildest dreams did he think that you’d ever be affected by it.

with your whiny panting, glazed-over eyes and arched back as you try to get off on his pillow— shouto doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this needy when he hasn’t even laid a finger over your most sensitive parts yet. it has the initial worry dissipating from his blood to be quickly replaced with a burning desire as he toes off his boots and leaves them at the foot of the bed before climbing onto it to hover over you.

he can’t help the tightening in his pants and the lust evident in his gaze as he stares down at you squirming against the cool sheets, hips rutting against the pillow and sweet, needy cries falling onto his ears— but he also can’t help but feel slightly guilty for getting so aroused at your plight.

blue flames rip through your limbs, head clouded with a carnality that has you short of breath and searching desperately for release— you’ve never felt this way before; you can feel your heart pounding against your skull and the throbbing of your clit in your fingertips. it’s overwhelming, and it has you impatient as your hands reach up to entangle in his two-toned hair and pull him closer, “please, please, shou— need you so bad— please—”

it shakes him out of his thoughts, the drawn-out whine of his name sending blood flooding down to his cock, “it’s okay, baby, ‘m right here. you have me…” shouto shushes you and removes the palm from your cheek to replace the pillow in between your legs with his clothed thigh, breathlessly laughing when he sees your cream begin to coat the fabric, “so wet… ‘nd i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“uh huh, ‘s all for you— only you,” your thighs clench around his, a pleasured wail pushing past you at how much more friction there is with it than his pillow.

“you’re so cute when you’re this turned on…” he leans down to coo at you sweetly, brushing his nose against yours before slotting his lips in between yours.

the kiss is sloppy—lewd and filthy as spit get tossed between your mouths with little care for the way it dribbles down the corners of his lips, to his chin, to fall as fat globs onto the expanse of your chest.

a fire begins to burn in the pit of his stomach when you grind up on his thigh, and shouto can only bring himself to respond with a low moan as he sucks on your tongue. his palms travel up from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds slightly before tracing his thumbs over your pebbled nipples through the fabric of the shirt you were wearing.

it belonged to him— the white dress shirt he had worn out to dinner with you last night. he wonders why you chose to reach for it, and is quick to arrive at an answer, “does this shirt smell like me, angel?”

you shy into the large neck of the shirt, nodding meekly as your thighs rub against his upon hearing the sweet adoration lacing his voice.

“you’re— hah— so perfect,” he pulls away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting him to you as he looks down, mouth parted and eyes lidded with lust as he watches every slow roll of your hips against his thigh, muttering out an expletive when he feels your slick seep through the thick fabric of his pants to meet his bare skin, “baby, can i taste you?”

it comes out as barely a whisper— almost a plea against your lips, and the sultriness of his voice has you taking in a shaky breath and nodding your head frantically, “uh huh, wan’ you s’bad, shou…”

he leans in once more to capture your lips— softly, this time. shouto falls deeper when your grip on his hair tightens and your tongue slips into his mouth, but he pulls away just before he can drown, gently shushing your protested whines, “i know, honey, i know.”

with one final lingering kiss placed to your brow, he sits back on his haunches to roll you over onto your stomach, running his palms up the curves of your waist under his shirt you were wearing to tug it off of your frame.

you’re fully exposed to him now; he feels a lecherous heat radiating off of you and can see the thin sheen of your essence coating the insides of your plush thighs— he can smell it too— it’s smells like you, like the sugarplum sweetness he’s used to, but it’s unexpectedly strong.

unexpected, but most welcome.

it consumes his senses— has his head spinning and spit pooling at the tip of his tongue, and if anyone were to look into his eyes, they would be able to see just how dilated his pupils were, leaving little space for the grey and blue of his irises to show through. it’s almost as if your scent were casting a spell on him, and shouto can’t help but wonder whether this is an effect of the quirk you’re under.

