jodicy

[jodicy]

I'm In Control Part 7 (Steddie X You)

A/N: I bare you your crack for the weekend. Snort your serotonin slowly please lol <3

Warnings: Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie and all that that implies (I regret nothing). She really pushes them this time so some degrading from the guys, slapping, and a bit of the rough stuff. All three talk about their traumas. Y/N talks about her religious trauma a bit more. May be triggering if you grew up in a household or town like that. My bio mom liked to pretend she did she I heard a lot of this same stuff myself.

Word Count: 3276

Boys,

Went to work. 

See you later :) 

-Y/N

“Should we be worried?”, you place your head in your hands as you look at TJ who’s casually lounging on one of your couches.

“I don’t think so but it’s something to be cautious of. You may want to call your clients down here and just bring them up to speed.”

“Well, I told them I was going to see them at their shoot tonight but if I know them, they are probably on their way down here anyway.”

“I haven’t seen bullshit like this since the early nineties—” 

A small knock on your door interrupts him as it slowly opens. “Hey, sorry. We aren’t interrupting anything, are we?”, Steve cautiously pokes his head through. 

You smirk at your boss who chuckles. “You��re amazing. No boys. I actually wanted to speak with you. Come in.”

“Why do you sit on top of your desk like that when you have a thousand chairs?”, Eddie asks as he leans against the edge of it next to you.

“Makes me feel tall. Also Mr. Munson, I’m not sure if you saw but the sign on the door says it’s my office so I can do whatever I want.” He scrunches his nose at your playful tone. 

Steve steals your desk chair, gliding closer to you and TJ. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, the cops raided a set the other night.”, TJ sighs as you press play on your tv. He gestures towards it as he continues. “Our wonderful city officials are trying to look good so they are cracking down ‘drugs’ and ‘prostitution’.” 

“But…none of that is happening.”, Eddie folds his arms as he watches the screen. 

“Not with any of my people and sets I work with. You guys know if you see any of that kind of shit, you let me or Y/N know.”

Steve lets out a heavy sigh as he leans back in his chair. You reach for the stress ball on your desk and throw it at his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”, you flash him a comforting smile. 

“We just want you guys to be aware. It really shouldn’t be a problem especially on Luke’s set. His studio is so big I don’t think they would even dare try it.” He glances at the three of you before clearing his throat. 

“Since everyone is here…”

“My other client isn’t here.”, you interject.

“Yeah, but I know where he is. I keep losing you three.” TJ stands, trying to make himself more authoritative. “Where were you guys yesterday?”

“Audition.”

He turned to face you. “All day? Really?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Auditionsssss.” You make sure to put obnoxious emphasis on the S. 

Your boss narrows his eyes at you as both men try to contain their smiles. 

“You, young lady, are lucky I like you.”, he points his finger sternly. “From now on if I call you answer. If we have an event or party EVERYONE must remain there until I dismiss you. Understood?”

You faux salute him. “Yes, sir.”

“Gentlemen?” They affirm with mumbled yeahs. “Good. Now that all that is out of the way, I’m going to go back to my office and eat my delicious lunch in peace. Don’t bother me.”

He grins, jokingly pushing your shoulder as he leaves you office. 

Your eyes shift between them, Eddie’s head was down towards his sneakers as Steve was still looking at the TV.

“Wow. Well, don’t get shy on me now.”

“Are you ok?”, Eddie was the first to speak. “I…I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

“Eddie…”

“Steve was right. We weren’t in the right frame of mind. I definitely wasn’t.”

“Eddie, it’s okay. I’m ok.” You wrap your arm around his shoulder, pulling him in front of you so you could hug him from behind. “You didn’t hurt me. Not physically anyway…” His chest rose and fell as he sighed. 

Your eyes flicked to Steve who was watching you both. “I’m sorry I smacked you.”

His nose scrunched as he shrugged. “I deserved it.”

“Oh, okay. Well, fuck you then.” You and Steve smirked at each other. 

“I’m sorry for being an asshole.” He slides his chair closer to the both of you. 

“I know we said we would talk later but I feel like I should at least get this out now. I’m not sorry for what I said in the parking lot…or back at the house. I’m still extremely angry you didn’t talk to me. I understand why you didn’t, agent and client and all that but… it just hurts that you guys don’t trust me.”

“We trust you.”

“Daddy and Sir, trust me. Steve and Eddie don’t.”

##################

“Cut! Steve! Do we have a problem?”

“No! No… no fucking problem.”

“Ok, well, you can’t do anything with it soft, son.”

You and Eddie look at each other from your spot behind the camera as you sigh and reassuringly pat his arm. 

“Mr. Harrington!”, you beckon him gently with your finger. 

“Y/N, get his mind right or else—”

“Or else what?”, you cut the director off as you grab Steve’s hand. “Jason, if you want him to use his dick you need to get off his and relax, okay? We’re a bit overamped with everything going on.”

You tug the man into a corner behind the set where no one else could hear or see you. 

“Talk to me, babe.”

“I don’t know…I just…can’t focus.”, he sighs as he runs his fingers frustratingly through his hair. 

“Steve, look at me.” You slide your hand down his chest to the outside of the boxers they had him wearing, rubbing your hand below his waist. “When you go back out there, don’t focus on the cameras or the director. Don’t focus on yesterday…”

His shoulders deflated as he exhaled. “Hey no. Focus on me, Daddy.” Steve’s eyebrow raised coyly as he softly smiled. You felt his cock gradually begin to harden against your palm. “If it helps just pretend she’s me.”

“Mmm… but she’s not you.”

“I know. That’s the magic of acting.”, you giggle as he grins, running his tongue his lips. You lean closer to his chest as his head falls on to your shoulder. “Everything’s going to be alright, Steve. I promise.”

His lips find yours for a moment before you pull away. “You ready?”

He nods, going around you with a more determined stride as he heads back to the set. 

##################

Eddie throws their keys on the counter as the three of you head into their house.

Your eyes scan their exhausted looking frames. “Do you guys want to crash and we can talk tomorrow?”

“No. We should get this out of the way now.”

“Wow. Thanks Steve. That makes me feel special.”, you scowl at him.

“Honestly, I… I don’t know why we are doing this. We can’t have a romantic relationship. It would be hidden and only we would know about.”

“Okay. So why does the whole world have to fucking know?”

“Because you would be ours.”, Eddie interjects as he leans his back against their couch. 

“Ohhhh, I see. So you don’t trust me enough to tell other men to fuck off so you need to parade me around so they KNOW to stay away.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That is seriously hilarious to me. You know that you two literally fuck people every single day and it doesn’t bother me?”

Steve slyly chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, but what if we were at a club or event and some random girl just climbed on my lap or started making out with Munson here. How would that make you feel?”

“In that scenario that would piss me off but I would…I would hope if we were in a relationship, you would tell that girl to respect your boundaries and get off your lap. I would trust you. God, Steve, why are you like this?”

When he doesn’t answer, you sigh in frustration as you step away. “Okay…” You bite your lip as you pace between them with your hands on your hips. “Okay. I have an idea. I want to talk to Daddy and Sir.”

They glance at each other, completely confused. “They trust me. Maybe they can help you say what you need to say.”

“No.”

You pout your lips, allowing your body to slowly push you into that headspace to get them where they need to be. “Please, Daddy.”

Steve’s face twitches slightly at your tone. “I said no.” 

You saunter back over to him, untangling his arms in front of his chest as you glide your hands up his body. “Pleeeeeease. Steven is afraid to open up to me and I need to know why.”

When his eyes met yours, you knew he was there. Daddy was ready to play. 

Steve reached for your throat, gripping it tightly in his huge hand. “I told you not to call me that AND I said no. Geez, Eddie. She never listens.”

He released his hold on you, shoving you backwards into a broad chest. “Probably never been disciplined properly.” You quickly turn around to see Eddie glaring down at you with his beautiful brown eyes. Since you three had begun your dynamic, you had learned little details about their body language and tone. Eddie’s voice told you that Sir hadn’t completely come out yet. 

“Oh, but Mr. Munson. I have.”, your hands reach up to cup his cheeks. “I came from an aggressive religious upbringing, remember? They were way more strict than you could ever be especially since you can’t seem to take charge without Daddy’s help.”

His strong hands shot up, gripping your wrists, and aggressively pulling them off his face. “I don’t need his help or permission to handle brats like you.” There he is.

“I don’t think I’m the one that needs handling.”

Eddie pushes himself off the couch, staring down at you as he bumps you with his chest. “I know you do.”

“How do you know that, Eddie?” You try to maintain your confident tone but it shakes as he bumps you again, walking you backward towards the bedroom. 

“Well, for one, you can’t seem to remember who you’re talking to.” He turns to Steve who has been steadily following behind. “Stupid little girl wants to know more but can’t even follow simple instructions.” His hand grabs you jaw, holding you still.

“Who am I?”

“Sir.”

Eddie shoves you back hard against the doorframe, making you wince. “Louder.”

“Sir!”

“Good girl. Hopefully you’ll remember it this time.” You stumble onto the floor as he pushes you into the room. They both come in and sit on the edge of the bed, stepping over you as they do. 

“Why…don’t you…trust me?”

Steve grins as he beckons you over with his finger. You obey, crawling to his lap on your knees. His fingers gently trace along your cheek down to your lips. 

“Because you are a whore.”

Your chest caves in as you exhale, searching his eyes for an explanation.

“Aw, Eddie. I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting.”, he says with a voice dripping with mocking. “You think you’re the first woman we’ve done this with? Where are they now, honey? They aren’t here. They. Leave. They always do.”

You saw pain flash quickly through his eyes and disappear just as fast. 

“Girls like you use us and then when you’re done, you’re gone.”

“You…haven’t known me for…for very long. Why do you think I would hurt you like that?”

“Like he said,” Eddie looked down at you with contempt. “You all do. Everyone in our lives leave. Anytime my mom fucked up in some way, she would blame it on me and my dad would beat my ass. When he got arrested…it’s like she saw no further use for me. There was no one to shield her from so she dumped me on my uncle’s doorstep and ran.”

Your heart ached for him as he hung his head. Your hand started to reach for his knee but you stopped, allowing it to hover. “Can I touch you?” Eddie didn’t verbally answer, instead placing his palm over yours and guiding it to his leg. 

You glanced back at Steve who was now glaring into the void. “Daddy?” He subtly shakes his head. “Talk to me, baby. Please. Help me understand.”

“Haven’t I given you enough?!”, he snaps. Your nose scrunches as you glare at him. 

You chuckle sarcastically as a light bulb suddenly goes off in your head. “Oh, I get it. Is that why you prefer Daddy? Was Mr. Harrington not so nice to Steven?”

Both sets of eyes abruptly look at you as you rise to your feet. You can tell just by Eddie’s look alone you’re very close to the target. Steve slowly stands well, his eyes penetrating yours. 

“Color, Princess?” Your eyes never left Steve’s but you could see in your peripherals and by the sound of his voice that Eddie knew the real game was about to get started. 

“Green, Sir.”

“You remember what you have to say for us to stop, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Steve’s hand connected with your face causing you to take a few steps backwards. 

“Why do you keep pushing, little girl?”

“Because I want to understand!”

He slapped you again, this time a bit harder than before. “Why?!”

“Why do you fight it so hard, Steve?!”

As he went to hit you, you ducked down and shoved his chest. Eddie intervened, grabbing your upper arms and holding them behind your back. Steve slid off his belt and handed it to the boy behind you who used it to tie your wrists together. 

He tossed you to the bed on your stomach, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. You heard clothes being removed behind you before Steve climbed on top of you. You yelped as he smacked your ass, pressing your face into the mattress as he sheathed himself inside of you. 

He gave you no warning or time to adjust as he began roughly thrusting into you. The man laid his full weight on top of you, pushing himself deeper into you as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

“Got nothing to say now huh, little one? Had plenty to say earlier when you were mouthing off. You still seem to think you have some control over us but you don’t, you fucking slut. You never will so stop making demands and stop pushing.”

“Then why do you have feelings for me?”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Is that what he told you?” You whimpered as he thrust into your harder. “Your—mmm—you’re not an idiot—mmm-- for caring. You deserve to���fuck… to be cared for the way you do for other people.”

Steve pulled out of you and flipped you around, lifting your legs around his waist as he entered you again. 

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“How did you know you could trust Eddie?”

His brown eyes shifted towards his friend before looking back at you. You craned your neck to kiss his lips and he allowed it. His head fell beside yours as he pumped his hips harder against yours. 

“I care about you to, Daddy. I like you a lot. Both of you.” You gently kissed the shell of his ear as his hips sputtered and he came inside of you, his body trembling above you. 

“Fuck. Baby…I…”

“It’s ok, Daddy. It’s ok.”

“I can take care of her, buddy. Come here, sweetheart.” Steve rolled out of the way as Eddie lifted you onto his lap and leaned his back against the headboard. He reaches behind you untying the belt and tossing it to the floor.

You straddle his waist, taking his cock in your hand and gradually began sliding yourself down onto him. You both groan at the feeling as your head falls to his forehead. Eddie notices that your hands remain on your thighs as you start grinding and bouncing your hips. 

His own palms glide down your arms, grabbing your wrists and placing your arms over his shoulders. He leans in to kiss your lips.

“You can touch me, pretty girl. It’s alright.”

Eddie giving you more control drove you wild as your pussy tightened around him. 

“Fucking hell. Come on, baby. Make yourself cum.” His fingers dug into your waist as he guided you, moving you faster against him. 

“Can I…please, Sir…” When he nodded his head, you completely let go; tossing your head back as you came.

His arms wrapped around you as he lifted himself up onto his knees, thrusting into you as you clung your yourself to him. Eddie loved the way your body fit perfectly against him. If he had his way, he would never let you go. He grunted into your neck and you both moaned when you felt him cum inside you. 

He expected you to let him go but when you didn’t, he sat back down on the mattress, running his hands through your hair and down your back. 

“My dad was never around. Actually, neither of my parents were.” You climbed off the metalhead’s lap to turn and look at Steve who was staring into the void again. “My father was a cheating dick head who always made sure to remind me I was never good enough.”

You watched him as he got up, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a rag. Eddie motioned for you to sit in front of him and you did, opening your legs so the other boy could take care of you. 

“I know that feeling.” When Steve’s eyes meet yours, you deliver him a tender smile. “Religious family, remember. My brother and I were always reminded how terrible we were and not just from our parents but the church and the town. My mom and dad didn’t even see me off when I moved here. They said California is a state of sin.” You roll your eyes as you sigh. 

“I imagine they don’t know what you do?”, Steve asked as he threw the rag haphazardly into the bathroom doorway. 

“Pfft, God no. They’d lose their minds. Kidnap me and probably take me back home.”, you laugh. 

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”, Eddie grinned as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Do you really think I’m a whore?” You felt the arms around you stiffen. 

“No.” Steve’s voice was so low you could barely hear him. 

“Um, louder, Daddy. I can’t hear you.” You playfully tilt your ear towards him and a smile spread across his face. 

“I said no, beautiful.” You grin as you lean back against Eddie’s chest. “I think, like Eds said yesterday, we’re jaded. It’s…easier to lump you in with the other girls we’ve been with because—”

“We like you so much it will hurt less when you leave.”, the other man finishes. 

“When I leave… Gentlemen, I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon. I get it though. I really do. You’ve been hurt by so many people… but I promise not just as your agent or your friend or… you’re safe with me. There’s no rush. We don’t even have to put a label on it. Let’s just see what happens.”

“I can do that.” Eddie tenderly kisses your shoulder.

“Me to.” Steve reaches out to move a strand of hair out of your face. 

“Good. Now, can we eat because I’m fucking starving.”

#################

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[jodicy]

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. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie ends up being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general loneliness, mentions of a shitty/traumatic pregnancy, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, you wash eddie's hair!!!! this was low-key requested by anon

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie opens the door and finds a little girl on the steps of his house. Little girl feels generous – she's barely more than a baby. In a set of tiny matching pajamas and white socks stained green from the morning grass, she looks up at him with wide, sad eyes. 

"Hey," he says carefully. "Hey, sweetheart." 

"Good morning," she says, though it comes out blurry.

"Good morning," he repeats with a breathless laugh, instantly endeared.

He curls his hand around the railing and squats down. She really is very cute and obviously well looked after, although he realises upon closer inspection that she's been crying. 

"Where's your mommy?" Eddie feels silly as he asks, but what else do you say when you find kids by themselves? 

He's not really expecting her to know the answer. She pouts her small mouth and Eddie freezes up. 

"Mommy.” Her breath quivers. 

"Don't cry," he says very gently.

