Can I Be Added To Your Taglist 🥺

"Are You Listening?"

Part Two: "The Breakdown"

Characters: Rio x Black!Reader.

Summary: It's part two, so I’m not tellin’🙈😏!

Warnings: You’re about to experience a plethora of emotions. Profanity, you all know I got a mouthpiece on me, especially when I’m passionate 😂. There is a brief mention of fertility troubles.

Word Count: 5,000+.

A/N: I just wanted to thank my lovelies again for showing this story so much love. I had no idea people would love it this much. Thank you for all the sweet, hilarious comments and asks💓. I hope you all enjoy the roller coaster you’re about to take a ride on 😂😏😈.

Read Part One Here.

Inspired By:

“Listen, no more talkin’. That clown had enough time to come up with all of it. Find his ass, let him know all my money better be ready by the close of business tomorrow. If not, he’ll be a dead man walking.”

Mick took his orders and turned to leave. Rio stopped him before he could turn the knob on his office door. 

“Take those other two useless idiots with you. Everybody else can get back to work. I’m not paying them to stand around looking stupid,” Rio snapped.

Waiting for Mick to leave, he swaggered back to his chair. He plopped down, plucking his glass off the table, gulping the amber-colored liquid. Rio was on his third drink of the night. Slamming the empty whiskey tumbler on his desk, he leaned his head back, running his hand down his face. Alone in his office, wallowing in self-pity. Rio stared at his phone as he contemplated sending another text or calling you again. Thinking about how you had left him on read and sent him to voicemail was eating at him.

“Can’t Keep On Loving You One Foot Outside The Door.”

-Brandy.

Glancing at his iPhone, he mumbled, “fuck it.” Snatching up the cell phone, he tried your number. Ringing twice, it went straight to voicemail. With the sound of the beep, he pleaded his case.

“Come on, ma. Answer my call. Y/N, hear me out. You got this all wrong. Please talk to me.  I’m worried about you, baby. I need to know you’re safe. Call me back.”

“Can’t Keep On Trying If You’re Looking For More.”

-Brandy.

He’d started to tell you that he missed and loved you. The thought quickly pushed out of his mind. He closed off his feelings and left the message as is. Ending the call, Rio Tossed the phone down, making his way to the liquor cabinet. Pouring another drink, he made his way back to his seat. Elbows propped on the oak desk, Rio placed his head in his hands. Trying to rub the stress and tension away, he massaged his temples as the last conversation between you two replayed in his mind.

Four Days Ago

Rio had called your phone twice, but it went unanswered. He figured he had stayed out too late, and you had turned in for the night. His mind kept replaying images of him taking you apart. In all honesty, he was hoping that he could wake you once he made it home. Rio was in the mood for another round. He had been missing the feeling of you, tightly wrapped around him. He mentally cursed himself for being so busy that both of your needs had gone unsatisfied for so long. Taking a break just hadn't been in the cards lately. All his rivals had been itching to take over his business. One wrong move and everything he worked so hard for could be gone. They were starting to play dirty, going as far as to try and harm you. He had spent the past several months sending warnings throughout other territories. The warning? Touch my wife, and I’ll make your whole family feel it. He brushed all that from his mind as he pulled into the driveway. Having been up for nearly two days, Rio didn’t bother parking in the garage. All he wanted to do was shower and lay up under you.

“Every Time You Build Me Up, You Only Let Me Down.”

-Brandy.

Entering the house, he quickly keyed the code into the security system. He noticed that there were still dishes on the dining room floor. Flipping the lights on, he strolled into the kitchen to retrieve a broom and dustpan from the pantry. An envelope lying atop the counter caught his eye.

“I left a note in the hallway. By the time you read it, I’ll be far away.”

-Beyoncé.

“Christopher” was written in bold letters in your handwriting. The words “Hope it was worth it” were printed underneath. Next to it, we’re your engagement ring and wedding band. Rio's eyebrows furrowed, and it felt like his heart stopped beating. He convinced himself that this had to be some kind of joke. He snatched the envelope from the marbled countertop, spinning on heels. He made his way through the house and bolted up the stairs, climbing them two at a time. He froze halfway in the middle of the hallway leading to your bedroom. With the door wide open, he could see broken glass on the floor. He forced himself to make the rest of the journey. Rio entered the room. Hangers were strewn all over the place. Your drawers were left open, and the comforter was slung backward on the king-sized bed.

“What the fuck?”

He knew you weren’t there, but Rio called out for you, hoping he was wrong.

“Y/N?”

Left unanswered, he stepped over all the broken picture frames that once housed your wedding photos. All those memories were mixed in the broken glass on the floor. Dropping down onto the foot of the bed, he instructed Alexa to turn on the remaining lights. Ripping open the Manila envelope, he pulled out several large print photos and a note. His eyes scanned the message.

“Almost Convinced Me Your Gonna Stick Around, But Everybody Knows Almost Doesn’t Count.”

-Brandy.

“May you regret every single fucking time you decided to play with my heart. I must say, I have to applaud you for such a great performance. Here a bitch thought you were committed and holding me down. Come to find out, you been lying this whole time. It was all just a great fucking performance. Why not lie and pretend? You were living it up, having your cake and eating it too. Congratulations, by the way. Tell red she might want to keep her day job. I plan to empty your fucking pockets before the ink can dry on the divorce papers. I never wanted to be this kind of woman. Since you want to play with my heart, I’m going to play with the thing that matters most to you, money. I hope you liked the photos. They sure did shock the fuck out of me. They're the only thing saving you and your bitch from getting lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Haven’t I always told you not to play with me? Bitch, I am not one of them dusty ass hoes you used to fuck with.”