he’s quick to remove his hero costume, leaving only his wrist guards and boxers on before clambering back on top of you to place his open mouth on the nape of your neck, evident hard-on pressing down on your ass, “jus’ let me take care of you…”

cool fingers trace down your spine, warm kisses following in their wake until they reach the dimples at the bottom of your back into which he digs his thumbs, wrapping his large hands around your hips to angle you up onto your knees. a little mumble of ‘arch your back’ followed by a quick rustle of the sheets and a subsequent ‘good girl’ has your cunny landing right in front of his face. he can see you so clearly like this, translucent slick sliding down your folds to collect on the swell of your clit.

did you always get this wet?

shouto examines your sex more closely than he thinks he ever has before, one hand leaving your hip to gently rub circles onto your nub with his thumb, slowly gliding it up and down your folds as he revels in the way your essence coats the pad of his finger in a thick glaze.

he’s teasing you— unknowingly— thumb continuing its assault on your clit while he finds himself enamoured by the way your cunny clenches down around empty air at his ministrations. he’s shaken out of his trance by a hurried wiggle of your hips and a muffled whimper of his name reaching his ears, quickly mumbling out a chuckle of an apology before leaning in to slot his pointed nose in between your folds and suck sweetly on your nub.

the soft, warm plush of his lips on the place you needed to feel him most has you crying out, arching your chest further into the mattress and one of your arms flying back to find the grip of his hands on your hips.

you’re incredibly sweet— tooth-rottingly so, and it’s not long before tender suckles turn into harsh licks up the length of your folds as he gets drunk on your taste, his tongue finding a home within your walls to try and taste more of you.

more, more, more.

insatiable; that’s what he is, humming contently at the slick that travels across his tongue and down his throat, slurring almost incoherently against the hot, tight ring of muscle, “y’taste— fuck— so good…”

the vibrations of his baritone voice send blood rushing down to your ever-swelling clit and his words of praise do nothing to stop the tightening of the coil in the pit of your stomach.

you feel yourself floating— head in the clouds and brain fogged from how he draws hearts onto your clit and the lewd squelches of him cleaning up your drooling cunt— it all feels so good, too good, and you slide the hand you had on top of his to grasp onto his fingers in a failed attempt to keep yourself grounded.

failed, because your actions have his other hand, his right hand flying down from your hip, cool thumb flicking over your throbbing nub and slightly cooler middle and ring fingers scissoring and sheathing themselves inside you.

you kick your feet against the mattress and gasp out when he finds that one shallow, sensitive spot that lies within your gummy walls, sending the tight coil in your stomach unravelling at full tilt sooner than you had wanted it to, “shou, p-please— cumming, ‘m cumming—!”

it’s a broken, drawn-out moan, and it travels straight to shouto’s cock as he grinds his crotch down into the mattress and hums, quirking his fingers faster and replacing his thumb with his lips.

he removes himself from you when your thighs begin to shake, turning you onto your back before hovering over you to lean down and take your lips in his. you feel him smirk against you after he pushes his way into your mouth, letting your cream spill from his tongue to yours, “see how sweet you taste, baby? gonna give me a cavity…”

you can only hum and lazily smile in agreement, chest heaving as your catch your breath. looking up at his muscular frame, you reach one hand out to trace your fingers down the lines of his sinewy torso until they arrive at the elastic waistband of his boxers, gently tugging his lower half against yours as you wrap your legs around his lithe waist for leverage, “wan’ you here…” you take his hand in yours and press his palm to your abdomen, “… please?”

his chest constricts at how sweetly you beg for him, your fingers tracing shapes on the back of his hand while you look up at him with dewy, bambi eyes.

“you’ll have me, angel… i’m yours— all yours, just as you are mine,” he hastily wipes your drying essence off his chin before leaning down to kiss you again— slowly and lovingly, running his thumb along your cheekbone to seal his promise.

you’re quick to spring into action, the both of you letting out a languid moan when you grind up along the outline of his cock, feeling the cool, sticky mess of his pre-cum seeping through the thin fabric of his boxers against your hot cunt.

shouto’s breath fans across your neck when he looks down, palming his cock briefly before pulling his boxers halfway down his thighs, shuddering at the cold air that sweeps from the open window over his leaking slit.

you marvel at how it twitches against his stomach, beads of pre-cum oozing out when he pumps the length a few times and runs a finger along the large vein on the underside; you know it as his most sensitive area.

using one hand, he angles your leg higher on his waist while he uses the other to guide the head of his cock to tap your swollen clit a few times, proceeding to then slide it in between your warm folds. he thumbs at his slit, coaxing more pre-cum out from it to lubricate you further as he struggles to push his red, bulbous head past the tight ring of muscle lining your entrance.