It doesn't work, obviously, and she starts whimpering in a way that turns Eddie's heart entirely. 

"Let's find mommy, okay? Do you wanna do that? Wanna come and find mommy with me?" 

"Yes," she says, though it quickly draws up into a sharp cry. 

Eddie treks down the stairs and turns back, waiting. The little girl looks down at the steps and her eyebrows furrow as she places one foot after the other, looking like her socks are stuck to a fly trap. 

He holds his hand out. "You got it," he says encouragingly, wiggling his fingers. 

Her relief is palpable. Her brows smooth as she takes his hand, so small he can cover her entire palm with the meat of his thumb. She wobbles down the steps and then hesitates at the damp ground awaiting. 

Eddie drops his gaze to her wet feet.

She looks up at him. Eddie doesn't think she means to but her eyes are pleading,and he's already moving to pick her up when she lifts her arms into the air.

She's heavier than he anticipates. He quickly gets used to the weight, shifting her against his side with his arm under her butt, her damp foot digging into his abdomen. She rests one hand on his shoulder and the other reaches for his hair. He can't help smiling at her as she pets the dark mess, hand clumsy but well-intentioned. 

He walks down past the van and onto dark asphalt, looking up and down the road to see if anyone's around. He figures she has to be a trailer park kid – she can't have walked very far, and she'd been waiting outside. She must've gotten mixed up and thought his trailer was her own, which hopefully means her mom lives close. 

The steps up into his trailer are on the right side. Eddie guesses she's come from the right. It's not a great assumption — he's grasping at straws. 

"What's your name?" he asks. 

She's taken a lock of his hair into her hands. Eddie worries for a second that she's going to try eating it but she only waves it around, looking pleased. 

"I'm Eddie." 

"Dee," she says. 

"Almost. Eh-dee," he spells out, again not actually expecting her to understand what he's saying. He's unsure about kids her age – he's unsure what age she even is. 

She babbles something unintelligible and Eddie hikes her higher up his chest. He strides out of the cool shadow and blinks, shielding his eyes against the yellow-white glare of sunshine. The little girl hides her face in his hair. 

He hasn't walked very far when he sees you behind the trailer three doors down, pinning clothes that look the same size as the girl's pajamas to a clothesline with unhurried hands. The front door is wide open. 

"Your poor mommy," he murmurs as he approaches, "out here doing the laundry by herself and you're halfway to Indianapolis. Musta got turned around, huh?"

You drop a small light blue dress on the floor and cuss just loud enough for Eddie to hear it. You pick it up fast and brush it down, looking over the fabric worriedly. 

Eddie cuts over soft grass, giving the baby's waist a pat and holding her ears away from his mouth as he raises his voice. "Hey, is this your kid?" he asks. 

You flinch toward him and your eyes go wide – wide, your lips parting and your brows jumping down like you might start yelling. 

You're really fucking pretty. 

Eddie’s quick to placate you. "She was sitting on my front steps." 

You still don't look very happy though your suspicion melds to confusion and then a stab of too-late worry. You rush towards them and Eddie turns his body to encourage the girl's gaze to you. His chest warms when she perks up. 

She wriggles in his arms impatiently and Eddie's surprised by how quickly she starts to cry, reaching out for you with insistent grabbing hands as he passes her over.

"It's okay," you say softly, tucking her into your chest. 

The difference in body language is unmissable. Where she'd been restless (though more than pleasant) in Eddie's arms, she completely melts into yours. Her little face presses into your neck and her legs curl up. You pat her butt soothingly. "It's okay, baby. Where have you been?" You look up at him for an answer with concern lining your pretty features. 

"I'm only three down," he says. 

 "Oh… Thank you," you say roughly.

Your gratitude is unnecessary. "That's okay. She's real sweet. I opened the door and the first thing she said was, 'good morning,'" he recalls with an easy smile. 

Joy lightens your entire face. He feels his breath catch in his throat. 

"She did? She said that?" 

"Yeah, she did.” He tries not to sound as confused as he feels.

Your eyes close with the force of your smile. You encourages your toddler’s face back and drop your chin to plant kisses all over her tiny cheeks. Eddie feels something foreign yawning in his chest as she starts to laugh, a tinkling sound that's sugar sweet. 

He scratches his neck and pretends to look over his shoulder, tamping his smile back into a neutral expression. 

"She's having trouble talking," you say, lifting your head as the baby's giggles taper off. "She can talk, she says 'mommy' all the time, but she's s'posed to be saying more 'cos she's almost two and I know she can do it, she's so smart, but-" You cut yourself off and laugh all breathless and sheepish. "Sugar, I'm sorry. I mean- Sorry. Thank you," it almost bursts from you, "for bringing her back. I don't know…" 

"You just moved in, right?" You nod. "The lock on the front door- they're all exactly the same, you just gotta shake it and it unlocks. Even someone small as her can could get it open with enough determination." 

"She can be very determined," you say ruefully, voice hushed. You're still patting her butt, swaying her from side to side. Eddie's in awe at how quickly she's settled, her button features crumpled by a big yawn. "Always gets what she wants."

"I bet she does, she's a total heartbreaker." 

You take a step towards him, your beat up sneakers half a foot from his converse. "She can't help it, she was born this pretty," you say. He loves how braggy you sound. 

"I can see where she gets it." 

As soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back. Not because he doesn't think it's true – you're really something else – but because he doesn't want to creep you out. 

Luckily, he's rewarded for his bravery by another beaming smile, your words warm as you tell him, "They said she was the prettiest baby they'd seen in twenty years up in Eskenazi general." 

The name pricks his ears. "You're from Indianapolis?" 

"Kind of." You tilt your head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name." 

"Eddie." He could applaud himself on how normal he sounds and how not normal he feels. 

"Eddie, I'm Y/N. D'you wanna come in for coffee? Or I can make you some breakfast? To say thank you for taking care of my Junie."

"Junie," he repeats, surprised. 

You shift from foot to foot. "She's a June baby. And she's getting kind of heavy these days, so. Breakfast?" 

He follows you up the steps and through the back door. 

"You can leave it open," you say over your shoulder. 

He catches an eyeful of your bathroom, an organised chaos that smells intoxicating, the rich scent of jasmine heavy in the humidity chased by something softer. Talcum powder, he thinks. 

You murmur something to Junie too quiet to hear and she rouses from her dozing, grizzling weakly. 

"It's breakfast time! Is that what you tried to come and find me for, some breakfast? So impatient," you scold her lightly, smiling all the while as you set her into a bright blue high chair with a big yellow duck with orange flippers printed on the cushioning.

You squeeze one of her feet and frown. "Your socks are wet. Did you go swimming in the grass?" 

Eddie leans against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He doesn't have any experience with kids. You make it look easy, pulling off her stained socks while she wiggles her protest and tickling the soles of her feet with the tip of your finger until she's happy again. 

You turn back to him, socks clutched in your hand. "I'm gonna make oatmeal. Is that something you…" 

"I'm an oatmeal fiend." 

You grin and do a lap to close the front door. "Sit down. I'll get you some coffee? I got milk and brown sugar." 

He throws himself into the seat next to the high chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Brown sugar? Sweetness, you're spoiling me." 

Junie laughs. Eddie pulls himself up into a proper sitting position and gawps at her exaggeratedly. "What's funny, little lady?" 

She giggles some more. Eddie leans his elbow on the tray of the high chair and pretends to glare at her. "I can already tell you're trouble." 

"She likes you." 

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You're half obscured by cabinets as you poke your head out, an open sack of rolled oats in one hand and a small pan in the other. You nod happily and move to the sink. He can hear the sound of the faucet and the burner clicking on, the saucepan sliding over the stovetop. 

"I like you," he says to Junie quietly, rapping his knuckles on the tray. "But don't tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation." 

"So, uh, how long have you lived here?" you call, almost smothered by the rushing sound of oats tipping into hot water. 

Junie makes a funny face like she might sneeze. Eddie watches. "Since I was a kid." He's smiling as he talks, amazed when Junie starts to smile back. He nods his head gently up and down to encourage her. "Too long. Not that it's not nice here."

Junie looks like she agrees. 

"For sure, but..  not always where you picture yourself," you say tentatively. 

He hums his agreement. "Whatever though, right? A roof is a roof. Even when the roof is made of cardboard and corrugated metal. I mean, all things considered, this is a well kept vessel." 

He's not just trying to make you feel better – you really are making a go of it. There's not nearly as much clutter or decoration as his own home but it's twice as clean and every surface brags a clear affection – you fucking love your daughter. There's a framed photo of her as she looks now at the mantle without a single fingerprint on the glass, baby photos in smaller frames hang on the wall. 

Smallest of all, a photo of the two of you together. Your hands on her shoulders, your lips and nose pressed to her forehead. You're not looking at the camera, but Junie is, and she's exuberant. 

Toys, though few, are arranged neatly under the TV. It's really the type of clean that takes hours. He wonders how you'd ever make time for it. 

"You got a job?"  

"Yeah, I'm waitressing at Benny's?" You say it like a question. "The burger place?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Randolph Lane, near the laundromat. Does Junie go with you?" he asks. He cooes Junie's name and feels very happy when the girl in question smiles some more, reaching out with her hands. Eddie offers up the same palm she'd taken before and lets her squeeze his fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. "She looks like a working girl." 

"Benny said I could bring her with me until she starts daycare next week, so she really is a working girl." You giggle madly and Junie loves the sound, her chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles. 

"I knew it," Eddie whispers conspiringly. "You have the face for it." 

Junie laughs like something is truly hysterical and Eddie can't believe it, squeezing the small girl's smaller fingers in his and waving their joined hands together.

"She really likes you," you say, closer now. 

You set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He pulls his hand from Junie's and moves the hot mug away from the high chair though she'd never be able to reach it as you set your own mug and a pint of milk half-full across from him, the brown sugar you'd promised in a pink and orange ceramic dish with a lid that clinks as he pulls it off. 

You double back into the kitchen. This time you bring a baby bottle full of what he guesses is diluted juice and two teaspoons, handing him one with a quiet, "For you." 

"Why thank you," he drawls. 

He spoons a generous hill of crumbly brown sugar into his cup and swirls. 

"The oatmeal needs to soften. Is there anything you want with it? I've got lots of options," you tell him, pouring milk into your own mug. When you're done you and Eddie swap.

He thinks maybe you sound a little nervous and wonders if he's the first neighbour you've met. Or maybe you're still freaked out about Junie. 

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't look at you as he splashes milk into the dark recesses of his coffee, watching as it bursts back up to the surface and turns the drink a more acceptable brown. "What do you usually have?" 

"Junie gets peanut butter and blueberries." 

He tilts his head toward his shoulder just slightly and plants his elbows on the table, the rim of his mug held in tenuous fingertips. 

"What do you get?" he asks, thinking that if the baby gets such a sweet treat you must get something equally impressive. He thinks of raspberries and chia seeds, flakey sea salt and bitter dark chocolate. 

You blink. "What?" 

"What do you have, on your oatmeal?" He punctuates his question with a sip. 

"Salt. Sometimes raisins." 

You make a nice cup of coffee. Eddie holds it in both hands and leans into the table. "That's it?" 

You shrug. Junie starts to whimper about something Eddie doesn't understand. You reach out to hold her hand. "She loves blueberries. Don't you, Junie?"

"Blue," Junie says. 

You're smiling as you take another small spoonful of brown sugar. You lick the tip of your finger and dip it into the well of the spoon until a few grains are sticking to you and hold it up to Junie's lips. "She loves sugar, too, but toddlers aren't s'posed to have it. Or so they say." You smile as she sucks the sugar off before wiping your spit wet finger in your pants. 

Daughter appeased for a moment, you hold your chin in your palm and turn your attention to him. "Where do you work?" 

He imagines this is how a plant feels when the sun comes out. "The Hideout, for now. I'm a very essential and irreplaceable bus boy." He nods very seriously.

"What's after?" 

"Music." 

Your lips curl into an interested smile. "Music? You a singer?" 

"I have a great set of windpipes," he says agreeably, grinning. "But I'm a guitarist." 

"And you're in a band?" 

"I- I was. Yeah, we were good, too, but everybody graduated and our drummer skipped town. I just sub rhythm guitar for whoever wants me to." 

"At the Hideout?" 

"At the Hideout." He decides on his next words carefully. You could come see me play. Weak. You're welcome to come see it for yourself. Too strong? You're welcome to come by one night. Bring Junie. 

He's not asking you on a date; he's a new acquaintance extending an invitation for you to get out and see a new place. That's all it is. 

He opens his mouth to try and suddenly there's a loud clattering. Eddie flinches, blinks, finds that Junie has thrown her bottle of juice across the room. 

Eddie waits for you to maybe tell her off like some of the mom's he's seen at Bradley's. A glare, a hissing remark to be good. 

You reach over and your shirt rides up your back. Eddie averts his gaze guiltily.

You put the bottle back on the tray, giving him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Junie has recently discovered that every time she drops something I'll pick it up for her." 

"Smart Junie." 

The bottle falls to the floor again. "She's a genius." You don’t sound entirely pleased, picking the bottle up again and holding it just out of Junie's reach. You shake it up and down. "S'juice. You like juice," you try to reason with her.

Junie reaches for it. You purse your lips. "Be good," you say softly. 

Junie takes the bottle and shakes it. 

It's a small victory and still softens every feature. Your eyes squint, your bottom lip juts out a touch, your nostrils flare with a pleased inhale. 

"Thanks, junebug."

"Tanks," Junie says. 

"Thanks," you repeat, bubbly baby talk. "Thanks. Say thanks, Junie." 

Eddie watches you encourage her over his coffee. It's quiet, peaceful here in a way nowhere else in his life has ever been besides quiet Sunday mornings with his Uncle. There's only the sound of the gas stovetop burning and your happy, patient voice. 

Junie says "Tanks," a couple more times. You don't give up. When she finally says something that sounds almost like a "Thanks," you whip your gaze to his. 

"Did you hear that?" you ask. Your pride is evident. 

He puts down his half empty mug. "She said it." 

"She said it," you repeat, your shoulders moving in the tiniest happy dance he's ever seen. You stand up and take her face into delicate hands. "She's my smarty pants. Aren't you, baby?" 

You dot a kiss over her head and head back into the kitchenette. 

"Tanks," Junie says animatedly, running on an affection high. She accidentally knocks her bottle over.

"Thanks, Junie," Eddie corrects, righting it. 

He finds it easier to baby talk than he imagined. Being nice to little kids – that's easy. Especially as he gets older. When they hit the pre-teen mark is when he starts to steer clear, but even then he can't help doting on them sometimes. Like his club – idiots, annoying idiots, but his annoying idiots. He doesn't hold back with them. He doesn't feel like he's holding back now, either, it's just different. 

Baby's want love. Care and affection. 

And to pull Eddie's hair, apparently. 

Junie's reaching over the gap with a fierce look on her face. Eddie pulls his chair closer and decides to let her try it out. She hadn't given him any reason to worry before, and she doesn't now as she takes a chunk of his hair into her hand. She pulls very gently, likely more that her fingers have gotten caught in his messy curls than any maliciousness. 

"What's your fascination with my hair?" he asks her. 

In her own home Junie's very noisy. When he'd found her outside she hadn't done much besides whimper weakly. Now, she's a riot of gurgling and humming. 

"Are you a singer, Junie?" he asks. 

"She sings all the time! She loves the Muppet Babies on TV, but I- uh, I haven't been able to actually get cable, yet. But when I get paid next week…" You come back into view with two bowls in hand. "She'll be in her oils." 

Eddie says thanks as you put a bowl down in front of him. There's a smiley face there made up of berries with banana slices for eyes. He feels something crawling up his throat and has no idea what it is, and then something completely different when he sees your own bowl, a stretch of plain oatmeal with no delicious adornment. 

You leave and quickly return with a smaller bowl, a baby spoon and a jar of peanut butter.

"Do you want some?" you ask, opening the jar to push the baby spoon inside. "I would've just put it in anyway but then I worried you were allergic." 

You hand it off to Junie and she licks at it happily. 

"Sure, I'll have some. Where's your smiley face?" he asks. 

Your eyes widen slightly. Eddie's not academically inclined but he's never been stupid, and he sees it for what it is, something he's seen in himself and in every other poor kid who didn't bring lunch to school.

"I don't really like bananas," you say. 

Whether you're lying or not isn't something he needs to know.

"Well, you're gonna have to share the blueberries with me, I can't eat this much fruit. I got a hearty diet of chips and microwave oven dinners to uphold." 

Eddie shovels half of the smile into your bowl. You clutch your spoon in your hand like you want to protest, but no way is he gonna watch you miss out on nice things in your own home. 

