#((and she just can't bring herself to harm a hair on his head; and that's...weird!!))
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https://beatingheart-bride.tumblr.com/post/714272738944155648/beatingheart-bride-theheadlessgroom
@beatingheart-bride
The opera went off without a hitch for its two first acts: No disembodied voices echoing around the auditorium (nor did the new chandelier, installed at the beginning of the year, rattle precariously above the audience’s heads; the police took great care to put men up near it, lest they have a repeat of Il Muto’s curtain call), no rats raining from the rafters, not even a whisper of a ghost being around. There was still tension felt among the cast, the crew, and the managers, but so far, all had gone well.
And all continued to go well as the third act began, as the Don, draped in a hooded black cloak, sought to seduce the beautiful Aminta, exuding confidence from his anonymity-at least, until Aminta herself proved to be just as bound and determined to seduce her mystery suitor, taking her would-be lover by surprise with her forward flirtations, as they together approached The Point of No Return.
Randall gulped from behind the veil as he watched Emily skip out onto the stage, singing cheerfully as she flounced around, spritely and light-footed (a small showcase of her dancing talents as well as her vocal ones): Truly, she was beautiful in the peachy tones of Aminta’s dress, evoking spring-turning-summer (especially with a rose blooming in her blonde locks), with her tall black boots and black trim of her gown hinting at a mature streak many often overlooked. She was everything he dreamed of in the role and more.
Am I a fool? he thought to himself as he watched her, preparing for their long-awaited duet: Was this even a good idea, putting himself out onstage in front of an ocean of people, right under the noses of the police? Should he have just stayed in the attic like Emily suggested in her letter? An uncertainty began to creep into his gut...
…but as soon as Emily looked at him, and he began to sing, none of that mattered to him now, as he found himself melting effortlessly into the role of Don Juan, just as she had so beautifully melted into the role of Aminta. To be quite honest, the title character was the only one he hadn’t made any casting suggestions for in the libretto, as a part of him had always longed to play it himself. He never, ever imagined that he ever would, granted, and yet...here he was: Singing for a captivated audience with his angel.
And right under Morgan’s nose too! he thought delightedly, catching a glimpse of the pianist in the pit as he turned all of his focus on Emily and their performance.
#((like randall is sitting RIGHT THERE; maybe he's sitting on a stool by the tub with a book in hand; reading to her))#((not entirely paying attention and emily's watching him all the while; like he's there; would be SO easy))#((to just grab and drown and eat him and yet...she can't. she just keeps watching this funny human who is happily reading to her))#((and she just can't bring herself to harm a hair on his head; and that's...weird!!))#((and y'know it really *is* funny; considering how superstitious the pace men are!))#((even as a grown-ass man randall is *still* creeped out by the idea of fairies tricking or bewitching or otherwise stealing someone away))#((and wilhelm still takes precautionary measures on all hallows eve; such as lining all the doors and windowsills with salt))#((and other little things to keep any ghosts and goblins that might be out at bay))#((so them looking at what is obviously a very dangerous supernatural creature; very wounded or not; and not leaving her behind))#((and instead opting to take her home and help her says a lot about their hearts!))#((sometimes a family really *is* a mother; a father; their son; and their son's siren gf and that's great! :D))#outofhatboxes#beatingheart-bride#V:Phantasm of the Mansion
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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
part one | part two
summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic
𓆩❤︎𓆪
Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie.
Toddlers like cookies, right?
He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time.
He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.
You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird?
"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue.
You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.
"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one."
He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past.
He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour."
You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."
You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.
Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking.
It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!"
He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening."
"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her.
"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?"
"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf."
"I brought cookies."
"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets.
Your bravado makes him laugh.
He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one.
Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting.
He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout."
"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something.
Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you.
"She loves the floor,” he says.
"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch."
"Yeah? What's the tab?"
"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed."
"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies."
"I think those might help me out."
After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos.
"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks.
Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them."
"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."
You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever."
"I like sugar."
You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends.
He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.
Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?"
You pass it to him.
"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip.
"You don't think it looks cruel?"
"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?"
"How many babies do you know?"
"One."
You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it."
Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies.
He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it.
When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"
He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite.
"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done.
Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh.
She has to like Oreos. They're a staple.
"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it."
She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze.
"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely.
Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite.
"Yummy?" you ask.
She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.
You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.
"Do they taste like you remember?"
You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively.
"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together.
One oreo, twice the cream.
You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh.
You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another.
"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them."
"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies.
"Oh."
You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure.
He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure.
Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught.
You could ruin them completely for all he cares.
Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.
“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie.
Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do.
“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks.
You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”
He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”
You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”
He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?
“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish.