-your heartbroken, savage, and soon-to-be ex-wife.

Rio sat there with anger and confusion written on his face. What the fuck is going on? He thought to himself. Rio tossed the note aside and snatched up the photos you mentioned. His face fell, and it became clear why you left in the middle of the night. You had printed out copies of the text and photos you received earlier that night. He couldn’t make out whose number it was. There was no way you were sticking around after seeing these.

“Fuck,” he shouted, flinging the photos across the room. He bent forward, resting his elbows on his lap. His hands crossed and settled under his chin as he sat there furious.

“How the fuck…who the fuck?” Quickly realizing who might be capable of sending you such bullshit, he growled, “I’ma kill this bitch. Better count her fucking days. As if I didn’t have enough reason to take her out already.”

Rio dug his cell out of his pocket and frantically dialed your number. His calls went to voicemail several times before you finally gave in and answered.

“What, Rio,” you barked.

“Where are you? Come home so we can talk-.”

“Talk? Now you want to talk? Fuck that and fuck you, Rio,” you retorted as your voice started to crack.

His heart ached to hear the pain in your voice. He sensed that you had been crying.

“Y/N, please. You don’t understand. Please, ma. Come back to the house.”

“No! I’m not coming home, don’t look for me.”

“Don’t look for you? You’re my wife! What the fuck do you think this is? You can’t just up and walk out on me.”

“Don’t even try to play the proud husband card. You don’t care about me. Do you even understand the damage you’ve caused? You broke me, Christopher. My heart feels like it’s in a million pieces. I loved you more than my own life,” you sobbed.

“Baby, please don’t cry. Can you please just pull over and talk to me? I don’t want anything to happen to you. Just please pull over.”

“I’m pulling over. Hear me loud and clear I’m not coming back to that house. I’m done with you, Rio. The last thing you should want me to do is to come home. Did you forget that I have a gun?”

“No! Come home, damn it! Hear what I have to say. If you still want to leave after, I won’t stop you. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you, mama, please.”

“This isn’t going to be fixed. You’ve ruined this for good now. I’m beginning to wonder if any of it was real. Thinking of how many lies you’ve told sends chills throughout my body. Who are you? You’re not the man I thought you were. Ain’t no coming back from this,” you cried.

“I’m trying to get you to understand that it’s not what you think it is. Fuck, mama! Just listen to me.”

“What can you possibly say to justify those pictures? You were super fucking cozy with that red-headed bitch! How can you explain the damn ultrasound pictures, Rio? Those photos are the only thing saving your lives right now! That baby won’t be inside her forever, though. I’ma catch that bitch when the baby drops. It’s one thing to cheat on me, but you knocked this desperate housewife-looking-ass bitch up! You gave her the one thing I’d been hoping and praying on. Tell me, is it because of the miscarriage last year? Is that why you stepped outside the marriage? Am I not good enough? Was I not a good wife? A good bonus-mom to Marcus? Tell me what I did to deserve this foul-ass shit,” you questioned as your voice continued to crack.

At this point, you were bawling so hard it made it difficult to breathe. Rio hung his head as he pleaded with you to take a moment to catch your breath. The only thing he could do was apologize, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, mama.” Over and over again. “I wish you would believe me when I tell you things aren’t what they appear to be, but I know all the odds stacked against me. Not with these photos. Nothing I say is going to change your mind. All I can do is tell you I’m sorry this is happening.” For the first time since Marcus was born, his eyes became glossy as he fought the urge to shed a tear.

The line went quiet for the longest fifteen minutes. Rio was relieved to hear you finally take a deep breath. Your voice was scratchy and raw. You no longer wanted to listen to his broken promises and lies as you spoke with finality.

“I hope you know just how much I loved you. I pray that you know how much I’ll always love you, but this is something I can’t get past,” you whispered. “Never did I think I could hate and love you this much.”

Not interested in giving Rio another moment to waste your time, you ended the call. Knowing how his mind worked, you turned off the location on your phone. You knew he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Taking a few moments to pull yourself together, you dried your eyes and continued your journey. You headed to the place you hoped he wouldn’t think to look for you.

Having no control of the situation, Rio was becoming more desperate to find you. You were out there, all by yourself. No one was watching over and keeping you safe. He had no one to blame but himself. All this was happening on account of his actions. If only he could find you and get you to listen. Even if that were to occur, how could he get you to understand what was happening? In all honesty, even if he were to explain it, there would still be repercussions. Sadly, in a twisted way, he had fucked up.

Rio had checked your location before the call had ended that night. He spent hours trying to find you, but even with the help of his crew, the search was unsuccessful. It was back to the grind that morning, resuming the search after wrapping up any urgent business matters. Rio tried everything he could think to do. He had one of his men trying to track the GPS on your truck. Only you were a step ahead of him. They had found your vehicle parked at your best friend's house. Y/B/N came stomping outside, lashing out at Rio for breaking your heart. The two of them had exchanged a few harsh words. He bit the bullet and called his mother-in-law. The only thing that had come of that experience was a heated exchange between Rio, your father, and two older brothers. Realizing no one wanted to give him any information, Rio focused on your checking activity. He looked to see if you had used your bank or credit cards. He damn near blew a vein when he saw you’d made a large cash withdrawal. It was enough money to keep from having to use your cards. He had no idea if you’d hopped on a plane. If you had gotten a rental and we’re driving across the country. Three of your close friends each lived in a different state. You could’ve been anywhere by now.