You smile and don't say anything for a while, rubbing the edge of the bowl with your spoon, your thoughts somewhere else. 

Junie's food sits billowing steam in the middle of the table, which annoys the poor girl endlessly. She wiggles and murmurs and sucks at her empty spoon with a growing line between her brows. 

Eddie eats and feels much better when you finally start to eat your own meal, leaning back in his chair heavily to loll his head towards Junie. "Your mom makes amazing oatmeal. You're really missing out." 

You choke on a laugh and grab her spoon to load up with another small heap of peanut butter. "That is so cruel to lord over her,” you say. “I can't give it to her yet! It's scorching. She has a fragile mouth." 

"I'm sure." 

He picks one of his blueberries out of the bowl and offers it to Junie, who takes it slowly despite her previously rabid hunger 

More oatmeal eating. Eddie ends up giving the rest of his fruit to Junie, your generous dollops of peanut butter more than enough to enjoy the oatmeal. He might argue it doesn't need any adornment at all.

You stir peanut butter into Junie's bowl and wrestle the baby spoon out of her tight grip.

It's a process to watch. You scoop up oatmeal, blow on it until you're sure it's cool, and push it into Junie's mouth efficiently. There's a method to it, the way you lift the handle of the spoon so oatmeal doesn't drip straight back out of her mouth. When it does you scrape the lip gently against her chin to catch it before it ruins her shirt. 

It starts to rain. Hard not to notice, a light drizzle opens and sprays down against the windows and for a moment there's no reaction. Then, gasping, you drop Junie's bowl back onto the table in stress. 

"Shit, the laundry. Are you okay to watch her please? Sorry. I'll be five seconds," you say, already heading for the back door. 

"Sure.” He sounds about as startled as he feels. 

The back door shushes open and your feet dip down the steps. Junie is not very pleased with her breakfast getting put on pause, her face growing as unpleasant as the weather outside.

"Mommy," she says, unhappy and loud.

Eddie doesn't think about it as he picks up her bowl. It's more a pulse of feeling than a thought. Feed her and she won't cry. 

He blows on a spoonful of oatmeal with likely too much vigour. 

Junie's still complaining as he holds it in front of her face. If she's surprised to be fed by somebody who isn't her mom she doesn't show it, her sticky face growing suddenly slack as she realises her oatmeal is back in play. Her lips part.

He feeds her oatmeal, does a very bad job, and tries to gather what's escaped with the spoon as Junie waves her hands around and pokes at spilled food on the white tray in front of her. By the time you come back damp and breathless with the cold chasing your heels he's successfully managed to feed her what was left of her breakfast. He's embarrassed to be caught but tries not to show it. 

"You okay?" he asks, looking you up and down amicably.

"S'only a little rain." You push the laundry basket onto the sofa and smile sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that." 

"And have the precious little lady starve?" 

"Starve!" you repeat, a feigned incredulousness to your tone. 

"She was giving me the puppy dog's," he says, shrugging as he takes the spoon out of Junie's wet fingers. 

She whines for a second at his robbery but seems to realise she's full, picking her juice back up to shake some more. 

You exhale through an open-mouthed smile.

"Thank you. She's gonna love you now, she loves anyone who gives her food. She's a real cadge at the diner. Never seen so much free cherry pie in my life," you remark, turning to what looks like your diaper station. You wade through a mess of things he doesn't recognise and pull out a packet of baby wipes. 

"And her mom? Is her affection so easily garnered?" 

"Takes more than a cherry pie to win me over," you joke, sitting down in your chair in front of the high chair with a soft sigh. You pull out one of the wipes and take Junie's wrists into your hand, wiping her fingers clean methodically. "I need at least a squirt of whipped cream on top before I consider any fondness." 

He chuckles and you laugh too. It's short-lived, your lips pursed as you wipe Junie's face clean. She hates every second of it, writhing in her chair like she's being tortured as you clean a mess of brown and blue from her round chin. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry. Done, done," you say, holding your hands up in surrender. 

She pouts. 

"Don't be like that," you scold her mildly. "Look how lovely and clean you are now! Eddie can see how pretty you look again." 

You slide your hands under her armpits and pull her out of the highchair, groaning. 

"Oh, there you go. Where's Mr. Bear gone, baby? You can play sticky bricks with him so I can get ready for work." 

Work. Work. Where Eddie was going. Where Eddie is very likely supposed to be. He checks the time and his eyes flare, standing up abruptly. You turn  toward him with Junie anchored on your hip, both wearing matching expressions of curiosity.

"Sh-“ Don’t swear around babies. “I'm sorry, I got somewhere to be that I totally spaced on."

You blink. "That's okay." 

"It was sick to meet you," he says. 

You blink some more and walk to the front door, pulling it open as an understanding smile curls your lips. "Super 'sick,'" you say, bemused. "Thank you so much for bringing Junie back. Really, I mean, if anything ever happened to her." You don't finish because it's obvious, your bright tone underlain with a burning fear.

He walks sideways out of the door and down one step, knowing he's super fucking late but not caring too much as he says, "Listen, I can bring you a deadbolt." 

"You could?" 

"Sure thing. Make sure this little lady," and he says it chidingly, directing his gaze at Junie who goes all shy and smiley from the attention, "doesn't go on anymore morning adventures. Especially without her shoes." 

"That would be… that would be awesome, Eddie. Thank you." 

He waves his hand and descends the last of the steps. "I'll come around tomorrow?" 

It's a Saturday today. He's not surprised that you're both working the weekend, but he is surprised that you're working Sunday too when you say, "Would after five be okay?" 

"That's more than okay. Bye, trouble," he says to Junie, bringing a hand up to shield his hair from the drizzling rain. 

You look lovely on the stoop, fresh-faced and in your lounge clothes. You tug Junie up your chest and take her hand into yours. "Say 'bye', Junie," you tell her, waving her hand. "Bye! Bye-bye, Eddie." 

"Bye Junie!" he calls, waving at the little girl with great fervour.

"Bye!" Junie calls back. 

You both grin. 

-

You're super tired from work and exhausted from an upset daughter. Even now Junie fusses. She hasn't been getting her naps because you can't set her down anywhere that isn't the wooden high chair in Benny's restaurant, which is months of a routine disrupted. 

You're not mad at her – the opposite, you feel awful to mess her up like this, awful that she's so upset. Trying your very best to calm her down, you're swaying her from side to side in the middle of your messy living room with your hand patting a steady rhythm into the narrow breadth of her back. 

"I know, baby, I know. I'm sorry. You'll get your nap tomorrow, I promise," you say, trying for softness and missing, desperation eating at your tone.

You try not to have a heart attack at the thought of her first day at the new daycare. I can't think about it, you tell yourself, moving your thoughts onto the Sunday checklist. 

Junie's been fed. Unfortunately, she's the kind of wound up where the only solution you can think of is to get her in bed. If you can get her down soon she'll sleep until maybe 4AM. Not ideal; you'd prefer she slept later tonight and woke up at a healthier 6AM with you. When she does wake, no matter the time, you'll have her eat something substantial for breakfast and take a much needed bath. 

Laundry, bills, cleaning, it all runs through your head. Junie's hair, her snacks for daycare, her clothes. Does she have clean socks for the week? Does she have a vest top for tomorrow? 

Her crying grows loud and you can't think of anything except how overwhelmed you feel. 

"It's okay, baby, just go to sleep." You shush her softly.

Somebody knocks the door. 

You and Junie are similarly nonplussed. Her crying ceases for a second and her head turns in tandem with yours. 

"Oh. Oh, you know who that is, huh?" you ask her, making for the door while her cries are still on pause. "That's our new friend Eddie. You remember Eddie?" 

You pull open the door. There he is on the porch with a bag and a plastic case, wearing a shirt with short sleeves. You realise for the first time that he has tattoos. 

"Hi," you say. 

"Hi. Hi, Junie," he adds, looking at her tear-stained face. "Have I come at a bad time?" 

"No, you're good. You're great, thank you for doing this." You lean back against the door and Eddie skirts past you. That close, you can smell the heavy sage and sandalwood of his cologne and see the beauty mark under his ear, dark hair tucked behind the shell. 

He stops in the middle of the room and puts down the plastic case. "I'm gonna try to do it. Try being the essential word, and I make absolutely no promises." He makes a small cross with his hands leading out and the bag falls from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. 

It sounds like more than a deadbolt. Eddie sees your gaze and jumps into theatrics that hook Junie's attention straight away, ruffling through the bag. He pulls out a VHS tape and then a second, one old and one newer. 

"For your consideration." He presents them grandly against his check, his eyes flitting from your daughter to the tapes in wait of her reaction. 

Junie has no clue what a VHS is. She thinks the TV is magic. 

You swoop in and gasp loudly for Junie's sake, having identified his proffered tapes immediately. 

"You know what that is?" you ask her, pointing at the slipcover. "Muppet Babies! There's Kermit and Fozzy and Rowlf and Gonzo." You touch your finger to each puppet in turn as you reel off their names. 

Junie looks up at you like maybe she remembers, so you start to sing the theme tune for her. "Muppet Babies, they make their dreams come true. Muppet Babies, they'll do the same for you!"

The song jogs her memory. She starts her nonsense singing in a valiant but juvenile effort to recreate the music, dancing in your arms. 

You sing it again for her as you lower her to the floor. She doesn't whine to be picked back up, a great sign that her mood has turned, instead walking to the TV, a small silver combi with a bubble screen. She raises her arms up high and starts hitting the TV stand with her palms flat. 

Eddie looks to you as if he's checking that it's alright before crossing the small space and turning on the TV, your relieved smile more than enough encouragement. He's careful not to step on Junie's feet, surprised when she walks into his leg. She grabs onto his jeans and looks up at him with wide eyes. 

Eddie visibly softens. 

It's kind of crazy to see him, this metalhead dude covered in dark tattoos and wearing safety pinned jeans looking down at a toddler with nothing but patience in his eyes.

He drops his hand very lightly to her tiny back and pushes in the tape. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Junie says. 

She doesn't let him touch her for very long, falling to her knees to pull out the bin of stickle bricks hiding underneath as Eddie fast forwards through the adverts and then turns up the volume until the Muppet Babies theme is echoing against the wood panelled walls.. 

Junie's eyes dart up the screen, two bricks held in her hands and a great smile on her face. 

"Where did you find that?" you ask, in awe. 

He steps over her and comes back to your side, crossing his arms over his stomach with a smug smile. "Not telling. Ruins the magic. Got The Bugs Bunny Show for when she gets bored of Miss Piggy." 

You smooth down your rumpled black work skirt and smile shyly. "I can pay you back… Next week." 

He looks lost for words for a split-second. It clears fast, and he says, "Tell you a secret. I have a friend down at good old Family Video that let me have 'em for nothing." 

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. You worry he's lying to make you feel better. 

"Uh-huh. Friends in high places," he brags sarcastically. 

You turn to watch Junie smile for the first time in hours and have to scrub your face to hide how shattered you feel. It's been a really long week. Your relief is a physical thing, a hand on your shoulder. You feel yourself deflate. 

"You okay?" Eddie asks. 

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks. "Thank you. Really. You saved me." 

"Yeah?" he asks, dialling up the drama. He lifts his chin high. "Would you say, oh, I don't know, that I'm your hero?" 

It's his clear joking tone that saves him. If you'd detected even a smidge of genuine expectancy from him you likely would've shoved him out the door. 

"Mm-hm. My hero," you croon, both of you grinning. 

He turns back to the grocery bag and pulls out a bottle of juice. "I was gonna bring coke but I didn't want Junie to feel left out." 

You move to the cabinets and can't believe how nice he is. You get a little warning stab, that feeling of if it's too good to be true… and shake it off. Maybe it'll turn out that way and you're not gonna do anything stupid to chance it, but he seems like a normal guy. A good neighbour who wants to be your friend.

You're in dire need of one of those. 

"What was wrong with the little lady?" 

You pour juice into a glass for him, less into a glass for you, and a half-inch into a clean baby bottle. "I can't get her down for a nap when she's with me at work and it really caught up to her today. She-" You yawn so wide it hurts your cheeks, covering your face with your arm. 

Eddie looks up from where he's kneeling in front of the open plastic case he'd brought with him. "Caught up to you too, I think." 

"A little." You smile ruefully. 

He holds something red and black in the air. "This'll wake you up," he says. 

It's a small hand drill. He presses down on the trigger twice in quick succession and Junie lies down on the floor to look backwards at him. 

“Woah,” you say.

Junie rolls onto her knees and then stands. She's in that stage of walking where she can mostly do it but has a great tendency to trip over anything that might be in her way, and she stumbles as she approaches. Eddie moves the drill away from her and opens the case wide to show her his array of drill bits. 

"How'd you like them, Junie?" he asks. "Pretty cool, huh?" 

"What do they all do?" you ask. 

"I don't have the foggiest," he says, grinning up at you. "And I really wanted to be cool and pretend that I did. I was going to, but you asked me that and now we're sunk." 

Junie pokes at all the silver metal and turns away, bored, to return to her cartoons. 

"I'm sorry," you say, not sorry at all. 

"You should be." He shakes his hair out. "Can't say woodshop was something I ever paid much attention to in school." 

You squat down beside him where he's counting the screws out for the deadbolt he'd acquired for you, your small cup of juice in hand. The deadbolt isn't new but it's clean of rust and that's all you care about. It doesn't need to do anything besides work. 

"It can't be too hard though, right?" you ask quietly. There isn't any need to talk loudly this close to him and your head is starting to hurt from a long day. 

"I hope not." He passes you the drill. "Hold onto that?" 

He stands and you follow, the deadbolt frame in hand. He turns to your front door and holds it up to the frame, far from the door knob. "Where'd you want this thing?" 

"Wherever you think is best," you say quickly. 

"Got a pencil?" 

You don't. You're ashamed to offer him a cyan blue crayon from Junie's arts and crafts. He takes it with a gleeful smile and uses it to draw a line under the deadbolt's two parts to make sure they fit together once they've been drilled in. 

Junie starts fussing and you squint at her, trying to guess what's wrong. You leave the drill on the small table by the door.

"Junie, you want some dinner?" you ask, walking up behind her where she's stood watching TV. You rub her shoulder and lean over her, your face upside down in front of the TV. "I don't think you're hungry. Let's change that diaper." 

She certainly doesn't want you to. You turn to Eddie where he's making clumsy crosses on the door in place of the screws, his brows furrowed. 

"I'm gonna go get her some jammies," you say, and then wince. "Pajamas." 

"Jammies," he repeats. You hate how happy he looks. 

A hot flush washes over you. "She's the only one I talk to." 

Again, that awful softening of his features. He's got the biggest, brownest eyes you've ever seen. "Why don't you get changed, too? I'm gonna start drilling." He waves the drill and you don't like how loosely he holds it. 

"Please don't ruin the door." 

A wolfish smile. "No promises." 

You leave all the doors open. Eddie's nice but you're not stupid – if he plans on kidnapping her or something evil this is the perfect time. Though, you suppose, he could’ve abducted her when he found her outside.

You shed your uniform and pull on a pair of loose fitting pants. You can't find a clean t-shirt, probably because you own a grand total of three, and you get distracted when the drill starts whirring and Junie screams. 

You know in your heart that it's just a baby scream rather than a sign that she's in pain and you still can't let it lie, rushing down the hall. You can see her, see that she's uninjured, only looking at the drill.

She's excited. 

"You like that?" Eddie asks her. "Is that funny?" 

Junie claps her hands together and reaches for the drill. 

Eddie frowns. "Sorry, you can't have it. I gotta finish the door for your mommy. Why don't you build me something with your bricks, yeah? Something big." 

Junie reaches up for the drill again. 

"I can't, Junie, it's too dangerous. Don't want you to get all mutilated." You wrinkle your nose at what he's saying. He turns the drill towards his chest and touches the drill bit to his collar. "Look, see this? It's not for little hands." 

Junie steps over the case of things on the ground and leans against Eddie's legs, insistent. 

Your mouth drops open as he starts the drill and puts on some fake anguished screams. "Ah! Oh my god, it's eating me!" 

Junie starts laughing at his fake screaming. Her eyes widen, her hands clinging to a rip in his jeans. 

"Think that's funny, do you? Heartless girl. Where's your juice gone, hmm?" He holds the drill behind his back and points to her bottle on the side of the couch where you'd left it. "You want that?" 

He goes over her head to grab it and encourage it into her hands. "Yummy," he says, his eyes moving to where you stand in the door past the kitchen, eyebrows jumping up. "Everything okay?" 

"Screaming," you say, awkward in your breathlessness. 