“y-you’re so much tighter… fuck—" it comes out as a strained groan when he manages to get half an inch inside you, fingers digging almost painfully into your waist.

you can only mewl out an apology in response and pull him in closer when your thighs tighten around his waist, a silent plea for him to fuck you.

“i know, honey, j-jus’ wait…” shouto takes a moment to draw his mind away from how your cunny sucks on his slit with every clamp down on it— knowing he would be sure to cum pre-maturely if he had spent any longer thinking about it.

with a low growl, he eases himself into your slick warmth— inch by agonizing inch— his girth brushing delicately against all the pleasure points that line your walls in a way that has your breath hitching in your throat and your hands flying up to grip onto his biceps. after what feels like an eternity, he finally sheathes his full length in you, head of his cock weighing down heavily on the sponge of your cervix.

it hurts— ever so slightly— the slow burn ripping through your core and down to your entrance, but shouto's kind enough to let you adjust to his size against what feels like your “virgin” walls. when he hears you let out a needy whimper, urging him to move, he begins to grind his hips down onto yours experimentally as he massages your cervix with his tip, groin simultaneously rubbing against your puffy nub in a way that ignites a fire in your stomach and has you writhing beneath him.

your noises are angelic— sweet, drawn-out moans of his name that ring in his head as his eyes roll back into his skull at the plush grip of your spongy walls— it has the muscles in his chest contracting and cock twitching inside of you almost frantically, in search of release.

after keeping his ministrations up for some time, he can tell you're almost to cum by how the sounds that leave your lips increase in volume and frequency, and he takes this as the perfect opportunity to pull back out of you almost fully and drive back into you with a harsh, erotic groan.

shouto stops for a moment to catch his breath, the grip of your gummy walls around him making him feel like he might cum with just another thrust alone. you’re incredibly tight, almost painfully so, and it has the fire in the pit of his stomach only burning brighter with each passing moment. he draws back and forth deep into you, knocking your cervix with every thrust as they progressively get faster and rougher.

"i- ahn, right there, right there- fuck!" your mind goes numb from how he abuses the most sensitive spot that lies within your walls, and you weakly claw at his back in search of purchase.

your words prompt shouto to hoist your legs up onto the tops of his broad shoulders, the new angle he's hitting you at making your jaw fall slack and back arch, chest pressed flush against his own as he leans down to swallow your cries, "t-that feel good, angel?”

"mhm— gonna cum—!” he knocks your cervix repeatedly, the velvety feel of his dick squishing up against it finally getting that coil in your stomach to snap loose. it sends you reeling, walls spasming around his length and your eyes squeezing shut while you ride out your wave of pleasure.

shouto thinks he’s going to cum too— he can tell by the way icy hot pleasure courses through his veins and into his palms when he subconsciously heats one of them up and cools the other one down. before he can fully process his actions, the words spill out from his lips as a begging request, “can i brand you, baby?

“mhm, y-yeah—please…” your sweaty palms land on top of the backs of his hands, pressing them further into the fat that wraps around your hips, “make me yours, wanna be your pretty girl forever ‘nd ever…”

and that he does.

with a breathless proclamation of his love, he manipulates the temperatures radiating from either palm to leave a faint burn mark on your right hip and frostbite on your left while he spills inside your womb, thrusts faltering when you clamp down around his length— the pleasured pain from his quirk tumbling you into another orgasm as you cream around his cock yet again.

but it’s not enough— the mass of arousal from the lust quirk still weighs down heavily on your abdomen, and your hands find shouto’s to intertwine your fingers with his.