“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?
“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.
“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”
“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain.
He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip.
There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him.
“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?
Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.”
“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”
“What?” he asks.
“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”
“Are you saying my head is made of wood?”
Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended.
When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click.
He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.
"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?"
He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles.
"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?"
Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started.
Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?"
What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm.
Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.
"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father."
You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.
He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this."
Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom.
He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world."
Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!"
-
You're clinging to sanity.
It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic.
Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress.
You're terrified.
You've found yourself in tears, too.
"Just tell me, baby," you plead.
It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital.
You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.
He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack.
"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.
There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt.
"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books.
You take a ragged breath.
"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?"
Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say.
"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer.
You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over.
"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown.
"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything."
"She was like this when you picked her up?"
You nod.
He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.
"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise.
He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe."
"Yeah."
Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen.
His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in.
You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it?
Eddie stands by your side, waiting.
“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."
You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock.
You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood
You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe.
"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.
Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?"
"Yeah. A hair."
A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer.
"Stay there," you say without any explanation.
You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees.
You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear.
You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.
"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.
"A hair remover."
You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit.
"How long does it take?"
"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital."
Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.
Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues.
The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.
You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks.
You take the hair between your nails and pull.
"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you.
Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen.
You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully.
"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out."
"I don't feel well."
"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."
You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?"
"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself.
After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see.
Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know."
You're trying very hard to calm down.
"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right."
He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it.
You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.
She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest.
Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this."
"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.
"Maybe. Does it matter?"
"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically.
Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it."
You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to.
"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears.
Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching.
"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.
"Don't be."
"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own."
"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.
"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth.
His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring.
"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.
"I got so freaked out, I just…" You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.
Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh.
You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"
"No.” Your chest burns.
"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast."
Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum.
Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now.
You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears.
"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today.
"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want."
"Do I look that bad?"
"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."
You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.
Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can.
"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas.
Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss.
"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel.
"No socks," she agrees.
Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world.
Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence.
Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm.
"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk.
She sighs. You sigh too.
Eddie hums from the kitchen.
He kissed my knee.
You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.
"I think he likes me," you tell Junie.
She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion.
"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers.
You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird."
"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot.
Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices.
"You can cook," you say, surprised.
"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross."
"I doubt it's gross."
You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.
"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon.
It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained.
He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.
"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look."
"So don't look. Eat."
You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.
He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?
He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth.
-
“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater.
Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh."
On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin.
You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows.
Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head.
Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson.
You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful.
Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it.
“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you.
Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.
“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”
“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.
He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.
“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe.
You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”
“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company.
He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no.
“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest.
“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”
He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to.
He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.
It's embarrassing in its intensity.
You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes.
He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about."
He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible.
“If you’re sure,” you say.
“Positive.”
-
Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him.
He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly.
“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks.
You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty.
Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing.
Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you.
You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek.
You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin.
You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings.
“I’m great.”
He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?”
You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware.
“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie.
“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”
You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn.
Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily.
One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.
Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter.
"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask.
She looks at you curiously.
You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy."
A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile.
Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.
"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.
He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip.
He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently.
"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut.
She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring.
You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair.
"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye."
Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off.
If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement.
“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.
“Eddie.”
“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”
“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”
He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”
You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”
“You first. Where’re her shoes?”
You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”
His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge.
-
“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.
The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride.
“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour.
He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist.
You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said.
I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.
Don’t patronise me.
You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare.
“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“
“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud.
“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real.
He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”
You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”
“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”
You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”
He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”
You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore.
Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away.
You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly.
“What?” he asks.
"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”
“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.
“Is there a way around?”
“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”
“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”
He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”
Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot.
“Maybe we should find another way.”
“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”
You blow air out of the side of your mouth.
Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”
You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress.
You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.
He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”
You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real.
“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms.
“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”
“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.”
Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs.
You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically.
“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek.
She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like.
“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”
He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same.
She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”
You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”
“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely.
You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”
He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”
“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.
“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”
You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh.
Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric.
You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.
He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”
“No. I don’t deny it.”
“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”
You nod happily, warm under his touch.
Wait. “What?”
“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly.
“Eddie!”
“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion.
“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko."
“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you.
You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same.
“Can I get in on one of those?”
You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”
“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.
Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion.
He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."
"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."
"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.
"Whatever it's called."
He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need.
"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow.
"If you're sure…" you say, following him in
The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow."
"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook.
You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed.
Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes.
Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves.
You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both.
"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately.
You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page.
Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book.
The further you read the closer he gets.
Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters.
"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy."
Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her.
She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. .
"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh.
He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet.
-
"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later.
Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat.