The past four days consisted of long sleepless nights and endless searching. Not knowing how else to find you, Rio decided to deal with something else that needed handling. Pushing away from his workspace, he threw back the rest of his drink. Setting the empty glass on the table, he exited his office. Mick had returned from his errand and met up with Rio in the parking lot. He could tell that his boss was running off very little sleep. Mick could sense that Rio had been drinking dark liquor and knew it was on an empty stomach. Pure anger and rage were evident on Rio’s face and in his eyes. Which only meant one thing. Rio pulled out his weapon, checking the weight and safety.

“I think you should let me drive, boss. I’ll keep an eye on things from the car.”

The gesture was one of the many reasons Mick was his go-to. He never had to explain anything, and Mick was a certified trained-to-go shooter. They hopped into the car and sped off towards their destination. It was time for Rio to get some answers. Someone was going to pay for being dumb enough to send that text and those photos. There was only one person he could think of that would be that damn stupid. Surely she knew this little stunt would be the end of her. He just wanted to know what exactly she was trying to prove.

Rio was halfway out of the car before Mick could finish parking. She had mentioned some sob stories about her husband taking the kids out of town, which meant she was home alone. He had found her lights out on the couch with an empty tequila bottle sprawled out on the coffee table. Seeing her sleep so peacefully pissed him off. Here she was getting a nice rest while he had gone the last four days without sleep on account of her, or so he thought. His anger bubbled to the surface. Rio lunged toward her, yanking her by the hair and pulling her into a seated position.

“We need to have a little chat, Elizabeth,” his voice was cold and calculated.

Still not fully awake and a little drunk, Beth blinked a few times. Her eyes were like giant saucers when her brain fully registered what was happening.

“R-Rio, what are you doing here? What is happening? You’re hurting me.”

“Trust me. It’s going to hurt a lot more, Elizabeth. You’ve been pretty busy, haven’t you?”

“I have? W-what are you talking about?”

“You seriously want to play stupid? Come on, ma. That’s only going to make it worse. Why’d you send it?”

“Send what, Rio?”

He pressed the gun into her chin harder. His eyes were dark as his jaw ticked.

“The text? The pictures of the ultrasound? You’re lucky you got pregnant just in time to spare your life. I’m confused as to why you took it upon yourself to share this information with my wife. What’s it to do with her?”

Rio's face fell at the sight of the confusion in Elizabeth’s eyes. She was telling the truth. Beth was clueless about the entire ordeal. If she wasn’t the one that sent them, who did? Her eyes filled with tears as she was shaking. He could see her playing their conversation back in her mind, trying to comprehend what he was saying. He removed the gun from under her chin, putting it back on safety.

“I can see from your reaction that it wasn’t you. You’re still not completely off the hook. There’s a chance that one of your ditzy friends is responsible, maybe that bitter husband of yours. Someone that knows you did it. When I find out, and trust me, I will. We’ll circle back to this moment, yeah?” Rio’s signature crooked smile played on his lips as he tapped her cheek with the barrel of his gun. You're going to help me figure this shit out. Better find a way to get that beautiful wife of mine to return to me safe and sound. If you don't, all three of you bitches gon’ feel it. Get some rest, ma. You got a lot of work to get to tomorrow, yeah?” He stood straightening his shirt and tucking his gun in his jeans. Beth hadn’t said another word and continued to stare at him in fear. Rio brushed the hair from her face and eerily stated, “sweet dreams, darlin’.” With that, he made his departure.

Rio had Mick take him home. Not sleeping and running off of alcohol had taken its toll. He managed to eat half a bowl of ramen before dumping the rest. After taking a quick shower, he got into bed. Though his eyes were heavy, sleep evaded him. Rio’s brain was preoccupied with thoughts of you. He wondered where you were and If you were doing okay. He was also racking his brain, trying to figure out who outside Beth would be ignorant enough to blow up his life. Reaching for his mobile device, he made one last attempt to call you for the night. It went straight to voicemail, and Rio slammed his phone on the nightstand. Almost immediately, a notification came through. It was a text from Marcus’ mom reminding him to pick him up from practice. Guilt and stress coursed through his body. Rio had to prepare for the sadness your absence would cause in his son's life. How could he explain that he was the reason behind your abrupt departure? Marcus loved you just as much as Rio. Unable to fight the exhaustion, his thoughts led him into a slumber.

The conversation about your absence had been difficult, and Marcus handled it as best he could. Rio had explained to his baby boy that although you left, it had nothing to do with him. He clarified that it wouldn’t change the love you two had for him.

“So is she never coming back, dad?”

The sadness in Marcus' voice nearly gutted Rio.

“I honestly can’t say, but this is all on me. I should’ve handled ma’s heart better. I could’ve tried harder to protect her from outside influences. I just want you to know that she didn’t leave you. She needs time apart from me to think. I’m doing my best to fix it, little man.”

“Do you still love her, dad?”

“Of course I do. Always will.”

Marcus smiled at his father and walked over to him. He gave Rio a tight hug.

“Hope that makes you feel better.”

Rio hugged his son back, kissing the top of his head, “it does, baby boy. Thank you.”

“Hey, dad, would it be okay to call mama Y/N sometime?”

That very question had been like a spark of hope for Rio. You had been ignoring his calls, but he knew you would never refuse Marcus’ precious face. Rio knew it would only make you angrier, but it was the only way he could get you to talk to him.