holding them to your chest, you lazily open your eyes and look up to meet his heterochromatic ones, sighing happily when he reaches down to kiss away the tears that spill onto your cheeks, “one more?”

his cock stirs awake from its place within your walls at your tender plea, and he raises your hand to plant his lips over each knuckle, “of course, angel… as many more times as you want; i’ll be right here,” with a final kiss placed to the inside of your calf, shouto leans forward, folding you nearly in half while he nestles his cock deeper within you— so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb.

he slowly draws his hips back and forth; this time around made a little easier from his milky seed smeared against your walls, and he calculates his thrusts so that the fat head of his cock prods that one spongy, sensitive spot that has you keening against him and your fingers holding a vice grip around his larger hands.

your silken walls are quick to pulse around his length, breathless pants picking up their pace and whines of, ‘please, please, please!’ getting higher in pitch— the sweet noises reminiscent of those that you made when you came around his length not five minutes ago.

shouto frees a hand from your grasp, moving it up to cup your face as he kisses you deeply, muffling your shaky cries with his low groans, “that’s it— let go, baby,” his voice is silky and saccharine on your lips, and it, along with a final nudge of his cock against the deepest pleasure point inside you, sends you toppling into a third orgasm— this time stronger than the past few as overstimulation settles in your bones.

you’re shaking profusely under him, body wracked with trembles— and the only thing you can bring yourself to do is mindlessly babble against his skin while you cream around his cock, “i love you, i love you, i love you—!”

“f-fuck, i love you too— s-so much,” shouto lets out a guttural groan at your proclamation, the words travelling straight to the fire in the pit of his stomach as he buries his face in your neck and spills inside your womb—creamy seed sloshing around your walls to paint them an opaque, milky white.

he jerks slightly on top of you, jolts of intense euphoria shooting through his limbs— but before he can catch his breath, shouto’s leaning down to swirl his tongue over your nipples after another meek whimper of, ‘one more?’ falls onto his heeding ears.

one more time turns into three more times turns into more times than shouto can count—it’s been nearly six hours since he’s arrived home and the sun’s begun to set now; it shines down on your body from the open windows of your bedroom and casts a warm orange glow over your skin. if shouto weren’t so focused on engraving the sloppy mess of his cum and your cream coating the base of his cock and groin into his brain, he’d be looking deep into your eyes, admiring the way they twinkle and glow a few shades lighter under the setting sun.

but he’s far too gone for that now, his hips slapping erratically against the backs of your thighs while your legs tremble atop his broad shoulders— cum gushing out of your worn cunny and dribbling down your skin to soak the bed sheets with every hasty thrust.

the air is thick with the smell of sex and lewd sounds of your shared moans as you cum around his cock for the sixth time that day— an additional two times on his tongue and fingers.

this was too much, even for a man with his stamina— filling you up with his hot seed nearly enough times to count on both his hands— yet he can’t find it within himself to stop; not with your angelic mewls, not with the way your nails scratch red wings onto his back, not with how the wet walls of your cunny suck him in— it all sends him spiraling as he chases high after high after high.

shouto’s convinced he’s shooting blanks inside you at this point, cock beat and overstimulated, veins protruding from his biceps as the sweaty hold he has on the headboard only gets tighter. he’s uncharacteristically talkative in this state, too— stuttering and hiccupping on words that spew from his lips almost nonsensically, “b-baby, oh, god— so s-sensitive— you’re so fucking b-beautiful— h-hah, fuck—"

he continues to rut uncontrollably into your sopping cunny, unable to think straight— but he can tell he’s almost done for. his arms are trembling from holding up his weight for the past few hours, two-toned hair wet against his forehead and sweat dripping down his body onto yours. you’re spent too— he can sense it in the way your high-pitched whines of his name turn to incoherent babbles and how your hands fall limp from his back to grip at the silk sheets.

with one last push, he slows down his thrusts, angling them so that the head of his cock fits in between the opening of your cervix, thumb tiredly massaging circles into your near numb clit as you fall into a final orgasm.

your heels dig into his shoulder blades, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him away when you feel an unfamiliar hot streak rip through your abdomen and down your limbs, body breaking into trembles as your back arches off the bed and your hands weakly clasp at the edges of the pillow your head lay on, “f-feels funny, shou— ‘m gonna—!”