Eddie's eyes stay resolutely on your face. "She's okay. The drill is exciting. You're shirtless, you know." 

You spin on your heel and back into your room. Your heart a jack hammer, you sieve through clothes until a rumpled t-shirt that smells of deodorant but not sweat appears and shrug into it. 

Junie has a much better selection of clothes. You pick out some matching pajamas for her and a thick pair of socks and tuck them under your arm with her changing matt.

When you return this time, Eddie's drilling a third and fourth hole into the wall next to the door and Junie's watching with the teat of her bottle in her mouth, chewing but not drinking. You lay her mat down on the floor and grab her with a big sigh. 

"Alright, Junie, let's get you all fresh for bed." 

You change her diaper and she doesn't misbehave too much, Eddie's general presence a distraction. Soon she's sitting in your lap, dressed in new pajamas and smelling of talcum powder and baby creams, her wool socks soft as you rub your thumbs into the instep of her feet. 

You sit on the floor watching Eddie drill the screws into the deadbolt frame. Junie slouches against you, her head digging into your chest and her tired arms struggling to hold up her bottle. You hold it up for her, watching Eddie's hands and his arms, how they move. Muscle and ligament tense under the skin, tattoos warping, his bats propelled into flight. 

"I like your tattoos," you say. 

Eddie stops drilling to look over his shoulder. "What?" 

"I- I like your tattoos." 

He lights up. His back straightens out and he turns back to the lock, giving the last screw a final good twist. The door makes a groaning protest and then it's quiet. Just Muppet Babies, Junie's soft suckling and the compliment you'd given adrift in the room. 

"They're pretty sweet," he allows. You can hear how pleased he is though he won't look at you. 

"They're cool. Have you had them long?" 

Eddie starts to tell you all about them, fiddling with something you can't see on the door. 

Junie decides that she doesn't want to be sitting anymore and turns in your arms, hands coveting your neck. You lift her into your chest and rub circles in her back, the weight of her emptying bottle on your shoulder. Soon, her small arms go lax. There's a rush of air as her lips open from the teat and the bottle tumbles to the rug with a dull thud. 

He pulls open the door.  Cool air rushes in. He closes it, slides the deadlock into place, and then pulls hard to make sure it won’t come free. 

It’s solid. 

He laughs triumphantly and Junie stirs. You pat her back and make some quiet shushing sounds and Eddie turns around, a slip of his teeth on show as he grimaces. 

"Sorry," he whispers. 

You shake your head. "You're amazing. Thank you." 

If his cheeks weren't pink they are now. He leans into it, hiding one cheek behind his hair. "Stop," he says, exaggerated. 

"I'll make it good, I swear," you whisper, covering Junie's ear with your hand. "I'll make you the best dinner ever. I'm the best at Kraft's mac and cheese, or-" You flush hot, realising that mac and cheese might not be the treat you think it is to him. "Or we can order in," you say, doing the maths in your head. You can't afford it, but maybe Benny-

"Kraft's mac and cheese? You're spoiling me." 

You beam. 

Eddie cleans up the small mess he's made. You're afraid to move quite yet in case Junie's not really sleeping, though she's a dead weight in your arms, and you watch Eddie walk through the room with both caution and ease. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that,” you say. 

He folds the baby blanket in his hands and puts it back on the armrest of the couch before moving on to the stickle bricks, not looking at you as he says, "Just earning my wage, doll." 

You can't watch him clean your home. You wrap a tight arm around Junie and rise to your feet. Eddie sees your approach and his movements grow faster, rushing to clean up the mess before you can stop him. You don't know who starts first but you're both laughing as you grab his wrist. 

"Stop!" you whisper, mock-furious. "Stop cleaning." 

"Sh, you'll wake the baby." 

You shake your head in bemusement. "I'm gonna go set her down. Then mac and cheese." 

"Take your time. Lots of things for me to clean up out here," he says with a mock sincerity. 

You drift down the hall and turn back to sneak a glance at him. He's pulled Muppet Babies out of the TV and is rewinding it around his thumb, a small smile on his lips as he hums the theme tune to himself. 

With Junie finally in bed for the night you take a quick peek at yourself in the mirror on your nightstand and cringe. You look tired. You give yourself a big smile and feel better; a smile makes even your most exhausted features look pretty. 

You slap on some chapstick. You know, to counter your dry lips. It shines. 

Slipping out of the bedroom, you close the door as quietly as you can manage. 

Eddie's standing at the end of the hallway. You expect to feel scared. Instead, you’re perplexed.

"Hi?" you whisper.

"Can I use the bathroom?" 

You laugh. "Yeah. Course you can." 

You have to pass each other in the hallway. His hip bumps your hip, a short rub of fabric. 

You're still thinking about it when he finds you behind the stove, half asleep with your face in your hand. It's the kind of tired where your eyes keep slipping shut, not aching so much as blurry with a heavy head. 

"You okay?" he asks quietly, sitting down at your cramped table. 

You hum. "Hm. Just tired." You give him a guilty smile as you tip the bigger portion into his bowl.  "Sorry. Mac and cheese with bacon bits for you, my hero." 

"Thanks, sweetheart." 

The fatigue ebbs a little. 

Eddie’s easy to talk to. He makes you laugh. When you say goodnight, he looks back over his shoulder twice.

-

It's a funny coincidence that Eddie sees you Friday night. He never grocery shops on a Friday but he knowd when his uncle gets home in the morning there won’t be anything for him to eat after his shift. He takes a sharp turn towards the TV dinners and there you are at the bottom of the aisle with Junie in the seat of the cart. You're talking to her like you'd talk to anyone, though you didn't sound so saccharine sweet over mac and cheese. Close, but not quite. 

"What do you want?" you're asking. "Ham and pineapple or mini pepperoni?" 

Junie holds her hands out for both boxes. You let her take them and the two of you puzzle over the pizzas, heads bent together. 

"Pepperoni, right?" you ask her, quietly enough that he almost misses it. 

"Peroni," Junie agrees. You let her keep the box and put the other one back in the freezer. 

"Pepperoni," you correct, absentminded. 

"Peroni." 

"Pepper-roni." You sound it out slow, looking at a scrap of paper in your hand. 

"Pepper."

"You'll get there. Do you think we need shampoo this week?" You start jovial, but quickly lose your sprightliness. "Maybe I can put some water in the bottle and just… shake it up. No, we definitely need it." 

Eddie watches you look over the cart. He knows exactly what you're thinking, What can I put back?

"Hey!" he calls, walking a little faster to try and hide how he'd been listening. 

You turn on the spot and smile as soon as you see him. Junie, to his delight, is even more excited. 

"Hi," she says, hands thudding along the cart's handlebar. 

"Hi, Junie. How's my favourite neighbour?" 

She babbles. 

"I'm psyched to hear it. How about you, sweetheart?" he asks, parking his cart next to yours. 

You're looking very tired. Still in your work uniform with a hoodie thrown over the top and your smart flats swapped for a pair of converse with the laces undone. You pinch your cheeks up into a big smile. He guesses that with a baby you've gotten very used to hiding how you feel.

You don't hesitate to lay it down thickly. "I'm really good." 

"Yeah? How's Junie liking daycare?" 

You cover your hands with your sleeves. "She loves it. Loves napping again. She-" You frown. "She doesn't like the mornings. Dropping her off. But after." You nod with a tentative smile "Yeah, it's nice to pick her up." 

"Uh-huh. How's work?" 

"What?" 

"How's work for you? How's Benny's?" he prods. 

"You're asking me about work?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Nobody ever asks about work," you say. 

You can't look at him as soon as you've said it, your eyes moving back to the grocery list in hand. It's an old envelope, and it crinkles under your squeezing fingers. 

"Sorry," you mutter. 

Eddie bites back a frown. "Well, I'm asking." 

He holds out his hand for the list and you give it without thinking. He adores your handwriting the second he sees it, scanning the list for anything in this aisle.

"Hey, tell me about it," he prompts at your silence, pushing his cart. It takes you a millisecond to catch up, but when you do you're near frenetic. 

"Well, I messed up like, five different orders today. And when I had Junie it was like they didn't care 'cos she's cute, but now she's not there they get pretty angry pretty quickly." 

"She's like a magic item." 

"Right," you say, sounding like you have no idea what he's talking about. "She was my lucky charm. 'N now when I mess up I gotta practically beg some of those guys to leave Benny alone. He's too nice to me already."

"Are they all terrible?"

"No, the regulars, guys in there everyday, they're all great. They're too generous. Benny's too generous. I know he's fluffing up my tip jar. I hate that. I don't want him-" You flinch. It's strange. Eddie takes a small step closer to you and waits for you to continue, but you've lost all steam. "Sorry, I don't mean to weigh you down with all of this." 

"I asked. And I get it." 

"I don't want him to feel sorry for me." 

"Hey," he says, reaching out for a box of cereal on your list. He presents it to Junie and shakes it around, "who said anything about all that?" 

"No, I know, I just-" 

Junie smiles her approval and he chucks the cereal in your cart with a rattle of metal. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I swear. I get it. I- You said he's a nice guy, right? So maybe he doesn't feel sorry for you at all. Maybe he just likes you. He owns that place. I don't think it hurts him to put an extra twenty in your tips." 

Junie reaches up. You turn to her and lean down until your face is a few inches from hers. "I wish I didn't need it," you say quietly. 

"I know." 

Junie puts her hand on your cheek. 

You sniff, not crying or anything like that, only breathing. "Thanks, Junie," you murmur. 

"Mommy," she says. She sounds a little concerned. 

"Let's go get something yummy, baby." You stroke her face lightly. "I'm thinking canned peaches. Or pears, um. Fruit cocktail. And condensed milk," you add, sounding unsure.

"I got a can or two of that laying around," Eddie says, because he knows that shit is expensive. "Wayne hates sweet stuff." 

"I couldn't-" 

"You let me come over for one of those mini pizzas and I'll bring the dessert," he says, like he knows you'll say yes. He doesn't know. Eddie Munson’s an expert in pushing his luck. 

Junie starts clapping her hands together. 

"I think she's decided," you say. 

-

You're terrible with a can opener. You whine to yourself as you struggle to get open the second can. Eddie had insisted on peaches and pears and fruit cocktail, because he wanted to try them all apparently. And then some dramatic speech about little kids getting spoiled.

You can hear him now in the living room with Junie. They're laughing in a way that you're worried about, that guilty, hushed giggling that raises your hackles. 

"Shush," Eddie says, faux-angry, "your mom's gonna hear." 

"Shush," she repeats with much more enthusiasm. 

"You shush! Look, don't do that, Junie, you're gonna get it tangled in your hair," he says. 

You carry the can and can opener with you into the living room. Something about tangled hair gets your heart racing. 

"Eddie, please don't let her get stickies in her hair," you say quickly. 

"They're called stickles," he says, dropping back onto his hands, head over his shoulder to give you a bright-eyed smile. 

"I know what they're called. Junie can't say stickles." 

"Stickles," she says. 

"She couldn't when I got them," you amend. 

He's up quicker than you can really take in, hands extended. "Let me do it," he says. 

He works the can out of your fingers. It's more contact than you've had with somebody who wasn't your daughter in a very long time and it leaves you shell-shocked. Eyes on his nice hands, bigger than yours with thicker fingers and his riot of rings. He presses the can to his chest and hooks the opener, peeking between it and you intermittently. 

"Go see what we made for you," he encourages. "I'll do it." 

His arm brushes yours as he moves to the kitchen and that's worse than his fingers. You rub where he'd touched and drop down on your knees next to Junie, looking over the stickle bricks with a smile. It's a heart, poorly construed and of tens of colours. It falls apart when she tries to pick it up so you help her remake it, cooing. 

"Thanks, baby. This is for me, huh? You're so sweet." Your voice drops to a murmur. "My sweet girl. Wanna cuddle?" 

You open your arms out and she doesn't seem very interested. "Please?" you ask, vying for her waist. 

She lets you pull her into your lap. When you actually start to hug her she does her lovely melting thing that she always does, a floppy fish in your arms but with tiny squeezing hands. You giggle at her antics and lift her up so her face falls into your neck. 

"Thanks for my heart, Junebug." She snuggles her head into your neck, hair squished to your skin. "I love you," you whisper, rubbing her back. 

"The works," Eddie announces grandly as he appears, two bowls in hand.

"Eddie, that's too much for her." 

"She's a growing girl." 

"A growing girl with a tiny tummy," you say turning her around in your arms. "Tell you what, you have that one," you point to the biggest one, "and we'll share that one." 

"How about you share the big one?" he asks, though it hardly sounds like a question. He sits down and places the bowl in her lap. 

You grab the spoon before she can and stir up some of the fruits. "Wow, look at this! You gonna say thanks? Thanks Eddie.”

She doesn’t say thanks — her mouth is too far open to form words. You make quick work of shovelling fruit and condensed milk inside, chilled enough that she shivers in your arms. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” you say agreeably.

She gets enthusiastic enough to take the spoon and you let her, even when she totally mauls the food, eating so loudly that Muppet Babies becomes inaudible. 

Eddie eats slowly. You can feel his gaze. “You’re not gonna have any?” he asks. 

You’d felt it coming. Your answer is clumsy anyways. “No, I will. I just… I always have her leftovers,” you say, sheepish. 

He stands up. 

You’re gonna ask why when Junie tips fruit down your legs, cold on the naked skin of your ankle. You dab at your pajamas with a small sigh. There’s no point in getting upset. She’s a messy eater but they all are at this age. Honestly, it’s nice to see her attempting to use a spoon rather than her hands. 

“You’re doing a good job,” you say. You’re not totally sure who you’re talking to. 

“Tada!” Eddie cheers, wielding a third bowl of fruit. “Swap with me?”

“What?”

“You think Junie’ll come sit in my lap?” he asks. He doesn’t wait, really. He holds out the bowl and you take it on impulse as he sits down heavily. 

He takes her into his lap with a cheerful groan. “Oh, c’mere, sweetheart. There’s enough milk on your chin to bake a cake.” He wipes it with his hand. He doesn’t so much as wince at the mess. 

You stare. He eases the spoon out of her grip and scrapes up a half-spoonful of what looks like pear and feeds it to her with the same kind of deftness of hand that’d taken you months to learn. 

He can feel your gaze, evidently, because he looks up. There, you catch it, that slither of insecurity he hides well. 

You pick up your bowl and start eating. It’s the nicest thing you’ve eaten in almost two years. You’d die for Junie. You’d do worse. But to eat, to know she’s fed — gorged — to know you can sit here and eat this whole bowl of fruit all to yourself and you won’t have to put it down, that’s heaven. It’s better, because you never let yourself have anything nice if you can help it. 

The fruit turns to a lump in your throat and you swallow it, sniffling. Your lashes grow heavy with unshed tears and you keep your gaze resolutely on your dessert. When was the last time you had something this nice all to yourself? When was the last time somebody ever went out of their way to be this nice?

It’s a small gesture and a huge one. A tear dribbles down your cheek. You lick it away and keep on eating. 

-

Eddie starts to come around every Friday. It’s a good deal; you make dinner and he makes dessert. After that first time he makes it his mission to give you heaping bowls too much to eat most of the time. Soon, he’s coming a few days a week, not always long, sometimes until the late hours, though you tell him desserts are a Friday only occasion. He complies grudgingly. 

You make your first friend in years, and it’s so sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

Or what possesses you to offer to cut his hair. 

Eddie's sitting on the couch with Junie, his big thigh to her little one and a picture book spread between them whilst you clean the kitchen. He's not reading to her – she's trying to read to him. She can't read, of course, but she can remember some of the words in relation to the pictures. She pokes at the blue cat and says blue. She pokes at the blue dog and says blue. She also points at the red cat and says blue. It's a learning curve. 

Eddie gives corrections and encouragements just as you would. You smile at him from behind your cup of water. 

"He's red, sweetheart," he murmurs, arm around her shoulder to hold the book's edges. "Red cat." 

"Red cat," she repeats with enough accuracy to make you choke on your water. 

Eddie gasps almost as loud as you do. "Right! Red cat! You're so smart, junebug, I can't believe it," he praises, squeezing her shoulder. His gaze meets yours and he smiles. 

You send him back your sweetest smile. If he wasn't always so nice to you you'd like him anyway because of how he treats Junie, like she's the fucking sun. 

She gets so excited when other people are happy that she starts laughing, standing up and trampling all over his legs to give him a hug. She's given him half hugs, she's fallen asleep by his side and loves to pet his hair, but this is a proper, tactile hug. Her arms wind around his neck with purpose and as soon as his surprise has faded he brings his arms up to hug her in turn, laughing delightedly. 

"You're such a smarty-pants," he praises, rubbing her back with a boyish brashness. 