“She wouldn’t mind at all. She’d probably love to hear from you right now.”

Marcus sped off to retrieve the phone Rio and Rhea (his mom) had gifted him on his last birthday. He ran to the couch, phone in hand, and bounced onto the cushions. Marcus excitedly sent you a FaceTime request. As it rang, the sweet boy crawled onto his dad’s lap to wait for an answer. Only letting it ring twice, you accepted. Your eyes focused on Marcus, and you completely ignored Rio.

“Hi, my sweet baby! I miss you so much, bud! How’s school and soccer going for you?”

“Pretty good. I scored two goals in practice today!”

“That’s awesome. Listen, sweetie pie, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to kiss that cute handsome face goodbye. Hope you’re not too upset with me, my little love.”

You were doing your best to mask the pain in your voice, but Rio heard it as it made his stomach twist.

“That’s okay, ma. Dad told me you had to take some time to yourself. I’m going to miss you. I hope I see you soon.”

Marcus was on the same page as his father. He sneakily finished saying what he wanted and handed the phone to Rio. You could hear Marcus shout, “love you, ma! Gotta go do my homework. You should talk to daddy for a bit, please,” he begged. With that, the adorable little devil made his exit.

“I don’t have shit to say to you. That’s pretty fucked up for you to use Marcus to force me to speak with you. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“You left me no choice, mama. When are you going to stop playing games and come home love?”

“You’re such a narcissist. Get the fuck off my line, Rio.”

“You can’t even take ten minutes to hear what I have to say?”

“He only want me when I’m not there. He better call Becky with the good hair.”

-Beyoncé.

“No, I cannot. It’s funny that you suddenly have so much time for me. Now that I’m not sitting around waiting on you and believing your lies. You’ve got all the time in the world. Fucking ass. Stop calling me,” you growled, ending the call.

At this point, Rio was starting to become agitated. He understood that he’d fucked up, but you weren’t even trying to have one final discussion about it all. Don’t bitches crave closure? There was so much more to the situation that you didn’t know. He wanted to explain everything, but you wouldn’t allow him to have even an ounce of your time. Rio took a moment to gather himself. Scooping his phone from the end table, he FaceTimed Mick.

“Yo?”

“She answered a FaceTime call from Marcus. We managed to get her to stay on long enough to take screen grabs. Find out if the screenshots can give any information on where the fuck my wife is. I’m not playing this cat and mouse shit anymore. Find her by any means necessary.”

“Got you. I’m on it, boss.”

Ending his call with Mick, he was startled by the doorbell. Glancing at the security camera left him confused. Rio approached the door, his hand behind his back, settling on the base of his gun. He opened the door, and his eyes fixated on a man dressed in slacks and a button-up. The stranger addressed Rio by his full name. He eyed the man cautiously, replying, “who wants to know? Do we know each other?” The man smiled, giving Rio a quick head nod. “You’ve been served.”

Rio barely had time to process what was happening. The papers were in his hand, and the process server was already in his vehicle, leaving by the time it clicked. He didn’t even have to look at them to know they were divorce papers. Not wanting to scare or upset Marcus, he closed the door softly. He did the only thing he could to release his anger with his son present. He went to his workout room and took all his frustrations out on his punching bag. Half an hour later and he was still so full of emotion. He took a swig of water before snapping and launching it across the room. Alone in his thoughts, he pressed his back against the wall and slid down. Burying his head in his hands, he tried his hardest not to spiral, but it was unsuccessful. Rio’s emotions bubbled over as he called you again. It rang once, going to voicemail.

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m giving up that easily. You can keep ignoring my calls but check this out. I’ll never stop looking for you. I can promise you that. Do us both a favor and just bring your beautiful ass home, ma. Sending me papers, I am not Usher, sweetheart, I ain’t ready to sign shit. Never will be. You are my wife. We in this thing for life, baby. I thought you knew. I know it’s hard for you to believe right now, but I fucking love you, mama. How you groan and complain about my lack of communication, yet here you are doing exactly that. Get your head on straight. As soon as daddy can figure it out, I’m coming to get you, darlin’.” Ending the call, he went to do a little searching of his own.

You had only been at your destination for a few hours. Not only had it been a long drive, but being an emotional mess made it impossible to focus on the road. You had to stop to rest and force yourself to eat something. Every hotel you slept in was as low-key as you could get. Your last conversation with Rio had you constantly looking over your shoulder. The desperation and determination in his voice were too hard to ignore. You knew that he was on a mission to find you. That’s why you had spent longer than expected at the stop before. Your mind flickered back to the previous night.

Holed up in the quaint little hotel room, you drowned your sorrows in a bottle of Casamigos. You Swallowed a copious amount of alcohol as your face scrunched at the burning sensation in your chest. You sat on the bed, legs folded with your MacBook in your lap. Fingertips furiously pecked at the keys as you filed for separation. Summer Walker’s “Throw It Away” flowed through the speakers. Earlier, your best friend had called you while driving to check in on you. She had done a little research after you had adamantly declared you wanted to end your marriage. Your friend felt that you were being impulsive. She had taken it upon herself to explain that you could file online. Halfway through the conversation, Y/B/N convinced you to file for a separation. She argued that you didn’t know the whole story, and you agreed. Filling out the proper documents lasted a while. Having completed your task, you took one last swig of liquor and curled into a ball, crying yourself to sleep.