“‘s alright, b-baby—oh, f- fuck— m-me too,” and with a quick snap of his hips forward, shouto fills you to the hilt with his length, cock twitching frantically against your pulsating walls as he empties himself inside you one last time, teeth clenched to suppress a wanton groan when he feels a thick gush of your arousal spray all over his abdomen.

his limbs give out from under him, and he lowers himself down gently onto you before rolling over onto his back and cradling your head in the crook of his neck, his other hand pressing your chest flush against his.

you feel each other’s heartbeats like this, and you share a tired laugh when shouto’s cock softens and slips out of you, the cum he’s plugged you up with slowly following suit as it leaks out onto the already soaked, taut skin of his tummy. you lay together in the remnants of your arousals, too blissed out to be bothered by the messiness of it all.

shouto speaks up first after he catches his breath, voice raspier than usual from overexerting it in the hours prior, “you had me worried, y’know… thought someone had broken in, or something.”

“‘m sorry…” you lay slow kisses over the expanse of his chest apologetically, shyly smiling when you realize he’s tracing hearts into your back with his finger, “i tried taking care of it myself, but it’s jus’ not the same without you.”

warmth floods his chest at your words, and he leans his head down to place his lips firmly on the crown of your head, “i’m glad you called— that was… amazing.”

“maybe i should get my co-worker to accidentally hit me with her lust quirk more often,” you smirk up at him mischievously, poking his cheek when he returns your look with fake incredulity.

“and keep me from doing hero work?”

“you would be doing hero work; rescuing a poor civilian who got hit with a lust quirk, helping them tough it out…”

he only responds with a cheeky hum as he glides his tongue over his top row of teeth, to which you scoff incredulously.

“what— would you rather i call someone else instead the next time this happens? what if i called baku—”

“alright, alright, i get it,” shouto interrupts you before you have a chance to finish your statement, laughing heartily as he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost protectively— and runs a heated finger up and down the groove of your spine.

you lay in comfortable silence a tad longer— watching the sun set and the moon rise, listening to the singing of the birds as it dwindles off into the chirps of the crickets.

shouto opens his mouth to ask about getting you cleaned up, only to shut it just as fast when he notices you passed out, little snores pushing past the part of your lips where drool dribbles onto his chest. he smiles down at you with adoration and stars dancing around in his eyes at how sweet— how innocent you look like this— his beautiful girl.

taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his lips to plant kisses over your palm and fingertips— silent vows of protecting you and keeping you out of harm’s way for as long as he lives. and then, his fingers find your hips, rubbing soothing circles over your slightly burnt skin from when he had branded you in the hours prior— a symbol of your love, and how you belonged to him and he belonged to you.

tags : @izu-fi @dekuphilia @koucaine @crybunnysimp @murr-supremacy @httphimitsu @yourlocalmoon-lover @flamefoxx @onyxsumi @haironi @lilkiwikiara @gratefulstranger @satoris-fingers @taijuwu @jolynegf @yougivemeglobalwarming @xforever-yoursx @rottenshroom @hirachan @prettybitchfatwitch @little-miss-chaoss @theferaldarling @babydollxa @getosbunny @msundefinedperfection @yex1298 @itachislut @fictitiouslover @sav-21 @aimingway @babietopia @urkittycat @entimbed @hyoika @atsumeii @katsoon @pan-cakez

thanx for reading ily ! rbs + comments are so appreciated :] !

no one ever mentions how spam reblogging is hard work

alpha!bakugou x omega!female!reader • "where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

bakugou x female!reader • pussy slapping

izuku hc • after a night of drinking

ceo!natsuo x female!reader • thigh riding

TBA

OMG PLEASE PLEASE CHECK OUT THEIR BLOG ITS SO GOOD AND ORGANIZED AND AHHH

my hero academia love languages giving + receiving

part 2 characters: denki kaminari, hanta sero, tamaki amajiki, hitoshi shinso , shota aizawa, keigo takami

denki kaminari

giving- physical touch and acts of service

i see denki as a very touchy person

and he’s been shows to do things for the people he cares about often like charging their phones and such

he will do his best to help you with whatever he can, college work not so much, but he still tries!