She squeals as he squeezes her, his fingers digging into her ribs. Never cruel, only tickling her. She eats up every second of it and buries her face in his neck, laughing her wound up baby laugh that always brings a smile to your face. 

"Ooh, she's so smart. First blue, then red. Next you'll be saying indigo, and vermillion, and-" 

He cuts off when Junie gets one of her nails caught in his hair. She jolts and whines like it hurts and he goes rigid. You move forward to play mediator but he's already pulling her away gently and making small shushing sounds. "Chill out," he chides lightly, "I got it. Here." He pulls the hair from under her fingernail and rubs the pad of his thumb over her hand. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he apologises, pouting at her scowl. He envelops her hand in his and waves it around. "Forgive me?" 

She doesn't learn her lesson, pushing her hands back into his hair, probably less kind than what’s ideal. Eddie doesn't flinch. 

You sit on the armrest gingerly. "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie looks over Junie’s head. "What's that?" 

"Have you always had long hair?" 

He doesn't balk. "No, of course not. I fu-" He clears his throat. "My mom was the best, and I fit in just like everybody else growing up. When I ended up with Wayne I was-" He smiles. It's the kind of rueful grimace that says, You didn't ask for this.

You smile encouragingly.

He drops his gaze to Junie, worming his arms around her in a loose hug as she continues to play with his hair. "I was mad about everything, and I remember him asking when I wanted to get my hair trimmed and I said ‘never’. Took a few years for it to grow past the awkward stage," he bares his teeth and nods toward his shoulder, as if allowing his past misdemeanour. "But now I'd say it looks pretty sweet." 

"I love your hair," you say. 

Eddie beams. "You don't think it's too long?" 

Emboldened by his reaction, you slip off of the armrest to sit next to him, turning in until your knees touch. Junie, loyal as she is, climbs straight into your lap with a babble. 

You pat her back with one hand and raise the other cautiously for permission. Eddie flares his eyes wide, as if to say, You want to? Go on. 

You take a lock of his hair between your fingers like Junie had moments before. "I like it like this." 

"But?" 

You look at the ends, an inch of limpness where the rest curls. "You haven't had it cut since you were a kid?" 

"Maybe not that long, but it's been a while. I do it myself sometimes." He gestures to his bangs. He speaks quietly. A rarity though not unknown for him to be so hushed. 

You tuck the curl you'd been examining behind his ear carefully. 

"Do you think my hair looks good?" you ask. 

"Sh- Sorry, of course I do. I swear I was gonna-"

You shake your head, laughing. "Not like that. What I mean is, I cut my own hair. I cut Junie's, too, and I could do yours if you wanted me to." 

He goes quiet. 

"Only if you wanted. I know it's a lot of trust, so-" 

"Would you do it now?" 

You hold Junie's head away from yours to prevent a loving headbut. "Right now?" 

"I'm in dire need." 

He throws his big brown puppy dog eyes your way and you couldn't say no if you wanted to. 

You explain how he needs to get it wet first and how the shower head in the bathroom doesn't detach. "It's, like, built into the wall." 

"I could go home, come back?" he suggests. 

"I can do it over the sink?" 

-

Eddie can't remember the last time somebody washed his hair for him. He knows there must've been a time, some place in his life where his mom or dad had done it for him. He thinks that, if he'd asked, Wayne would've tried it once or twice growing up, but now Eddie's most definitely at the age where having his hair washed is a foreign luxury. 

And it does feel luxurious.

It shouldn't; the sink basin is very small as they tend to be in the trailer kitchenettes – small sink, small stove, small small small – and Eddie has to crane his neck. Already the space between his shoulder blades aches from being bent over, and he can't breathe well, smothered by steam. 

But your hands. One shields his eyes from run off, a gesture unnecessary and far from lost on him, while the other massages shampoo into his scalp. He'd been surprised when you started because you hadn't mentioned washing his hair, and he'd said, "You don't have to do that." 

You'd hummed. "Well, it's kind of a waste not to." 

That was that. 

Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and if his eyes weren't already closed they would've fluttered shut. He nibbles his lip and tries very hard not to show outwardly how nice it feels. Your left upper arm rubs against his back as you scrub at his roots, your right soaking wet beside his face, covering his eyes uselessly. He doesn't mention it. All this touching, he doesn't want it to end.

Your proximity honest-to-God sets him on fire. Your body pressed to his is a flame over his ribs. 

"Maybe we shouldn't cut it at all," you say, stroking wet bangs away from his forehead. "It's soooo long." 

"Can’t do it?" he teases.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay? I'm gonna rinse." 

It's a comforting process. You dip your cup into the water. It fills with a wet glug, the rim shushing against the basin's bottom. You hold it over his head and pour carefully, heat caressing his scalp as the soap is washed away. 

It's over too soon. You grab the towel you'd procured and tuck it around his shoulders, wringing all the excess water from his curls back into the sink. You encourage his head up wordlessly and he stands there, arms useless against the countertops edge, water sloughing down his face as you press the ends flat between your hands. 

You lift his head and push his hair back with your hands, raking your fingers through it and laughing as soon as his face appears. "Eddie! I'm sorry, you're totally drowning." 

He chuckles. They fade away as you pinch the corner of the towel and start to dab his face dry, dragging the rough material over his cheeks with an expression he can't read on your pretty features. Almost pensive, not quite. 

"There," you say under your breath. "Saved you." 

"My hero." 

You smile at him softly before spinning on your heel. "I gotta find the hairbrush. And the good scissors." You look into the living room quickly and then turn to the hall leading to your bedroom. 

Eddie looks into the living room too. Junie's not upto much, only watching TV, unusually subdued. He doesn't disturb her despite the itch to go over and play.

One of the muppets starts laughing about something and she laughs too. 

"What are you smiling about?" you whisper from behind him. 

"Nothing," he says quickly.

You raise your eyebrows. "She has a nice laugh, right? Doesn't matter how bad I feel, she laughs and everything's okay for a little while." 

He feels a fond stab in his chest. "Her laugh's like yours." 

"I guess we do sound the same." 

You do, but it's not really what he'd meant. 

The metal sound of scissors snapping. You wield them at him faux-threateningly and shepherd him into a chair you've dragged to the middle of the kitchen. 

Eddie fights goosebumps as you pull a brush through his hair, loses when you take a lock at the front between two fingers and stop about an inch and a half from the end. 

"I'm gonna do that much, okay?" 

You're a quiet hairdresser. Eddie doesn't care, he can talk for Indiana, but there's something so sweetly simple about the quietude, just your hands in his hair, the snipping of your scissors and Junie's occasional excited chattering. You start to hum a song Eddie doesn't recognise about halfway through. It's melancholy. He doubts you realise what you're doing. 

You draw silent as you round to the front. Eddie watches your hands work for what feels like hours. You have really pretty hands, not perfect, burnt fingertips and neat little nails. They smell like honey hand soap.

You pull two locks from the front together to make sure they're the same length. His curls will hide any discrepancy, he knows from experience, but he doesn't want to tell you that. Selfishly, he wants that extra time with you this close. 

You work your way between his legs to comb his half-dried bangs. Eddie looks up at you with wide eyes.

"You want me to trim these, too?" you ask quietly. 

"If you please." 

You huff a laugh through your nose and start to trim his bangs carefully. He closes his eyes, and maybe it's the fact that he can't see you that gives him the confidence to reach out for your hip, a touch that can't be defined as amicable. He curls his fingers into the soft material of your shirt and feels the heat of your skin underneath. 

You draw closer, as close as you can be. 

"What made you decide on bangs?" you ask. 

"Zits, mostly." 

He can feel your laugh under his hand. 

"I used to… I used to powder my face," you confide, a murmur, "like, an inch thick to try and hide everything. Being pregnant makes you so-" You pause to snip some hair, comb it away. It tickles his face. "Well, it makes you spotty. Or it made me spotty. It actually made me really sick." 

"That's must've sucked," he says earnestly. 

"It- Yeah. I guess it did. I don't know." 

He hadn't meant to bring up something unhappy, but he's hungry to know. "Were you on your own?" 

"Mostly." 

"What was the worst part?" 

"Being scared all the time."

He'd been expecting morning sickness or aching feet. "You were scared?" 

"I honestly thought I was gonna die, Eddie." 

He opens his eyes and leans back in his chair, hand flexing over your hip, as he tries to tamp down his surprise. 

"It was," you mess with his bangs with the tip of your ring finger, "hard. I felt sick all the time, and when I didn't I would make myself sick worrying about her. What if I eat something or I catch something and it hurts her? What if- what if it all works out perfectly and then I can't look after her?" 

"Did it work out perfect?" 

You rub your lips together. "Uh, I guess so. It took a long time, and it hurt," you sound especially unhappy with that part. 

He strokes up your waist, wanting to soothe the small crease between your eyebrows. "By yourself?" 

"Yeah, by myself." 

"I'm sorry." 

You tuck his hair behind his ear and grin at him. "Now what are you sorry for?" Your hand lingers near his cheek. Slowly, you turn it, pressing the knuckle of your index finger into the skin under his eye and rubbing a small line. He worries he’s in love with you right then and there. "Not like you're the one who knocked me up." 

You drop your hand and Eddie really doesn't want you to go anywhere, his grip kind but steadfast, bringing the other arm behind your back in a loose hug. "Who was it?" 

"Just some guy. Nobody. Nobody worth thinking about." 

"How old were you?" he asks. 

"Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"I wanna know about you." 

You bring your hands to the towel around his neck and pull on it mildly. "I was sixteen. Seventeen when I had her." 

He drags his fingertips up and down the small of your back lightly, almost like he's playing guitar. "I'm sorry you were all by yourself. That young. When I was sixteen I was still watching The Bugs Bunny Show."

You giggle and your hands move up to the side of his neck. He can hardly breathe, afraid to dispel whatever enchantment it is that he's under. 

"Could be worse, huh? I'm nineteen and I still watch Muppet Babies," you joke. 

"Why wouldn't you? It's the pinnacle of modern television." 

"Yeah?" 

Your beaming smile hits him straight in the chest. He thinks about how beautiful you look and can't stop, hiding his face in your stomach to stop from saying something stupid, laughing loud. You laugh in tandem, hugging the back of his head until your giggles peter out. 

A small hand on his arm. You both turn at the same time and find a very unhappy Junie.

"What?" you ask her. Then, teasing, "Are you jealous?" 

You lean down to pick her up. Eddie's gutted to lose your touch and then quickly exuberant when Junie ducks out of your arms to grab at his legs. 

"Oh my god, yes," he says, holding out his hands. 

Junie tries to take them and he slips them under his arm, pulling her onto his thigh with a big sigh. The sigh is half the fun, a theatrical reluctance when really he's always happy to have her climbing on him. 

As soon as she's in his lap she's pleased, turning her head so she can watch the TV across the room. 

You roll your eyes at his smug smile. "Shut up. She just wants what other people have." 

"And you had me?" 

"Shut up, Munson, seriously," you say. You don't sound half as mad as you're trying to. 

Eddie takes a drying curl between his fingers and pokes at the side of Junie's face. "Whatever you want, sweetheart," he says, grinning when your daughter starts to squirm on his thigh. 

He grins at her and tickles her until she's curling in with her chin dropped to her chest, smiling despite herself. 

His fondness colours every word as he croons, "I got you." 

Junie sounds about as outraged as a toddler can be when he tickles her nose and then drags the tip of the freshly trimmed curl under her eye. He draws a big circle around one of her cheeks until it's kissing her chin. She dissolves into giggles while squirming to get away from him and so he stops, only for her to blink and tug at his wrist. 

He tickles her until she's screaming. 

You pause on your knees where you'd been sweeping up his trimmed hair to look up at her and he's struck with guilt. "Y/N, you don't have to do that. I'll do it." 

"No, you're okay." 

Eddie finds his gaze drawn to your thighs, spread out as they are in your kneeling position, and then stolen by Junie as she almost topples off of his lap. 

"I think…" he begins quietly, speaking to Junie though it's just as much for you, "that your mom deserves something nice for my haircut. What do you think?" 

"I don't think that," you say. 

"Wasn't asking you," he says seriously. Back in baby mode he continues,  "What's mommy like, huh? What's her favourite thing in the whole world, besides you?" 

"Sleep," you say. 

"Well, I can't help you there." 

"You help me there all the time. Junie sleeps like a log every Friday." 

"Food coma," he says knowledgeably. 

"You really don't have to get me anything, Eddie. My services were administered charitably." 

He pushes his hands behind Junie's back and pulls her to his chest before standing. When he has her secure in one arm he pulls the chair back to your small table and tucks it in.

"Get up," he says to you. "I'll do it, alright? Swap with me." 

You ignore him until he starts kicking you in the leg. "You're ridiculous!"

"You're ridiculous. Seriously, get up. You're not a serf." He returns your glare. "I'm a big boy, I can clean up after myself." 

"It's my house." 

"If you don't let me-" 

"Christ! Okay." You drop the dustpan and brush sullenly, wiping your hands together as you stand before taking Junie out of his arms. "I'll make dinner." 

"No you won't! I'm gonna order takeout," he says factually, already on his knees and sweeping. 

"No you're not." 

"I am. Me and June already talked about it. She's craving Marino's pizza." 

"I'm not gonna let you use the phone." 

"I'll walk to my place and order the pizza to here." 

"Eddie-" 

"Why are you being a hardass?" he asks. 

"Fine! God, clean up your gross hair and order your stupid pizza. You're making me crazy," you say, collapsing onto the sofa with a little oomf, Junie's weight hitting you hard in the chest. She moves into a sitting position and pulls your shirt up, hands moving across the space under your chest. 

Eddie throws himself into cleaning all the mess you'd made for him, the hair and the towel and the sopping wet draining board. He washes the dirty baby bowl on the side and fills up one of Junie's bottles with water, then a glass for you. He hasn't seen either of you drinking a thing since he's been here, likely his fault for distracting you. 

He's about to call for pizza when he peers past the cabinets and sees you dozing on the couch. He decides pizza can wait until tomorrow; it's later than he realised. 

Junie's halfway across the room with Mr. Bear playing make believe. She talks and talks and talks, gibberish to him but what's likely an unending, complicated storyline, no doubt. 

Eddie approaches with the bottle already outstretched. "Junie," he says, and when she doesn't answer, "Junebug. Junie. Junie." Each iteration of her name softer and sweeter than the first, hoping to entice her in. 

He holds the bottle in front of her face.

She finally looks up with a pout. 

"For you," he says, offering the water. 

She seems mildly interested as she takes it, turning back to her teddy and talking around the teat like it's not there. 

You're struggling to keep your eyes open. Eddie gives the room a quick once over before kneeling down in front of you, tugging your shirt down to cover your exposed tummy as he says, "I should head home." 

You blink at him and turn onto your side, cheek squishing into the couch cushion. 

"Okay? Why don't you and Junebug head to bed?" he asks, using a tone not far from what he'd use with your daughter. 

"You know, her full name's Juniper," you whisper. 

He didn't know. "Really? I love that." 

You wrinkle your nose, sounding very tired as you continue, "But someone told me it sounded like a name for a cat. So I've called her Junie ever since."

"It doesn't sound like a cat's name," he placates. "It's beautiful. You chose well." 

"Yeah?" 

Eddie smiles at you fondly, eyes tracing down your nose to your lips, shiny with balm. He tilts his head to the side to mimic yours. He could kiss you. 

"Sounds like the name of an elf. Juniper Lightfoot, or… Goldwind. She could even be a mage. Juniper the Brave." 

"Juniper the Loveliest," you say, and then grin. "Juniper the Hungriest." 

"Juniper the All Great and Hungriest," Eddie says decidedly. 

"Would you make her a hero, in your game?" you ask. 

"Of course I would. She wouldn't even need to divide, she'd just conquer." 

"What about me?" 

"What, would you be a hero?" 

You nod. He doesn't know why, but he thinks his answer is going to hold a lot of weight with you. 

"You would be," he starts quietly, words painted slowly as he raises a hand to rest on your wrist, pinky finger spread over the hill of your thumb, "a fighter. With insight and survival." 

"I don't know what that means," you say. 

He leans in. "It means yes, you'd be a hero. You'd save kingdoms. Slay dragons." He squeezes your wrist. 

"I think I better leave all that stuff for Junie. I'll just cheer you guys on from the sidelines." 