Sitting at the counter of a cute little diner, you listened to the last message your soon-to-be ex-husband left you. Rio’s voicemail made you so angry that your mouth formed a scowl. He was begging for a response, and that’s just what you gave him. Not giving him the satisfaction of calling him back, you opted to shoot him a biting text.

“If you had bothered to open the damn envelope, you’d know they’re separation papers. I was going to take time to clear my head and make a proper decision. Judging by your stalkerish, obsessive, possessive attitude, ain’t shit I need to think over. The papers you’re bitching about now? Go ahead and tear them up. New documents are on the way, my boy! Save us both the hassle and sign them whenever you fucking get them. No need to send a response. I won’t be responding to anything else you have to say. Let this be the LAST time we have to contact each other.”

Rio responded to your text with a photo. It was an image of the papers burning in the kitchen sink. “Did this as soon as I received them. Any other papers coming to this address will meet the same fate, my love.” You thought about responding but were interrupted by someone sliding into the stool next to you. Ignoring the unwanted lunch companion, you tried turning your focus back to your phone. Only the sound of the lunch companion’s voice sent a chill down your spine.

“I must say it’s odd bumping into you so far from home. What are you doing in California? Are you hiding from someone, darlin’?”

Yes, another cliffhanger. Sorry my babies, but I got to keep the suspense going 😜. I know, I ain’t shit 😆😈. Part three is in progress, but I’m working on several different WIP. Be patient with your girl. I hope this lived up to your expectations. It was a struggle to post part two. I tend to be overly critical of my work. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. Ask box is open as well💓.

Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics

Prompt Credit: @a-cure-for-writers-block

Tag list:

@4everbrookemarie @nightlywords7 @amorestevens @crimsonheart01 @rio-reid-whoreee @mrsmontanalol @igigix @keaboyd21 @blowmymbackout @my-rosegold-soul @uhlxis @abcdestinyyyy @hihellogoodbyebruh @sunshine-flower @lemmewritesomeish @catxo @naughtyslashers @realhotgurlshit @peaches007 @gardenof-venus @aizawash0e @minton131 @novaniskye @90sisthenew80s @cjricks98 @skyesthebomb @myownworstenemydw @lifeofthelovelyone @tashawar @gabbywontlose @kayla1blog @skelly-baby @adg1115 @blessedboo @fandomcitysstuff @drinaj @being-worthy @sxkxna @whore4-horror @elliesrealgf @pimpsdontcryy @batgurl42 @gotbeefbitch-blog @thedopestblackgirl @nunya7394 @midnightheat @pixieyosi @imjustheretoreads-blog

**Due to some of you guys' profile restrictions, I was unable to tag a few people.

Nobody told me trying to keep up with requests will be like trying to tickle yourself: impossible.  No really, try it it’s IMPOSSIBLE.  Tag List: @katscki, @libidinous-weeb

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. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

Rekha needs to be arrested for the amount of times she makes me weak in the knees with her writing

୧ • ୨ — cw: fem!reader. pussy eating + fingering. somno, but not exactly. overstimulation, implied multiple orgasms. ⠀⠀⠀⠀ . ｡˚ ♡ shinichiro wakes you up at 00:00 on the first of August, hungry for his birthday present.

"angel," the muffled, sleep-heavy rasp of shinichiro's voice coaxes you away from your sleep, and your eyes flutter open slowly as you feel the pull of his arms around your thighs.

"what—" your mouth opens to ask him if something's wrong, but what escapes your parted lips instead is a gasp of pleasure, when you feel his fingers pull at the folds of your pussy, your legs already spread and thrown over his shoulders as he leans in and places a chaste kiss right on your clit. "shin!"

"g'mornin', love." he mumbles, lips pressed to your cunt. the space between your legs feels slick, sticky — and you're not sure if that's just his tongue, or if he's been palming and playing with your body already, causing you to react to him unconsciously. "guess what day it is today?"

"'s y-your birthday." you mumble, eyes hazily searching for the clock on the table beside the bed, and they open wider when you see that it's barely two minutes past midnight. "baby, it's not even morning yet. why—"

"want my present." he slurs into your pussy, and any reply that was forming in your head is wiped clean when he sticks his tongue into your hole, drinking up the wetness that leaks out of you. "didn't wanna wait."

your mind is cloudy with sleep, barely awake.

but the pleasure that sparks up your spine and within the coil in your stomach when his lips press into your clit, deft fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs as he grips them tighter, urging you to wrap them around his head as he delves deeper into your cunt — it's electrifying.

when you look down, you see the dark mess of short, black hair bobbing between your legs as he eats your cunt all up, sending shivers crawling through you with each flick of his warm tongue between your folds.

"so fuckin' good, angel." he grunts, low and husky as he takes hold of the back of your thigh and pushes your leg further up, allowing himself more room. "y'taste so good."

a flustered whimper is all you can manage in reply, as he presses you into the bed and devours you, letting out the neediest groans right into your cunt, your body shaking with each word he says. "make some pretty sounds f'me? need ta hear you."

he says it like he isn't just going to wrap his lips around your clit and suck the moans out of you himself, but you open your mouth anyway, letting out a sleepy plea for him to go just a little faster with his tongue, telling him to take you to his heart's content.

"'s my good girl," he breathes, the words hot and heavy over your skin as he turns his face and gives you a wet kiss on the inside of your thigh. "my only girl, yeah?"

"mhm," you whine, hips jerking as he dives back into eating you out, the orgasm building within you so fast it makes you dizzy.

"my one 'n only girl g'nna let me," he exhales, licking a thick line from your clenching pussy to your throbbing clit. "let me fill her up? gonna let me make her cum as many times as i want, 'n then fuck her full of my cum?"