he’ll grab your favorite candy because you told him you had a bad day

he’ll scratch your head and give you massages if your stressed

he’ll try, key word try, to make you food but it’s normally burned or under cooked, but it’s the thought that counts

he loves to just hold you while you do college assignments, or work, or even a hobby

he feels as though he’s showing that he loves you even when your busy

he never wants you to forget that he loves you

receiving- physical touch with a sprinkle of words of affirmation

he likes to be touched

it makes him happy that you like to touch him, it makes him feel special

he likes being close to you and he loves when you compliment him while your cuddling

he’s not very insecure overall but like every human being he has his moments

moments where he feels stupid or like he could never measure up to other heros because he still struggles with controlling his ability at times

and you’re always there to make him feel better and to remind him that he’s loved

he likes to call you his charger charger because he’s the charger and you charge him with your touches and compliments

it gives him energy and motivation

Keep reading

Yall dont understand how much I love this series I JUST WANT THEM TO BE TOGETHERRR

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫  

part one | part two

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie. 

Toddlers like cookies, right?

He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time. 

He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.

You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird? 

"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue. 

You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying. 

"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one." 

He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past. 

He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour." 

You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."  

You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.

Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking. 

It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!" 

He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening." 

"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her. 

"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?" 

"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf." 

"I brought cookies." 

"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets. 

Your bravado makes him laugh. 

He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one. 

Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting. 

He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout." 

"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something. 

Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you. 

"She loves the floor,” he says.

"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch." 

"Yeah? What's the tab?" 

"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed." 

"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies." 

"I think those might help me out." 

After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos. 

"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks. 

Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them." 

"I'll bring chocolate chip next time." 

You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever." 

"I like sugar." 

You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends. 

He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.

Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?" 

You pass it to him. 

"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip. 

"You don't think it looks cruel?" 

"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?" 

"How many babies do you know?" 

"One." 

You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it." 

Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies. 

He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it. 

When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"

He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite. 

"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done. 

Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh. 

She has to like Oreos. They're a staple. 

"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it." 

She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze. 

"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely. 

Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite. 

"Yummy?" you ask.

She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.

You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.

"Do they taste like you remember?" 

You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively. 

"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together. 

One oreo, twice the cream.

You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh. 

You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another. 

"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them." 

"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies. 

"Oh." 

You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure. 

He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure. 

Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught. 

You could ruin them completely for all he cares. 

Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.

“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie. 

Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do. 

“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks. 

You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”

He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”

You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over. 

“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”

He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?

“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish. 

“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?” 

He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?

“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise. 

“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”

“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain. 

He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip. 

There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him. 

“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?

Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.” 

“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”

“What?” he asks. 

“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”

“Are you saying my head is made of wood?” 

Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended. 

When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click. 

He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.

"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?" 

He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles. 

"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?" 

Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?" 

What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm. 

Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.

"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father." 

You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.

He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this." 

Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom. 

He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world." 

Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!" 

-

You're clinging to sanity. 

It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic. 

Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress. 

You're terrified. 

You've found yourself in tears, too. 

"Just tell me, baby," you plead. 

It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital. 

You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.

He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack. 

"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.

There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt. 

"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books. 

You take a ragged breath. 

"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?" 

Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say. 

"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer. 

You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over. 

"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown. 

"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything." 

"She was like this when you picked her up?" 

You nod. 

He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.

"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise. 

He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe." 

"Yeah." 

Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen. 

His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in. 

You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it? 

Eddie stands by your side, waiting.

“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."

You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock. 

You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood 

You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe. 

"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.

Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?" 

"Yeah. A hair." 

A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer. 

"Stay there," you say without any explanation. 