"You're her mom, she can't do it without you. And even if she could I bet she wouldn't want to. Where's all the fun in guts and glory if you can't share it?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

Your eyes shut. Eddie doesn't know if it's from fatigue or a want to end this conversation. He feels marginally embarrassed for descending into nerd metaphor with you, but he thinks it's the kind of thing you needed to hear. He thinks if Junie could understand how often her mom prioritises her and misses out for her she'd want to fix that. Eddie doesn't know you half as well as she does and it breaks his heart sometimes to watch you insist on a smaller portion, to watch you put things back at the grocery store because she wants a box of milk duds, even to watch you wear yourself out ironing baby clothes in the only pair of pajamas you own. 

"Make sure you lock the deadbolt behind me," he says carefully. You hum. He gives your wrist one last squeeze. 

Junie looks tired in that she's getting agitated, whimpering under her breath. Eddie ducks down to give her upper arm a good rub. "Why don't you go cuddle with your mom?" he asks her, turning her by the shoulder so that you're in her eye-line. "Go have a lie down." 

He doesn't know whether what he says makes any difference but you extend your arms out and Junie walks towards you, big staggered steps that make him laugh to himself as he pushes into his unlaced converse. 

"Don't forget to lock up," he says in place of a farewell. 

"Goodnight, Eddie," you say. 

He waves. You're both too tired to wave back. 

He's surprised to find his Uncle Wayne still home when he gets in, shoving into his work boots with a grunted hello.

"Hey." 

"Did you cut your hair?" Wayne asks, perplexed, a little gruff. 

"Junie's mom did it for me." 

"'Junie's mom,'" Wayne quotes dryly, slugging his bag over his shoulder. He's heard all about Junie's mom.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and splutters when a big hand claps his back, a demonstration of Wayne's pity as he passes through the open door. 

Eddie spins to watch him jog down the steps. "We're friends," Eddie calls. 

"Don't be dumb," his uncle says without turning back. 

"I'm not exactly known for being smart," Eddie says to himself, cheeks heated by a furious blush. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

[jodicy]

One thing I love about tumblr.. no one knows I’m here.

[jodicy]

Crossfire - 3.

Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Series masterlist 

Run-through: He was said to be the most dangerous man in the city. And you, his match - quite literally given that you were his wife. But you and Bucky were only married for your families’ benefit. Your picture-perfect alliance was just a façade when really it was just cold and empty inside. And neither of you ever tried to make a real thing out of it. At least not until the arrival of a threat which makes you and Bucky rethink your actions. Things change overnight; your lives are at potential risk, your son’s safety is challenged, all of a sudden Bucky is a different man, one who is willing to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe and you find yourself torn between a seemingly reliable ex and a seemingly heartless husband. Who to trust amongst so many secrets, lies, schemes and truths that no one is willing to acknowledge? After all, both men are known to pick fights regardless of who gets caught in the crossfire. 

Themes throughout the series: arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity (from both parties), smut, angst, hate sex, mentions of: violence and death, banters, jealous/possessive!bucky, HEA, fluff

Warnings for this part: mentions of violence, angst, smut, jealous!bucky, banters, Thor. 

A week later, you found yourself in your new place with your son. 

Keep reading

[jodicy]

I’m crying! This is perfect.

If you are taking requests could I get one with the reader coming over to spend the night and it starts pouring down rain. Reader is forced to stay the night since she walked there and they admit their love over a the song 'I was Made For Loving You by Kiss' I think it's be really cute and I can't stop listening to the song thinking about it!

I Was Made For Loving You | Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: The rain tends to make all confessions come out, especially when there is no going home.

Warnings: Fluff!!!, Best Friend!Eddie, Two Pining Idiots, Kissing, Just Two Idiots in Love

Rating: PG

Author's Note: Okay but fun fact; This song was used as a 'our song' thing when I bought a Eddie Munson letter from Etsy and now I can't stop thinking about it.

Word Count: 3K

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Mmm, yeah!

"Come on, it won't be that bad. Rick said we can have the whole place to ourselves." Eddie let out with a beaming smile, looking down at you from the counter where he sits. Pulling one of the juicy red berries from the bowl, he pops it into with mouth with a wide smile - pouting slightly for feigned innocence. "Plus, I don't feel good about you going out there, driving, when its downpouring! The roads are flooded." There was a gleam in Eddie's eyes that made your heart soar, but break all at the same time. Surely with being his best friend he was worried - scared even that someone would happen. If he sent you out into the worst early Fall rainstorm to hit Hawkins in decades, then something bad happened to you, Eddie would never be able to live with himself again, there would be no way around it. Whether you liked it or not, he was going to make sure you stayed with him tonight - protect you in the midst of this horrible thunderstorm, and make it all worth your wild. If Eddie was anything other than the freak Hawkins made him out to be, he was adventurous. A quality to which, made you fall in love with him last year.

Tonight, I want to give it all to you. In the darkness, there's so much I want to do. And tonight, I want to lay it at your feet. 'Cause girl, I was made for you. And girl, you were made for me.

Normally you wouldn't give into Eddie as quickly as you did now but, he was right. The rain smacking against the window pane echoes like chains rattling - ominous yet deadly. If you were to be caught up into it then, there was no telling as to what would happened. Accidents in this weather were way too common, especially down by Lover's Lake. That is the main reason why things are so bad as well; Being right on the water is adding to the wind, adding to the precipitation. Each simple twist of the breeze throws tendrils of thick, beading rain right down the screen - almost feeling like it will bust through the glass in no time now. Staying was the only option, no matter how badly you did not want to. Getting caught up in the storm was not on your nightly tasks either. This was the moment you were glad you always brought a change of clothes in your oversized purse - just in case if anything like this did happen. At least now you could be comfortable - at least now things wouldn't be awkward, right?

I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?

When your best friend Eddie Munson said spending the day down by the lake would be sweet, especially with Halloween coming up, you didn't think twice about it. Those penny-colored pupils the size of the moon, boring down into your eyes easily with that decadent smile he adorned just for you. He knew you couldn't really say no to him, not even after he gave you the beaming smile. Eddie knew he could get away with a lot, you let him. Talking you into situations you would never put yourself in? That was Eddie's specialty. But he did it with such elegance it didn't feel dangerous, it felt cool! All he ever wanted was to help his friends explore, to see the beauty in life that isn't just surface level. Sure, scenery can be beautiful to look at but - fully immersing yourself into the experience was better. Out of everyone Eddie became friends with, the ones who would stick around, you were the only one to feed this craving for him, letting him do things like this - giving into his desires the way that you do. You did this all for him, and he silently did it for you too.

Tonight, I want to see it in your eyes. Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild. And tonight, we're gonna make it all come true. 'Cause girl, you were made for me. And girl, I was made for you.

Falling in love with Eddie was not the plan, nor was it ever in the cards. But it happened like you fall asleep; Tossing and turning until you get that right angle, whether its thirty minutes of three hours from now. Eddie invaded your brain and body like a tumor, slowly engulfing the space to pertain towards him, nothing else but him. It's not like he did it on purpose at all, no, he never realized how sweet and charming he actually was to you. The only reason you kept extra clothes on you was because of him after all, he taught you that trick a few months prior. It felt as if this attraction and infatuation happened overnight; The day before your realization you two were just chilling in the back of his van, eating shrooms and trying to see who would cry first over Bambi on his portable TV he found. The day you realized you were in love? Hellfire; Your first time to a meeting since you had graduated and Eddie, well he was more than animated. But every so often his eyes would meet yours swiftly, softly, beautifully to where a rush of heat flowed through your body - making you squirm. Eddie winked right at you as Gareth talking about saving the princess, falling in love with her - that moment felt like eternity in your eyes.

Ever since then you have been trying to be alone with Eddie, to officially tell him how you really feel for the hope that you two could move passed this; Either together as a couple, or as friends. There was a lick of hesitancy radiating through your body as you thought deeply about this moment - about how to proceed forward in telling him you loved him. Eddie's very emotional, wearing his heart on his sleeve, but at the same time it worried you in the slightest of bits - making you truly wonder if this was something that would ruin your friendship. Though you had suspected that he felt the same way about you, there was no physical proof to go off of. Pure instinct could only take you so far; What if he only saw you as a friend? Whilst you were in the midst of your internal crisis, Eddie was still watching you from the counter, looking out into the living room with worry warped on your faces - trying to ponder exactly what you were thinking about. Placing his hand on your shoulder, Eddie shook you slightly, face only inches from yours. "Hey, you okay?" Eddie asked softly, trying not to spook you.

I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?

Jolting from your internal thoughts, you smiled small at Eddie, nodding as you sucked down the worry forming as a lump in your throat. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'll stay, don't worry." There was a lilt of something worrying without your tone, making Eddie's heart fall slightly. He was afraid he pushed too far, that you were reluctant to join him for the evening. But in actuality you were trying to figure out how to not kiss him, especially being in these tight quarters. Eddie couldn't pick up on that, I mean how could he when you were in your own little world, a turmoil right on its own. Sometimes you had these moments of dissociation, pulling yourself out of the current moment and sitting within the silence, trying to play out how this would work for you - how to make it fit perfectly into what you needed. This would take you out of the awkwardness, and instead filter to be more relaxing. On the other side of you was Eddie, staring right at your blank expression - knowing for a fact you almost shifted out of this current reality; A tactic you learned to do under stress. Sighing out, Eddie hopped from the counter.

Is it me? Did you leave because of me? Did I push too hard? Eddie's mind was working in overtime to make him feel as if this was his fault, that you left your own head because he pushed you to stay when you didn't want to. Although if he could see inside your mind, he would see the hearts and lovely confessions that wracked your brain - too much for one point in time, it drove you crazy. As he hopped off of the counter Eddie slowly made his way over to the left side of the living room; Rick had a record player set up - glass covering the top whilst all the vinyl's sat in blackened crates on the floor. The Dynasty album by KISS staring back at him, their make-up covered faces boring into his eyes. Play us, play the song. Come on Eddie, you know what one! It's like Paul Stanley was the one coaxing him to play it - to play the song he had been wanting to use to confess for so long. He knew KISS was your favorite band, maybe bringing you out of your own head was like saving Max with Kate Bush - KISS would bring you back to him.

I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me. And I can give it all to you, baby. Can you give it all to me?

Grabbing the cardboard for which the vinyl sat between, he gently held the disc in his hand, using his free hand to pop the glass top up. Gently he held the corners of the vinyl to slowly ease the rod into the whole - blackened curves and ridges of the disc fit perfectly within the stand. The pin to the player dropped to make a slight scratching sound, the volume knob slowly being cranked up from Eddie. The opening beats of the song made his heart begin to beat quickly, biting his lip as the large curly mane around his head flowed into his face, hiding the rosy blush on his alabaster cheeks. As if Vecna had released the trance on you, finally you came back to - but to an empty kitchen. The beats of I Was Made For Loving You echoing through the house, causing a large smile to crest upon your lips - your fingers shaking with excitement. Moving from your spot near the countertop, slowly you pushed forth to head to the threshold of the living room, seeing Eddie just standing there, not moving, eyes trained at the spinning disc. "What's on your mind, Eds?" You could tell when he was wrapped deep in thought, you could tell he was a victim to his own mind right now.

Breaking his incessant stare from the record, his bright hickory eyes bored right back into yours, a smile of love on his lips, causing your heart to clench. "You." The one word wracked your entire body, making your breath hitch with your chest. Eddie was known for being blunt, up front with emotions but with this? It didn't feel real, to hear him say you out of all words, made your head spin. "W-What about me?" You voice was shaking with both excitement, and worry, wondering if this was a practical joke or, real life. A laugh came from Eddie's lips as he moved from his standing position, holding both of his hands out in front of him for you - starting to sway with the beat. His little dance made you giggle out, biting your bottom lip as you tried to read him, see if he was being legit right now - or if this was a cruel joke. "I was made for loving you baby, you were made for loving me," Eddie sang in the same vain as Paul, his smile almost Cheshire Cat-like, wide and holding more emotions than just joy. Putting your hands within his own, Eddie took that as the motion to move forth, both hands coming to rest against his chest.

Oh, can't get enough. I can't get enough. I can't get enough.

The close proximity to which you two were made your body vibrate with anticipation, excitement coursing through your veins at the potential thought of him feeling the same way. But before you could protest to his movements or words, Eddie pressed his forehead flush against yours, breathing in your essence whilst your hands were pressed against his on his chest, swaying with the melodic beats of the rock song. "How long were you going to keep from me that you're in love with me? Was it the same amount I was thinking of?" Eddie's words fell on deaf ears, as if you were beneath water. Though you could not make out the direct words he was saying, you knew the power to which they held - to what level they were saying - what Eddie was trying to confess. "I'm in love with you, have been since last year Eddie. Never thought I'd get the chance, always thought you deserved better than just ol' me." The confession was nothing to the degree he asked, but he was happy to hear that you felt the same way - though he didn't like the tale end of your words, not liking how you berated yourself.

I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?

Pulling back from your forehead, Eddie brought one of his newly freed hands up to your cheek, rubbing over the supple skin with his brows furrowed - shaking his head at yours words. "Don't say that baby, I deserve you - as you deserve me. You're anything but just ol' you, you're my world and I am so sorry it has taken me a long time to say it." Hearing that made your eyes water, the cascade of tears welling in the corners so easily. Eddie couldn't hold back his own tears as your smile grew wider, knowing just how much love the two of you had for one another. "I love you, more than words can even express. You're everything to me." There was a slight waver within Eddie's tone, showcasing just how deeply this love went for you, a broken sob slipping from between his lips as he swayed you to the music, pressing your head into the crack of his neck. "I planned tonight you know? I told Rick what I wanted to tell you, and he said to go for it. So, he said we could use this house for the entire weekend. I guess the storm just, worked in my favor to keep you here with me." Eddie laugh was strained with tears and full emotions, making both of your bodies shiver. All you could do was hold onto Eddie tighter - for the fear that you'd lose him if you'd let go. "Look at us, two idiots in love - who only just confessed it."

Oh, I was made. You were made. I can't get enough. No, I can't get enough.

The way the words flowed out of your mouth made you both laugh, sniffles of happy tears trickling around the two of you. As the song came to a close, the next began with a softer tone - causing both of you to slink into one another. Just then, Eddie pressed two of his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back slowly. Being able to look up into his syrupy brown eyes made your whole heart shudder, a beaming smile across your lips. As if the universe was telling you to keep going, a bright crack of lightning hit one of the trees across the lake, sending the boom of thunder so quick behind it. Eddie took you off kilter by pressing his soft lips against yours, causing you to moan into him. It was as perfect as you had ever imagined, the sweet and roughened nature of the kiss lit your body up in so many ways. You were beyond ecstatic; Bright beams of silvers and golds swirling overhead, glitters of cerulean and lilac tendrils wrapping the two of you closer - laughter from sprites and giggles from fairies flowing into the silent space. This was your forever, this is where you two needed to be. All for the fact, you two were made for loving one another.

I was made for lovin' you, baby. You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby. Can you get enough of me?

[jodicy]

I just know Eddie Munson would treat me right.

[jodicy]

Saving this for later.. 😅

Hail to the King, Baby | Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson brought you into the Hellfire Club room on your first day of being new to Hawkins  - you never expected to be on your knees for him. And Eddie never expected to see you the next day.

Warning: SMUT!!! Oral M!Receiving, Blow Job, Language, Public Sex, Cocky!Eddie, Reader is 18+,  Innocence Kink, Praise Kink,

Rating: E - NO MINORS!!!

Author’s Note: The chokehold Eddie Munson has on me is remarkable. Truly I cannot begin to explain the love I have for his character. IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO MY BABY BOY IN VOLUME II I WILL PERSONALLY LOSE MY SHIT!!!

Word Count: 6.3K

Keep reading

[jodicy]

Joseph Quinn.

That’s all.

[jodicy]

Haven’t been on tumblr In forever, I make one post about Joseph Quinn and now he’s everywhere. I’m def not complaining

[jodicy]

Gif not mine sorry but this is the sweetest thing and it’s keeping me sane during my horrific work day.

[jodicy]

[jodicy]

fuck joseph quinn and his slutty happy trail

[jodicy]

soft

[jodicy]

All I’m saying is if Joseph Quinn can have lines on his forehead and everyone thinks he’s attractive, then by gosh I can get over the fact that I have lines on my forehead.

[jodicy]

I legit don’t have anything to say, yet I have a lot to say.

[jodicy]

Drowning.

[jodicy]

Doctor Strange - An Out-of-Body Experience (Baby Blues & Tattoos II)

A/N & WC - The love I received on Baby Blues & Tattoos is incredible. Thank you so much for the support. I wasn't planning on making a part two, but I've had so many inbox messages about this, asking me to write a sequel and after some time and deliberation, I did: here it is. This is a celebration and a show of gratitude for 7k+ notes on 'Baby Blues & Tattoos', and for more than 3.5k followers. Though it's a sequel, it can be read as a standalone. 6.9k words.