"yes," you moan. there's no other answer to give, not when it feels so amazing and when it's your sweet, doting boyfriend's birthday and this is all he wants to have from you.

"good girl." he repeats, and with the next hot kiss he lands on your clit, your orgasm crashes down on you, and your breath catches in your throat as you cry out, asking for his fingers, wanting him to curl them into your tight, fluttering walls as you reach your high.

he does as you say — but you can barely hear his praising whispers as he pushes two fingers, and then three, into your squelching pussy and fucks you with them. each wave that washes over you is one of pure bliss, and your vision goes bright with stars as you gasp out shinichiro's name again and again, unable to say anything else.

"fuck, my doll's the prettiest when she's cumming." he says, and you think he's done, that he's going to let you come down from your high and then put his cock in you — but then, his arms wrap tighter around your hips.

shinichiro pulls you back in, and fits his tongue in your cunt again. "mm, keep goin', angel. keep makin' those pretty sounds."

you grab at the blanket that's under you, curling your fingers into a fist and letting your other hand crawl between your legs so you can push him away, ask for a few minutes in between before he fucks you again. "wait, wait, shin—"

"no," he says bluntly, tongue lapping at the slick as it drools out of your cunt. "taste so good like this, baby. let me have you."

the spike of pleasure that courses through you when his lips tighten around your wet clit almost stings, this time — and when you squirm in his unrelenting embrace, an incoherent moan spilling from your throat, you know he's enjoying this so much.

he loves when you squirm helplessly in his hold, coming undone over and over again by his needy mouth — he loves pushing you to heaven like this. gets drunk off it.

and you can't help but think of his cock — hot, leaky and blushed red under his sweats as he grinds against the mattress, so ready to force its way into your tight, sticky heat and stuff you full of his cum.

that'll have to wait, though. because what shin wants for his birthday is to have you as his first meal, and he's not going to move onto anything else till his hunger has been quenched.

GUYS GUYS IM SO SORRY! I'm having emergency business trips left and right I've been so busy 😭😭

Give me another week I will clear some time for you guys!!

bakugo calls u ma’am when ur mad at him LMFAOAOAOAO “yes ma’am.”

LMAOOOOO looking all sad and pitiful. pouty lips, looking at the ground and kicking rocks. when you’re shouting or answering back with short snappy sentences. “yes ma’am. yes i’m sorry.”

but i also think he’d do it casually to be annoying to you. would swap a random ‘babe’ with ‘ma’am’ to see you roll your eyes at him.

The sexy bastard is finished 😎🔥❤️ Loved working on his hair~

|♡| Come Here, Wolfie |♡|

 M!Werewolf x F!Reader

Description: You had lived a quiet life in your village, scraping by without drawing too much attention on yourself, but it would see that wasn’t enough. This year, you had been chosen to be sacrificed to The Beast, a large, canine-like monster that had been terrorizing your village to the point that the only thing that calmed it was the sacrifice of a human female. Just how do you plan to survive?

Rating: Fluff, Angst 

Disclaimer: Cynophobia, Lupophobia, Misogyny, Violence, Non-Descriptive Death, Minor Cat-calling

Word Count: 2,562 Series: Part 1, Part 2 Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything,  Tag List

|♡|-----|♡|

“Five loaves of bread, sweetie, and make it quick.” The man in front of me asked, tapping the gold coin he intended to pay with on the counter. He wore chipped iron armor with the crest of the kingdom symbolizing his status as a knight, the salary of which allowed him to buy what most villagers could only afford a crumb of.

“I’m sorry Sir, but due to the shortage of maidens to tend to the wheat we have put a cap of two loaves per family to purchase.” You smiled sweetly at the man who did not share the same energy. 

“I’m a knight, I have to keep my appetite up to protect sweet little things like you, not like there's many of you left. I have enough money, and I might give you a generous tip if you offer something more...personal,” He chuckles, pushing the gold coin in his hand towards me as if to emphasize his suggestive comment. “So why don’t you bag up those loaves and I’ll be on my way? Unless of course, you would like to take my offer?” 

 A wave of anxiety washed over you. You seemed to freeze, no snarky comeback to snap, no act of self-defense, nothing. You simply nodded and rushed to get him the bread. Your head filled with thoughts of your cowardice, but what could you do? Your whole life was closed off and quiet, never standing out from the crowd. And in a way, it benefitted you. 

Five years ago The Beast had arrived at your village, rampaging everything in its path. Your small village tried to fight back, but in the end, succumbed to the claws of the large creature. The Beast had agreed to leave your village in peace as long as he was able to see every woman that resided in the village. 

You had no friends or family to report you thankfully, so you hid away until everything blew over, worried for your safety. It seemed being invisible had some benefits. 

Women of all shapes and sizes, young and old, lined up for The Beast to inspect them, but it had seemed it had not found what it was looking for because it turned every one of them down. You had heard, in a fit of rage, that it had killed three people before stealing one of the girls into the woods.

The Beast later came back with only the girl's head and demanded the village supplied him with a new woman once a month to maintain peace. Your village, weak from the previous battles, agreed without hesitation. 

With time, your village had no maidens left. It started with the poor, young daughters who were sent off, and then the poor mothers, and then the woman of the richer families. Eventually, every disposable girl had either ran away or was killed by the cruel beast. This resulted in a decrease in birth rates and supplies, making necessities such as food impossible to purchase, which proved to be rather difficult for a baker like yourself. 