You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees. 

You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear. 

You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.

"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.

"A hair remover." 

You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit. 

"How long does it take?"

"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital." 

Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.

Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues. 

The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.

You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks. 

You take the hair between your nails and pull.

"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you. 

Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen. 

You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully. 

"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out." 

"I don't feel well." 

"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."  

You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?" 

"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself. 

After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see. 

Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know." 

You're trying very hard to calm down.

"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right." 

He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it. 

You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.

She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest. 

Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this." 

"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.

"Maybe. Does it matter?" 

"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically. 

Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it." 

You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to. 

"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears. 

Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching. 

"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.  

"Don't be." 

"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own." 

"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.

"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth. 

His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring. 

"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.

"I got so freaked out, I just…"  You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.

Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh. 

You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"

"No.” Your chest burns.

"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast." 

Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum. 

Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now. 

You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears. 

"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today. 

"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want." 

"Do I look that bad?" 

"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."

You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.

Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can. 

"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas. 

Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss. 

"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel. 

"No socks," she agrees. 

Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world. 

Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence. 

Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm. 

"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk. 

She sighs. You sigh too. 

Eddie hums from the kitchen. 

He kissed my knee.

You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.

"I think he likes me," you tell Junie. 

She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion. 

"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers. 

You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird." 

"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot. 

Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices. 

"You can cook," you say, surprised. 

"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross." 

"I doubt it's gross." 

You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.

"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon. 

It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained. 

He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.

"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look." 

"So don't look. Eat." 

You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.

He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?

He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth. 

-

“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater. 

Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh." 

On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin. 

You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows. 

Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head. 

Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson. 

You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful. 

Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it. 

“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you. 

Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.

“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”

“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.

He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.

“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe. 

You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”

“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company. 

He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no. 

“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest. 

“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to. 

He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.

It's embarrassing in its intensity. 

You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes. 

He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about." 

He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible. 

“If you’re sure,” you say. 

“Positive.”

-

Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him. 

He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly. 

“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks. 

You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty. 

Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing. 

Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you. 

You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek. 

You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin. 

You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings. 

“I’m great.”

He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?” 

You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware. 

“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie. 

“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”

You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn. 

Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily. 

One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.

Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter. 

"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask. 

She looks at you curiously. 

You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy." 

A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile. 

Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.

"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring. 

He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip. 

He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently. 

"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut. 

She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring. 

You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair. 

"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye." 

Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off. 

If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement. 

“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.

“Eddie.”

“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”

“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”

He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”

You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”

“You first. Where’re her shoes?” 

You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge. 

-

“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.

The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride. 

“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour. 

He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist. 

You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said. 

I don’t want to carry it, you’d said. 

Don’t patronise me.

You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare. 

“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain.  “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“

“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud. 

“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real. 

He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”

You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”

“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”

You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”

He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”

You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore. 

Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away. 

You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly. 

“What?” he asks. 

"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”

“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.

“Is there a way around?”

“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”

“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”

He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”

Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot. 

“Maybe we should find another way.”

“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”

You blow air out of the side of your mouth. 

Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”

You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress. 

You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.

He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”

You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real. 

“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms. 

“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”

“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.” 

Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs. 

You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically. 

“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek. 

She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like. 

“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”

He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same. 

She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging. 

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”

You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”

“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely. 

You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”

He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”

“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect. 

“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”

You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh. 

Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric. 

You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.

He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”

“No. I don’t deny it.”

“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”

You nod happily, warm under his touch.

Wait. “What?”

“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly. 

“Eddie!”

“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion. 

“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko." 

“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you. 

You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same. 

“Can I get in on one of those?”

You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”

“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.

Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion. 

He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore." 

"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."

"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially. 

"Whatever it's called." 

He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need. 

"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow. 

"If you're sure…" you say, following him in

The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow." 

"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook. 

You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed. 

Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes. 

Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves. 

You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both. 

"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately. 

You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page. 

Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book. 

The further you read the closer he gets.

Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters. 

"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy." 

Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her. 

She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. . 

"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh. 

He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet. 

-

"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later. 

Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat. 

“And they were awesome."

“Eddie,” you complain softly. 

He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers. 

You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”

“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky. 

“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”

“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks. 

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”

Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag. 

He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.  

“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours. 

Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.

Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin. 

When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.

"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly. 

Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts. 

After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand. 

"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process. 

Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly. 

Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?" 

You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say.. 

"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls." 

It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway, 

-

When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle. 

Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile. 

And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart. 

You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why. 

"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return. 

He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs. 

"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting. 

"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?" 

"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose. 

He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside. 

It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?" 

"Okay," she says. 

"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you." 

You kiss her cheek. 

Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe." 

Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"

Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds. 

"Grand," Eddie praises. 

"What did you want to come here for?" 

He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there." 

'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys. 

"Why'd they have so many?" 

Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."

"So these are knock-offs?" 

"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though." 

He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side. 

You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time. 

Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck." 

He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit." 

"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck. 

"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new. 

It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more." 

"Who's that?" 

You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her." 

"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.

You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?" 

"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you. 

"It would be sick, if you liked them." 

He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap." 

You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully. 

"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?" 

It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt. 

"You want?" he asks. 

You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents." 

He gasps. "What?" 

"I can afford that one myself." 

He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?" 

"They won't." 

"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match." 

Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick. 

You see your saving grace across the way. 

"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?" 

Junie perks up. 

"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage. 

"What?" she asks. 

"I saw… teddies!" 

"Mr. Bear?" she asks. 

You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?" 

She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.

Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.

She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games. 

"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe. 

"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.

You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her." 

He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness. 

"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says. 

"And if she gets dermatitis?" 

His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."

"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash." 

"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath." 

You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly. 

"Shit, really?"

You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk." 

"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved." 

Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away. 

You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose. 

You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other. 

After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two. 

Best day ever. 

"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies." 

Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever. 

She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.

You can't afford all three. 

You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one." 

"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you." 

"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock." 

It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen. 

"Eddie," you say again, quietly. 

He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to." 

"Really?" 

"Only for the rabbit." 

You purse your lips to fight a smile. 

Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything. 

"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear. 

"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"

You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder." 

-

Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest. 

"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide. 

Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?" 

"A rash." 

"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.

You laugh. "Poor baby." 

"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.

"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out." 

"He thought you were hurting yourself?" 

"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."

"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens. 

You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar. 

"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom." 

"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer. 

"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet." 

You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have. 

"You are pretty funny," you say.

"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me." 

You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming." 

"Yeah, you should've." 

Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand. 

"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly. 

"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper. 

You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller. 

You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?" 

"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out. 

He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush. 

He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?" 

You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline. 

"You want me to drive?" you ask. 

"No, sweetheart. You're good." 

You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.

"Eddie…" 

You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap. 

He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen. 

You waver. 

"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark." 

You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you. 

"I'll crawl." 

You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively. 

Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh." 

"Crawling," he murmurs smugly. 

The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home. 

The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open. 

Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way. 

"Eddie," you start. 

"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again." 

You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.

"Now you're getting it." 

He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with. 

You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you. 

Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily. 

You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour? 

I didn't force him. He likes me. 

He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.

He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."  

You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask. 

"Of course you can." 

You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows. 

"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles. 

"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."

"Eager to get back?" 

"Eager as a cry for life. Try it." 

"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask. 

"I'll try that one after you." 

You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite. 

"Leave some for me." 

"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here." 

He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite. 

He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?" 

"I think so." 

"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one." 

"What?" 

"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside." 

"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?" 

"A long time ago." 

You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly. 

He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure. 

You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!" 

"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next." 

"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!" 

You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed. 

You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy. 

"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror. 

"Cake?" she asks. 

"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you." 

You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo. 

"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement. 

"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.

There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite. 

"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her. 

"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs. 

Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it. 

"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?" 

You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites. 

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