PLEASE REBLOG!!!

Warnings - Swearing, bickering, teasing, mentions of scars, one mention of vomit, smut: daddy kink, unprotected sex, questionable use of the cloak, oral (f rec), so much choking, panty ripping, mild gagging, teasing, tattoo kink, almost getting caught & mild exhibitionism, he calls reader a prick tease once, and an out-of-body experience. 18+

Summary - You plan on getting Stephen to snap tonight, knowing exactly what you want. But he has wants of his own, and ideas to bring to life, and things he isn't afraid to do in the middle of the Sanctum... (Baby Blues & Tattoos - Part I)

THE SANCTUM GROWS QUIET as the dark creeps in, like an impending mist enveloping the small Bleecker Street building in a blanket of calm. Tonight, with stars twinkling and blinking within view of the Eye, you’re on duty with Stephen—Sorcerer Supreme, and pain in your arse extreme.

“Can you move out of the damn way?” he asks with a huff, floating in mid air, the Cloak of Levitation billowing behind him. He’s reading two books at once, and apparently, by sitting down to enjoy your cup of tea, you’re utterly in his way. His legs dangle, poised, too close to your head for your liking.

“No,” you retaliate, “go around me.”

“Why should I? I’m in charge here,” he says, scoffing as though it’s the most obvious fact in the world.

His baby blue eyes twinkle with venom, but you know your next move will have his pupils dilating until barely a thin ring of cerulean will be left to outline them. You stand up. Boldly, you reach for the reams of belt that tie your robes together and tug, allowing them to unravel, the material falling open and revealing your tattooed body, bare but for some scraps of sheer material one might call underwear. Standing, you approach his descending frame, his feet catching on the floorboards as he lands.

“You didn’t seem to think that last night.” You smirk unabashedly at his paling face. “Oh! Y/N! Please…” you mimic, even dropping your jaw wide and tossing your head back just for dramatics.

He clamps a hand, scars running down each finger, protruding from his skin, over your mouth the second it opens again, and he runs you up against the wall, caging you, trapping you helpless between his arms, between his heating body and the bricks.

“I’m warning you,” he growls.

His voice is a rumble that vibrates through your chest and straight down to your core. Heat skittles over your skin as his eyes roam your body lacking any semblance of shame, his gaze catching on one of your newer tattoos. He’s obsessed with them, to the point you can barely see the more detailed ink through the bruising hickeys he’s littered all over you. He lifts his hand from your mouth when your tongue darts out to lick his palm.

“Or what, daddy?”

It clamps around your neck instead. His calloused skin is rough against your sensitive neck, and the pressure, oh that heavenly pressure, not choking you, but just restricting your airflow enough to drive you insane. You use that name teasingly, you have ever since the first day, but it still gets to him. His lips come down on yours harshly, kissing you with such great intensity that it snatches your breath more than ‘erotic asphyxiation’ ever could. Only, you’re interrupted before his tongue can even steal between the seal of your lips.

“Guys!” Wong shouts. “Come on, please. Keep it in the bedroom.”

Stephen removes his hand from your neck with a tremble and his lips from yours, but instead of jumping away, he presses his body to yours, shielding your bare flesh. He covers you. He turns his head, half smiling apologetically before leaning his forehead against yours. Once Wong’s footsteps recede, along with his under-breath mutterings about how you must get a kick out of the exhibitionism, Stephen steps away from you, and begins to wrap your robes around you once more. Your cheeks burn as you tie the belt, wrapping it multiple times around you, not even wincing when it catches on your belly button piercing.

The two of you have been… for lack of a better phrase that isn’t utterly crude, ‘canoodling’, for some weeks now, and though your relationship is by no means a secret, especially with all the ridiculously loud and blasphemous sex that can be heard despite enchantments and wards, you can’t let it impact your work. Though Stephen is in charge and could bend the rules for the two of you, there’s far too much at stake should either of you trip up. It’s a tough divide, especially when you’re in contrasting shifts, but you make it work because, well, you have to, and now you’ve started with Stephen, you’re loath to stop or find anyone else again. He makes you feel.

“Get to work,” he tells you once you’re ready. “You know what you have to do.”

“Myeh, you know what you have to do,” you mimic.

He rolls his eyes as he stalks away from you, nudging your shoulder. You can feel his smirk though, sensing that he’s got under your skin with the way your eyes burn into his back. He takes some long strides, but then he’s floating, and locked in his head, the eye on his chest glowing in finely tuned emerald hues, boring through the matching eye on the front of the building. Something’s coming, clearly, but now he’s locked in his head, a threatening serenity emanating from him,

You’re going to get him to break tonight, you’re convinced of it. You’ll snap his resolve and have him a horny, blathering mess by the time you’re done with him. But for now, you straighten your robes, and get to work on your own.

—

As a newly qualified Master of the Mystic Arts, having finished your training younger than most, you still have a lot to learn. Hence why, after perusing the library for half an hour, your fingertips gathering dust as you run them along the spines of all the ancient grimoires, you settle with two books in one of the high-backed leather chairs, alert. One of the books purrs to life as you open it, stroking the thick cover with all its unique ridges and bumps. When you read books like these, it feels as though they’re talking to you, like the magic within them is speaking down your ear in a low whisper, telling you everything you need to know. This particular book is on weapons, and the chapter that’s drawn you in, on Ebony Blades. You possess many of them, more than the rest put together, because you’re so skilled in them. Whatever fight approaches, your weapon of choice is your blade, it’s only right you read more about them.

It’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum, lost to the book until you’re nearly finished, only a chapter and a half from the end of the grimoire, when a dangerous clatter of wood and metal echoes down the stairs and has your neck snapping upright, your skin stippled with goose-bumps as the information bleeds in. Instantly, a dagger is pulled from your holster, and a protective field us up around your fist, orange glowing and bouncing off the ancient mirrored artefacts.

“Down, girl!” Stephen shouts, and the smirk on his face contorts his words to have a certain broad quality, “I just dozed off and fell.”

You release a sigh of relief, let the shield flicker out and fall, and stash your blade back away. Rolling your eyes, you grab the grimoire and fall back into your chair.

“Sorcerer Supreme, everyone!” you bellow in reply, ensuring your words are heard by the building itself.

“You know what? You’d better hope I don’t come down there and teach you a God-damn lesson.”

You click your tongue, falling back into that calm headspace to finish reading, “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

—

Darkness has fully enveloped the Sanctum by the time you stir from your reading induced reverie, only noticing that all the stars have winked out and so you can’t read the twisting words in the grimoire any longer.

“Stephen, lights!” you call.

Nothing happens, no light, not even the whisper of wind to notify you he’s nearby, just dead silence. Until he’s right there next to you

“What are you reading?”

The lights flicker on. You mask it well, but your heart jumps to your throat, your grimoire slamming shut and hissing—literally hissing—at Stephen. He glares at the worn leather cover and it shuts up, but you’re trying too hard to maintain composure to take much notice of the darkening of his baby blues.

“None of your business,” you say.

“I asked,” he leans down, lips right next to your ear, his voice low and growling, “what you’re reading.”

“'Beyond the Realm.' Reading more about the Astral Plane.”

His smirk is enticing, and you find yourself drowning in his sapphire blue eyes as they scrutinise every line of your face, every miniscule expression.

He cocks his head, and rests his elbows on the crown of the chair, “In that case, why are you singing some trashy pop song I could listen to on any radio in the city?” he asks.

“To piss you off.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling his baby blue eyes. “I hate to concede that you’re succeeding.”

“And besides, it’s actually a song the book made me think of,” you protest, arms folding over your chest after settling the grimoire on the side table.

“Really?” He arches a brow, utterly unabashed, pulling a gnarled hand through his short, salt & pepper beard, “I’m sure it did.”

You smirk: it was a somewhat subconscious move to start humming while you read, but you knew what you were doing. Stephen hates noise, especially the music you like. It usually ends in some... fun.

“We can forget about the noise. That is…” you trail off, taking him by the lapels of his robes in order to stand up, “if you’re up for breaking the rules,” you drop your voice to a husky whisper, and yank harshly to bring him to your height in order to purr, “daddy.”

Your wrists are wrenched by his hands a moment later, and he holds a surprisingly strong grip on you, cornering you with wide strides on the old creaky wooden floor until you’re falling backwards over the arm of the chair. His eyes are dark, his cheeks sucked in, his lip drawn dangerously between his teeth. Every rigid line in his body screams to give into you, to punish you, to fuck you. But he’s on duty. So he pulls you up with a gentler hand, pulls at his fingers, and averts his gaze. At least his robes hide his boner.

“Get back to work, Rookie,” he says as nonchalantly as though it’s a passing comment, but you hear the strain in his voice.

Time to pull out the big guns.

“Actually, if you’re okay on your own for five, I was gonna head to the all-night Bodega, get some stuff. You need anything?”

Obviously you can’t go in your sorcerer robes, no, that would be insane. So you start to strip for the second time tonight. Except this time, no matter how hard he tries, Stephen can’t hide how turned on he is. His high cheek bones begin to grow the same red as his cloak, his pulse thudding hard enough to be felt outside his body. One up to you.

“Can you actually, um, summon my clothes? I think I left them on my dresser chair.”

As he’s stumbling over his words, clearing his throat, and doing what you’ve asked, you remove the Ebony Blades stashed at your hip and in your boots, keeping only the one in your lace thigh holster that you know drives Stephen insane.

Since he’s away with the fairies, his eyes transfixed on your pert nipples showing through your bralette, he lets your pile of clothes slam straight into your face. They drop to the floor with a sigh and a flutter.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry!” he says, rushing to your aid, but you’re shouldering past him, leaning down to tug your jeans on while giving him a full view of your cleavage. “I— um, I don’t need anything from the Bodega farm. Be safe.”

You tug your hair out from the neck of your shirt before you go, smiling at him, even winking, adding a sway to your hips as you strut around the sanctum, down the grand staircase, and across the great wooden hallway, blowing a still transfixed Stephen a kiss over your shoulder as you go.

—

Heading both into and out of the store, you can feel his eyes lasering into you the whole way, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had some kind of spell cast to track you while you were in there. You stay inside the walls just long enough to have him irate, almost as though you can feel his nerves bubbling on edge. As you exit though, even halfway up the street, you let your eyes flicker to the Eye of Agamotto, distinguishing your old brick house from the rest of the almost-identical buildings lining the street with exquisite architecture on this end of the concrete jungle you and one-point-six million other people call home. They don’t get to live in a magical Sanctum with their boyfriends. Your boyfriend is still watching you as you totter down the street, so you withdraw a banana from your bag, peel it, and start eating. Chuckling to yourself, there’s pep in your step heading back in.

The second the great oak doors swing open, you know there’s hell to pay: it lingers in the air. But just to rile him up further, you tug your shirt off in one brisk move, polishing the fruit off in one swift, sensual bite. He’s floating at the top of the stairs, his fingers flexed, his face apoplectic, his neck rigid. Even his cloak is standoffish with his attitude this way.

The thing you focus on isn’t his anger, his lust, but the intimacy of you standing with only the staircase between you, each revealed in your own little ways. Stephen is gradually getting more and more confident with the use of his hands in the bedroom, more comfortable with the appearance of them, so when it’s just the two of you on duty, he’ll forgo the gloves. Soon, maybe, he’ll actually go gloveless for more occasions than sex and Sanctum dates.

You prop your hands on your hips, tilting your head teasingly, reaching for the hem of your trousers. He blinks his eyes.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me, or are you going to fuck me the way I know you want to, Doctor Strange?”

In a blanket of darkness, you’re whipped around the building, and the small of your back is pressed to the chair you were reading in. His lips waste no time teasing you, instead colliding with yours with a burning passion that ignites a bonfire in your belly. His tongue slips between your lips, exploring urgently, hurriedly. He doesn’t waste a second in yanking your bottoms off, shucking them down your legs, not even caring about your Ebony Blade in its special lace holster. His hands then begin to roam your back, a single finger running up your spine, cupping the wings of your shoulder blades almost tenderly, only for him to then snap your bra off. You try to gasp, but his skilful tongue slips further into your mouth, deepening the kiss to the point of his devouring you mind, body and soul. Your hand in his hair, you use the other to create some semblance of leverage, your knees buckling beneath you. And as lovely as it would be to fall to your knees on this sanctimonious, hallowed ground within these ancient walls to suck off your handsome sort-of-boyfriend, that doesn’t exactly seem like his plan, not with the fervour with which he’s grinding his clothed member against your weeping core. Your panties are soaked to an uncomfortable level.

“My little Rookie… it’s abysmal, your behaviour. Can’t go five minutes without getting horny for me, can you?” he inquires rhetorically, shirking off your advances.

The look you share is almost clandestine, telling of all your night-time obedience, your impatience, his crystal eyes twinkling with the secrets you share.

“Well, you know what gets me going Doctor,” you say with feigned composure, although you both know that no amount of composure can truly disguise the wanton fire dancing in your eyes. He cocks his head, his hair falling with the movement, an errant lock of dark hair falling across his creased forehead. “That stupid fucking goatee.”

Your smirk drives him to a level of irritation you’ve never seen on him. It’s preposterous, but he looks fucking gorgeous, his high cheekbones flaring crimson. How does his sex appeal only increase when he’s seething? He was irate the first time the two of you slept together and he did not disappoint (not that he has since, it’d just be nice to recreate the passion). You’re transparent around him, though.

“I know it makes your thighs tingle, baby.”

Despite your flustered state, you know he’s right, though mainly (only) when it's glistening in your translucent juices after going down on you with his perfect, thick tongue. The burn is so fucking delectable…

“I didn’t always have it,” he explains, casual all of a sudden, one gnarled, scarred hand rubbing up and down your thigh almost affectionately.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had no facial hair.”

“I wouldn’t have gone for you otherwise, bub, I’m sorry. I just… no.”

His other hand brackets your throat not a second later.

“You’re gonna pay for that one,” he purrs.

Of course it was a ploy. Of course he was going to trip you up so he can take you how he wants to: like a man starved. One all… but at this point, you’re as riled up as you were trying to make him… You can’t swallow down your petulance anymore, so you glower at him, ignoring the goose-bumps stippling your arms from the lack of oxygen to your brain, only furthered by the rough skin of his hands on the sensitive flesh of your neck, bitten and bruised and inked within an inch of its life.

“My little prick tease…”

Using your neck he turns you around and lets go a moment later, your stomach pressed to the high back of the chair, the material scratchy against your new belly piercing. Though you can’t see it, you can feel him surveying you, every available inch, tattoos old and new and covered in love bites that he ghosts his fingertips over, eyeing one spanning your hip and upper thigh filled with old runes and sorcery imagery, only to crouch in order to examine a floral display covering your entire left calf. A wave of pleasure heats your blood when his lips meet your skin in what feels like forever.

He kisses up your body harshly, biting, bruising, and stops when he reaches your bum. A rip cleaves the air.

“Stephen—”

“Doctor,” he corrects, drawing you up short. You can’t fathom a thought right now, let alone words. “Are you gonna be a good little Rookie? Take what I give you?” He pauses, realising that your knees are starting to buckle, your top half almost falling over the other side of the chair. He yanks you up again, impelling you to find the strength. “Do you want this?”

“Yes!” you cry out. “Yes, plea—”

Your panties are stuffed in your mouth before you can finish speaking, fingers digging into the chair for the purchase you so desperately require. Your body has decided to let you play, judging by the drool spilling from the corners of your mouth and the slick dripping down your thighs, but so has his, because if he’s gagging you, he’s come to play, and he won’t tease you much longer, even if it was only fair recompense for how you teased him earlier in the evening…

You have to cast a look over your shoulder to catch the sight, but it’s one you wouldn’t miss for the whole God-damn world. He drops his pants and there it is, his thick cock hanging heavily between his strong thighs. Pre-ejaculate drips from his end. You can’t describe it, he just looks… virile, his member thick and long with a slight curve… The next moment, it’s sweeping through your sex. He flexes his dick in approval of you wiggling your arse for him, slowing it to bounce up and hit your ass cheek. Your muffled squeal goes straight to his stalk of flesh. His eyes, glowing with fire, are the ultimate aphrodisiac. Spitting out your knickers, you smile, smile, when he begins to sink in, kissing your neck following your rumble of assent, but it doesn’t last long, not when your fucked-out state invokes the devil in him. When he slams in hard, all the air leaves your body. The chair rocks, the legs squeaking and grating on the floor. He’ll have to clean it, polish it, or magic it better, but you don’t even think about what he’ll do when he’s fucking you raw. He’s won, fair and square.