It also resulted in the men becoming increasingly desperate for wives, sex, and woman to sacrifice to The Beast. Who knows, maybe just letting the knight get his way will save you from being noticed, maybe you can continue to be free a little longer. 

“Here you are sir..,” You mumbled, nervous to look him in the eye. 

Satisfied with your compliance, he nodded and tossed the coin at you. Just as he was about to walk through the door he paused. 

“Say, sweetie? Are you registered?”

You held your breath.

“Y’know, for The Taking. I mean... you are not a noble’s daughter, so you don’t have protection. Plus, your fuckin’ gorgeous, the perfect candidate.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You felt like crying and your heart was racing a million miles a minute. In all honesty, you were probably going to puke. You didn’t want to die. Not yet. Before you could beg for him not to report you, he was already out the door.

A breath you didn’t know you were holding was released and you nearly fell over the counter in an attempt to lock the front door as quickly as possible. You had to leave, at least for a couple of days until things calmed down and you could blend in with the crowd again.

As you were packing as much baked goods and water into your satchel, you realized that time may never come. By the time you returned, you would stick out like a sore thumb. A lower-class woman in a sea of men. your only chance of survival was to marry a noble or to leave. 

Neither seemed to be a good choice. 

“Don’t think about that now.” You whispered to yourself, buckling the satchel and unlocking the door to begin your journey. The first step was to get to safety. 

But it would seem you were too late. Outside of your bakery was the knight, loaves of bread neatly packaged in a bag still in his hand, along with a nobleman and another knight. 

“There she is, I told you. She’s perfect.” The knight you had served said, smirking as the noble handed him a bag full of what you assumed were gold coins. 

Panic filling your body, you attempted to make a run for the forest but it would seem the men already had a plan. One of the knights drew his sword to cut your leg as you were running past him, causing you to come crashing to the ground holding your limb. The cut was deep and long, running from your ankle to your knee. It burned terribly.

“Like that baby? I rubbed salt on it just for you.” The knight cooed, gesturing to his sword before grabbing your injured leg and digging his nails into it to pull you towards him. He picked you up grinning.

“Stop it! Get the hell off of me!” You spat in his face, throwing your arms in an attempt for him to lose his grip but that only resulted in a punch being thrown at you. Your vision blurred and you felt a glowing red sting on your cheek, slight cuts developing from where his rings landed on your face. 

The knight then grabbed your hair, pulling your head slightly to look him in the eye. The fire in his expression had you pausing. “Listen here, girl. Now, you're going into that forest with that beast whether you like it or not. And I was going to let you keep this,” He held up your satchel to your face. “But if you keep acting like a bitch, I promise you won’t even be able to attempt to run away from that monster with both your legs broken.”

His words made you break. You sobbed, barely holding onto consciousness from both the punch and how hard you cried. It was hopeless, you had spent your life alone to try to avoid this fate but it had seemed to catch up to you in the end. No one would remember you when you were gone.

The knights and the noble took you to the edge of the forest. Tonight had been the last night of the month which was probably why they were so quick to snatch you. You were their last chance to appease the beast. 

The nobleman let out a wide grin, his pure delight obvious on his pig face. “Beast! Please accept our humblest apologies for the offering being made so late, but we have an extra special one this month! She is young and beautiful, I’m sure you will love her.” The nobleman continued to yell out all sorts of praises to make you seem more valuable like you were a cow being sold at a farmers market. Nothing but a piece of meat.

The knights let you down in front of a large oak tree. You were barely standing on your own due to being so light-headed, so one of the knights held you up by your hair to keep you straight. 

“Stand up girl, we need to tie you up correctly.” He smirked, handing you your satchel letting out a snicker, and mumbling something along with the likes of ‘just as I promised'.

Just the feeling of the thick rope made you flinch and let out another cry. The whole time you had been trying to convince yourself that this was all a nightmare but the rough, prickly texture of the rope stained with the blood of past victims caused you to come crashing back to Earth. 

“Please no! Please don't do this!”

Just before the night could tie you, a loud, thunderous growl shook through the forest. Quickly you dropped to your knees and covered your head as a means of defense, not daring to look up. You didn’t want to look into the eyes of the creature that you would meet your demise. 

“Beast please! Calm down we are not late, she is right there!” The nobleman screamed in terror. Loud crashing could be heard as the knights quickly ran in the direction of the nobleman and the sound of metal bounced off the trees. 

‘They had drawn their swords?’ You questioned, slowly beginning to crawl away to not draw attention, your injured leg making little room for other means of movement. ‘Don’t look back, just go!’

Screams and cries could be heard as well as the terrifying snarls. The noise quickly ended with the gurgle-like choking of the men and the smell of metal filling the air. The Beast had won. 

Once you felt like the distance you had crawled was far enough you quickly stood up despite the excruciating sensation in your lower muscles and sprinted as fast as you could with your injury, satchel waving widely in the air. ‘Don’t look back!’

But it seemed the temptation got the best of you. 

Behind you was one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen. A pair of striking sterling blue eyes stared back, completely focused on your manner. It had seemed the beast was analyzing your soul with the way it locked onto you, drinking every detail of your body. 

The eyes belonged to an absolutely enormous canine-like creature, standing proudly with its head reaching just below your collar bone, paws bigger than your own hands. Its body was covered in thick dark grey fur, buffy white facial markings outlining its chest, snout (its white color now lost after being stained with the blood of the horrid men who had stolen you), and expressive brows which scrunched slightly. 