“Tell me how you feel,” he commands.

You gasp, his deep voice sending a pleasurable chill rippling down your exposed spine. His harsh grip on your waist as he tugs your body back onto him, using you for his own pleasure, impels you to speak the unutterable: your mind.

“Vertiginous…”

“Awww,” he coos, his tone condescending the way it was when he first had you ride him in that hotel bed, his breath heavy on your shoulder blades. “Look at my Rookie, all mine, using big words.”

“Yes, Doctor,” you cry, hiding a wince at the rough press of the chair into your stomach.

He hits his hips back in like a jackhammer, and your nipples tighten almost painfully as you’re driven into the high-backed chair.

His sexual prowess is impressive, and you’d be more than happy to stay this way, letting him take you from behind and bent over whichever surface took his fancy that minute, but this chair is really digging in…

“Stephen, stop.”

Prior to your comprehension, his weight is no longer hovering over you, his hands no longer spanning every inch of flesh they can reach, and his cock is standing in front of his stomach, the curve of it matching his frown quite ironically.

“I’m so sorry. What do you need?” he asks hurriedly.

His concern is palpable, driving sympathy to punch you deep in the gut where an orgasm was beginning to build, only for discomfort to edge you. The hands he so hates are quivering, half hidden by the shadow of his head hung low, his anxiety inordinate. You smile in an attempt of reassurance and push up from the chair, turning to face him and folding your arms over your exposed chest. One step over the old, glossy parquet floor to reach him, two.

“You did nothing, I promise.” He visibly deflates at that, his hands halting their trembling as he tucks them behind his back. “That chair was just really uncomfortable, the height and all…”

His exhale is long, and a sheen of perspiration dusts your bodies already from the exertion. He looks like a God. He is a God.

“I can remedy that. I’m sorry,” he laments, a note of hope in his tone.

Before you can quite process it, his signature crimson cloak is in his hands, tapping at his wrist with the embellished corner, only for it to then lie out flat. Stephen’s eyes search yours for confirmation, his marked fingers tugging at his dark beard. You nod and let him lift you.

Poor cloak, the things it's seen and is yet still bound to. It’s a wonder it still considers Stephen a worthy master.

You know why it’s in use, to levitate the two of you, allowing him to take you the way he wants without worrying about too much strain on his hands, still not used to bearing so much weight during times of hearty exertion. Stephen’s smirk is just discernible in the dim lights, the silver streak in his hair making him appear wise. He sheds his remaining garments, and steps closer to you, trailing his calloused thumb up the sensitive inside of your ankle, up your calf, around your thighs, hips, across your belly and up your ribs until he’s palming at your tits and all but kneeling before you, his abs as chiselled as his jaw.

With his positioning, you expect him to go down on you, but you can’t say you’re surprised when he presses his tongue flat against your belly button, a pleasured hiss escaping you.

He’s besotted with your body, completely, utterly and irrevocably besotted. His current chosen point of interest before he slips back in is your navel piercing. You got it done the second he expressed an interest in such, having wanted one for so long: you finally had a reason to. He hasn’t left it alone since. He worships every inch of you.

“Are…” you sigh, keenly aware of his hand hovering over your clit, “are you gonna fuck me?”

He straightens himself up, inwardly berating himself for denying you both the pleasure, his cock inexorably hard now. He hoists your thigh around his torso indecorously, and winks, his baby blues twinkling with a salacious lust only you can quench. It’s a long shot, teasing him and riling him again tonight after everything you’ve already tried, but it damn well works. His remaining resolve disintegrates before your eyes when you snake your thumb down to your throbbing pearl and press once, a torrent of pleasure washing through you. In the thrall, you don’t see him shuffling around and positioning at your entrance, carefully balanced at the edge of the cloak. He tips his head back and slams in hard, his beautiful face contorting.

Lust sinks it’s fangs into your belly and his heart, crackling like electricity the moment he’s balls deep within you, circling his hips patiently to ease you into it, allowing you to adjust to his size. After all this time, it’s still a little uncomfortable without proper preparation.

“You can move, baby,” you tell him, reaching up to clasp at his damp shoulders.

You could swear he whispers, “I’m gonna fucking ruin this pretty pussy all over again,” under his breath, but you can’t be sure, not with the pleasure that overtakes you as soon as he bucks his pelvis. Thus far he’s made good on his promise from that first night: he has completely and utterly ruined other men for you, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind about the fact you’ll stay with Stephen.

His thrusts start off languorously, spreading your legs wider with a strong grip as his eyes roam your body, unable to focus on one thing. It evades all of your logic, his obsession with your tattoos, but your obsession with his stunning, crystal baby blues evades him also.

“You’re so warm, darling,” he hisses, his breath hot on your boobs, “squeezing me so good.”

You toss your head around a little, your neck supported by the cloak, snug around your back, murmuring, “I need your hands, Doctor, I need your hands on me so bad. Please touch me.”

His smile flickers but is firmly back in place when he speaks, low and gravelly, “Focus on me, yeah?”

You do, enthralled by the enigma written in every feature of his, the twinkle in his eyes and the slight peek of his teeth when he smiles a certain way, like he is right now, an innocent smile for such a sinful act. He’s a walking juxtaposition, or, right now, a fucking one.

The emotion darkening his baby blues is purely primitive, rapturous. Your soul is already listing in his direction forever, and there’s no reversing it. His scarred hands wrap around your inked thighs and hike them up with verve. You watch him temporarily lose his trail of thought in the swirls of ink on your legs when he removes them from the scarlet of the cloak and, on a long withdraw from your tensing cavern, places them up over his shoulders, eliciting a mix between a shrill cry and a gasp from your suddenly dry throat. When he gets you in this position, you know you’re in for it, so dig your nails into his broad shoulders, leaving crescent moons in their wake. He makes haste in driving into your sex with carnality, the full access pleasing him almost as much as your pleading whimpers.

“You can do better than that,” you tease, swallowing your words with heated cheeks once his pelvis grinds ever so perfectly against your engorged clit, desperate for any attention it can get.

He repeats the move multiple times, his salacious instincts not erring despite the fact you’re fucking in the middle of the sacred Sanctum Sanctorum where you both live and work… with other people. You don’t care right about now, not as his pumps get harder and harder, his deep moans permeating your bones: let the world hear, let the world see how well he pleases you.

His barbaric thrusts bow your back, possessing your pleasure. Your chest heaves at the sensation of his booming grunts rumbling throughout you, your name mingled within like a prayer.

“y/n… my baby, my Rookie… do I make you feel good?”

“So good, Doctor!” you cry out without having to think about it, satisfied by the infectious glee spreading over his features, satisfied to let go of his shoulders, falling back, weightless, onto the cloak.

This is an experience to remember… and that’s before he snakes one rough, marred hand around your throat.

The choked sound you make worries him enough to drop his hold on both that and whichever part of your body his other hand is exploring (though that’s currently lost on you), but when you nod your head, a playful gleam lighting up your eyes, he starts to choke you again in the most pleasurable way possible.

His thrusts continue, and when you begin to feel dizzy, your eyelashes fluttering and your heart rate increasing, he usually lets go. This time, he doesn’t relent in either his hold on the column of your hickey-covered throat or his thrusts.

You’re not worried, but you ease more when he whispers between expletives, “I wanna try something. Just trust me.”

You do.

And it’s the best damn decision you’ve made in your entire lifetime.

For a split second it feels as though your soul has let your body… and that’s because, well, it has. Casting a glance to your left, there you are, hovering above the ground in an almost hologram, not fully corporeal but there, present, astral, and feeling everything. Both you and Stephen stand in the glimmering shards nude, waiting. You submit to his control there as well.

The second you fall willingly at his mercy in this alternate realm, his tongue doesn’t hesitate to lash at your clit. It’s almost violent the way he eats you out: his last meal in the wilderness. There’s nothing reverent here. There’s no place for loathing or love, scorn or reverence, solely sex and pleasure. And he offers you those in heaped fucking spades, in both damn worlds. His neatly trimmed beard scratches the insides of your thighs in one realm, but in another, where you’re sure to be corporeal, his moustache is tickling your Cupid’s bow. If you focus, you can taste the sweetness of yourself on his tongue, however that may be possible.

“Such a needy Rookie aren’t you? Can barely handle choking before you’re going astral,” he mocks. All you can do is take his pleasure and his teasing, just feeling.

He’s voracious, insatiable, and each buck of his hips matches in perfect synchronous symphony with each swipe of his tongue in the Astral Plane. He’s not relenting. A swarming dizziness overtakes your head, and however light you feel, you know it’s not from the cloak’s alleviation of pressure, but instead from unadulterated pleasure.

You feel a smack to your cheek, every rough ridge and scar on Stephen's hand digging into your flesh momentarily. His baby blue eyes bore into yours a moment later, his spare thumb pressing circles into the tattoo on your ribs.

“Don’t go getting woozy on me, Darling. I want you to look at how I’m fucking you with my tongue. Can you feel it?”

Tongues thrash, yours and both of his. The kiss you share is heated, lancing through any resolve you had to suppress the onslaught of euphoria he can provide by his cock and his tongue fucking you in the Astral Realm. The sight of it is so phenomenal that it snatches your breath, let alone the fact you’re able to feel it all.

You hum and blather senselessly in response, hoping it’s at least sensical enough to string together an answer, but the pressure in your throat and his teeth grazing your inked collarbone tell you otherwise.

“I said: can you feel me? I’m everywhere.”

“Yes! I can feel you Daddy!”

You can feel his beard tickling your thighs and your sensitive lower lips, grating and rough and oh so pleasurable. You can feel his thick cock so deep inside you, every ridge stimulating your walls so perfectly: the bulge in your lower belly proves how deep he is on each thrust.

His hips stutter the second his lithe muscle ventures and dips into your dripping, full hole. The azure light behind his orbs flickers. His hands tremble.

And then his moment of insecurity is over as quickly as it began, his calloused palms now roughly grabbing onto your supple breasts as leverage as he pistons in and out of you with such force that even the cloak begins to wither beneath it. He delves straight back into your cavern in the astral realm, alternating between lavishing kisses on the tattoos on your hips and thighs and your desperate core. His attention doesn’t once cease, even when he’s switching between various points of such.

“You have to come, Rookie,” he pants, “you have to fucking come.” Even if his aggressive gritting out of the words, punctuated by a deep thrust, doesn’t seem too romantic, in context, it’s precious. Every single time he’s the perfect lover: you always come first, you have to come before him.

“Daddy!” you mewl.

“Oh my fucking God you’re tight,” he hisses, a gravelly quality to your voice that has your walls spasming around his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, babbled begs spilling unprompted from your lips. He pointedly plucks at your nipple with one hand, flicking your stimulated clit with microscopic accuracy with the other. The wretchedness bubbles within him, tightening his shoulders as he nears his release, a maelstrom of pleasure his only goal. And when it hits, it’s unquantifiable.

A phantasmagorical display erupts within your body, mind and soul when an orgasm of cataclysmic proportions slams into you. The sight of him still endlessly tongue-fucking you in another realm with every sensation rippling throughout your corporeal being mixed with the headiness of pleasure alone, on top of the edging you've received thus far tonight, it’s the most delightful feeling you’ve ever experienced, one you’d sell your soul to feel again. It’s an out-of-body experience, quite literally. Your climax elongates into a haze, and you lose control of your body, your walls convulsively spasming around Stephen. All you feel is him and unbridled euphoria, all you need is him. His punishing pace doesn’t falter until, at some point he empties himself into you with the loudest bellow you’ve ever heard him emit, and though you can’t know, it feels as though it echoes off the walls and throughout the entire Sanctum. His feet give way from the floor that has to be a hundred years old—now tarnished forever, and as the blinding, hot-white flash of pleasure begins to ebb, his body weight is on you like a blanket.

You feel a final rush of moisture as your body relaxes, spent, into the support of the cloak and the affection of Stephen’s arms. One arm is snug around your torso, his hand splayed on your ribs, while the other cradles your bum with a snug hold, tracing the tattoos with his thumb.

“You with me?” he asks tenderly, stroking your skewwhiff eyebrow.

“Yeah.” You sigh, already drunk on the scent of him: pheromones, sweat, Stephen… “That was…”

He cuts in, “Was it ok?”

Bad timing for you to roll your eyes, but it temporarily slips your mind that you’re essentially in a floating hammock, “Yes, Stephen. If you’d have let me finish I would’ve told you it was more than okay.”

“Someone’s searching for a spanking.”

“That I am,” you play, “but not now. That was incredible. How did you do that? I’ve never been able to stay conscious while in an astral projection.”

He shrugs one strong, sweaty shoulder that brushes your warm cheek, “I lent you some of my power so you could. But now I need to rest my magic too.”

Nuzzling into him is something you didn’t expect to be doing at this moment, but it feels right, “Thank you. It was… an out-of-body experience.”

“And a bloody half!” he guffaws. “I had no idea if it would work in all honesty, but you asked that first night… and I’ve been researching ever since.”

Your eyes widen, your head snapping up to meet his baby blues, “You did this because of one comment I made the first night we shagged?”

“Yeah,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “why wouldn’t I? I love you.”

Eerie silence suffocates the Sanctum. Your heart begins to beat out of your chest, fire roaring in your veins, only to ice over when he starts to speak again, his clear flustered state making him distant.

“I— I mean I don’t love you, I just mean that we’re in a sort of established relationship and I— I like you lots. You don’t, um, have to reciprocate. A— at all. I shouldn’t have said that.”

You cut his rambling off this time with a kiss, short and sweet on his lips, his heavy cupid's bow deepening as he melds into your embrace, his rigid muscles relaxing under your tender caress.

“I love you too.”

He leans in to kiss you, sealing your words as a promise, but one kiss slowly dissolves into another, and another, and before you know it, his lips are all over your body, his arms around you, holding you. His hug loosens as he slips down between your knees and folds the corner of the cloak inwards to pat tenderly at your puffy pussy, lower lips glistening.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Y—”

He doesn’t get past the first syllable before his back is bolt upright, his hair fluttering in the wind, his face blanching to a worrying extent.

“Stephen?” you ask, worrying your lower lip as he stands nude, astute, waiting.

The next thing you’re aware of, you’re enveloped in the cloak as it’s wrapped around you, and with the extent of Stephen’s power, you couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. This happens more than you’d care to admit.

“Sorry, Cloak,” you whisper, petting it.

It settles around you, as though to assure you that it’s okay, and that it’s Stephen he’s unhappy with, to which you chuckle. It seems he’s not the only one.

Wrapped in your cocoon, you miss the footsteps, the clatter of ornaments, but there’s no disguising the disgust in Wong’s voice as he shouts at Stephen. You can see his face in your mind, his high cheekbones dusted with a blush. Cute.

“GUYS! Stop…” Wong gags, possibly vomits: you can’t quite tell throughout your snickering away, “screwing in the Sanctum! This place is ancient! The disrespect, God…”

“Wong—” he says softly.

“No! You guys copulate everywhere, and it’s disgusting! You’ve ruined this place. It stops now.”

“No,” Stephen retaliates. “No it doesn’t. I’m in charge, I’ll fuck my girlfriend if I want to.”

Wong must be shaking his head, and his footsteps retreat as he mutters curses under his breath. You fall from the cloak a moment later, heart racing and belly fluttering, straight into Stephen’s awaiting arms.

My smile is infectious, hurting my cheeks, “Girlfriend, eh?”

“I am shagging you, it’s about time,” he chuckles, pecking your lips. “Besides, it’s time. And I’ll stop doing this around the Sanctum as soon as we get our own place.”

“Sounds good to me,” you say with nonchalance, when inside, you can't suppress your glee. Your own place? Of course you dreamt of moving in with someone, but when you joined the Sanctum, you assumed this was the closest you'd get... A smile breaks over your face unabashedly.

He kneels down in front of you and recommences his prior task, tenderly cleaning you up and holding you tight. His cerulean eyes darken as he does, snagging on some ink.

“Ohhh my God, your tattoos. Did you get more?!”

You shrug, “Same number as I had this morning, baby.”

He groans, his head thrown back while he pats you down with care. He steps back to give you space to sit up. With a wave of his hand and a flash of sunlight, your body is clean and in his arms again. Your smiles don’t falter the whole time he carries you upstairs and settles the both of you into his bed. Your lethargy is heavy, but it alleviates in his arms when he slips in beside you, his fingers stroking your hair.

“What’s next? A blowjob in the Quantum Realm? 69 in the Mirror Dimension?” he asks teasingly.

You shrug, nestling into his hold with a joyous, natural smile still plastered on your face, “I don’t mind. I’m happy here with you. Our love is an out-of-body experience in itself.”