The creature was almost certainly a wolf if it wasn't for the massive size, large protruding fangs, and bulging muscles that seemed to be way too broad for a normal animal. Not to mention the fact its eyes held a human-like expression of longing. 

You had run for merely thirty seconds before the wolf abandoned his kill and tackled you to the ground leaving you landing face-first on the forest floor. The wolf’s massive paws crushed your shoulders to the point you let out a shriek are you fell. 

You began squirming and yelling, hoping it would be enough to scare it off. After all, most animals were more scared of you than you were of them, right? If that was true, this gigantic dog would be pissing its pants. 

“W-wait..,” You panted heavily, you wasted too much energy trying to escape the knights, and now with the wolf crushing your lungs and preventing airflow, you were left weak. 

You had expected a quick death, maybe a single bite to your head or neck, but not the wolf pressing its cold wet nose into the crevice of your neck and inhaling deeply. You remained quiet, listening as the wolf let out short huffing noises. 

Deciding to test your limits, you wiggled your shoulders slightly, causing the wolf to pull its massive head back an inch but not make any sounds of aggression like you were expecting. Very slowly, throughout what felt like forever, you were able to free yourself from the creature's pressure and sit up facing it, however, one of its giant paws remained on your injured leg. 

The wolf ducked its head down lightly and stuck out its tongue, as if to show you it was not going to hurt you, before liking the trail of blood that had pooled from the deep gash you had earned. You let out a gasp as your cut right before your eyes began to scab over from the touch of the beast's soft tongue. 

The wolf seemed to stair you down, both perplexed and infatuated with you. You didn’t know how to carry on from here.

“Just what are you?” 

The wolf seemed to look around ashamed, licking its lips to get the last of the blood that remained, both from your leg and the men. That's right, how could you forget? the wolf made it easy to forget how dangerous and terrifying it was five seconds ago with how docile it acted now.

You were grateful for this moment of silence, using it to take notice of your surroundings and calm the rapid beat in your chest. The mist of the forest calmed your hot cheeks and irritated skin and the strong smell of pine soothed your raw throat. You took big gulps of the cold, refreshing air. 

Suddenly you realized you still had your satchel containing the food you had packed. You didn’t know what was going to happen in these next few hours, so you decided to find some comfort in the treats. 

Looking inside the bag you saw that most of the food was destroyed from all the running and tackling, however one was still good enough to eat, a single raspberry danish you had made fresh this morning. 

You took a single bite and let out a sigh of contentment as the flavors melt on your tongue. Your gaze lifted back to the wolf who looked at you curiously, head titled with one ear pointed out. “You want one?” You asked softly.

Quickly you raked your brain trying to figure out if the danish had contained anything harmful to the creature, which you later realized was a dumb move considering it would have benefited you if it were to drop dead. You broke off a piece of the sweet, holding your hand out to the beast. “You’re very lucky I didn’t drizzle chocolate on it,” you chuckled at your remark, which the beast instantly perked up and began to thump its tail rapidly on the ground at the sound. 

It seemed to like you. 

“Come here, Wolfie. It’s okay, you can take it.” You affirmed, watching in awe as it cautiously opened its mouth to bite the sweet before retracting back and smacking its lips. Its tail wagging only seemed to increase tenfold.

At that moment you were no longer afraid of the beast, but rather a burning curiosity had been ignited. You wondered what this creature's intentions were? Where had it come from? Why on Earth was it terrorizing your village? But your questions were put aside when you jumped from a sudden voice, deep and raspy, sounding as if it had surrounded you from all angles. 

“Thank you...”

|♡|-----|♡|

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first writing on tumblr I hope you like it!! This was made possible by a dear friend of mine, @mushymushrxom ! They make similar stories such as this one including a vast selection of monster stories and are open to requests! Check her out  ٩(＾◡＾)۶

Don’t forget to comment, follow, make any requests you want to see, and let me know if you would like a part 2!! Bye  (⁀ᗢ⁀) Series: Part 1, Part 2 Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything,  Tag List

I'm literally laughing like a maniac. And I'm twitching. Please give me some fluff. Thank you~

I just made a short fluffy fluff thing

It was already late to the afternoon when you woke up. Shouto was still laying beside you eyes closed, breathing calmly. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, it was rare to see him like that.

“Good morning sunshine” he said and opened his eyes to meet your gaze.

“Mornin” you smiled.

He loved seeing you like this, messy hair, still a little sleep in your eyes, you were the most beautiful to him just like this. He could feel his lips curve into a smile. You were so close, his nose wasn’t far from touching yours.

“What is it?” you asked, still looking at him.

“You’re just so beautiful” he smiled.

“You’re not bad yourself” you smirked.

“Oh” he grinned.

Shouto grabbed you by the waist and spun you so he was on top of you. His hands were pressed to the pillow on the sides of your head and his knees were on the either side of your waist. You just giggled and placed your hands on his cheeks. You brushed your thumb over his scar and gave him a warm smile. This man was like a golden patch of sunlight, so warm and kind.

“Hmmm” you mumbled as you kept caressing his cheeks.

“What is it… Wife?“he smiled.

“Wife…” -you sighed dreamily.- “I love when you call me that… Husband”

“I love that I get to call you that now”

You brought his head down so you could kiss him. His hair was tickling your face and you were running your hand through it.

“I love that I get to call you my husband” you smiled into his lips.

You could feel him smile against your lips too, and you couldn’t help but giggle a bit. He was your husband and you were his wife, this was where a new chapter in your lives began.