“And they were awesome."
“Eddie,” you complain softly.
He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers.
You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”
“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky.
“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”
“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”
Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag.
He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.
“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours.
Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.
Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin.
When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.
"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly.
Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts.
After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand.
"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process.
Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly.
Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?"
You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say..
"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls."
It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway,
-
When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle.
Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile.
And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart.
You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why.
"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return.
He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs.
"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting.
"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?"
"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose.
He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside.
It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?"
"Okay," she says.
"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you."
You kiss her cheek.
Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe."
Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"
Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds.
"Grand," Eddie praises.
"What did you want to come here for?"
He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there."
'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys.
"Why'd they have so many?"
Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."
"So these are knock-offs?"
"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though."
He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side.
You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time.
Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck."
He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit."
"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck.
"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new.
It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more."
"Who's that?"
You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her."
"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.
You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?"
"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you.
"It would be sick, if you liked them."
He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap."
You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully.
"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?"
It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt.
"You want?" he asks.
You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents."
He gasps. "What?"
"I can afford that one myself."
He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?"
"They won't."
"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match."
Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick.
You see your saving grace across the way.
"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?"
Junie perks up.
"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage.
"What?" she asks.
"I saw… teddies!"
"Mr. Bear?" she asks.
You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?"
She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.
Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.
She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games.
"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe.
"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.
You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her."
He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness.
"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says.
"And if she gets dermatitis?"
His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."
"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash."
"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath."
You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly.
"Shit, really?"
You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk."
"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved."
Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away.
You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose.
You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other.
After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two.
Best day ever.
"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies."
Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever.
She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.
You can't afford all three.
You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one."
"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."
"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."
It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.
"Eddie," you say again, quietly.
He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."
"Really?"
"Only for the rabbit."
You purse your lips to fight a smile.
Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.
"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.
"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"
You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."
-
Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.
"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.
Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"
"A rash."
"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.
You laugh. "Poor baby."
"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.
"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."
"He thought you were hurting yourself?"
"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."
"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.
You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.
"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."
"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.
"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."
You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.
"You are pretty funny," you say.
"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."
You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."
"Yeah, you should've."
Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.
"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.
"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.
You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.
You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"
"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.
He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.
He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"
You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.
"You want me to drive?" you ask.
"No, sweetheart. You're good."
You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.
"Eddie…"
You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.
He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.
You waver.
"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."
You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.
"I'll crawl."
You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.
Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."
"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.
The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.
The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.
Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.
"Eddie," you start.
"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."
You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.
"Now you're getting it."
He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.
You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.
Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.
You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?
I didn't force him. He likes me.
He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.
He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."
You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.
"Of course you can."
You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.
"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.
"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."
"Eager to get back?"
"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."
"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.
"I'll try that one after you."
You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.
"Leave some for me."
"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."
He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.
He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"
"I think so."
"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."
"What?"
"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."
"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"
"A long time ago."
You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.
He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.
You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"
"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."
"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"
You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.
You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.
"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.
"Cake?" she asks.
"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."
You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.
"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.
"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.
There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.
"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.
"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.
Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.
"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"
You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter
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#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things 4#stranger things#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x afab reader#mom!reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson oneshot#stranger things fanfiction#fem!reader
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You Have A Home
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.
Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader
A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!
Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”
“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”
“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”
“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.
“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”
Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”
“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”
“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”
“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”
“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”
He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.
“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”
“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.
Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”
She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.
“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”
“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”
“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”
“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”
Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”
Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”
“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.
“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”
“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”
He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”
“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.
“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”
“So, you and Layla still live together?”
“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”
Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”
“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”
“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.
“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”
“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”
“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”
“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”
Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”
“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.
“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”
“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.
“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”
“You need a therapist.”
Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”
Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”
“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.
Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.
“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.
“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.
“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.
“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.
You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!”
“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”
Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”
“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”
“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.
Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”
“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”
“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”
The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.
Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”
“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”
You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.
At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?
You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.
“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”
“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”
“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”
“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”
“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”
Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”
“So, Cupcake?”
"Let's focus on the case, Dean."
“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”
Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”
Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.
Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”
“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”
A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.
Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”
Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”
You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.
“You should have come home sooner.”
His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”
“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”
Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!
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"Let me love you" Short story of Matthew Fairchild and Cordelia Carstairs!
Cordelia stood before the small room she would spend the night in. She managed to find an inn in Cornwall,she was there due to her road trip with Matthew. They had a mission,but they could leave that for tomorrow.
The room barely had any light. The moonlight lit the floor through the window,and a detail caught her attention.
There was only one bed.
-Fear not,dear Cordelia. I am more than okay with sleeping on the floor. It's not like i have not done that before either.-Matthew said,smiling.
-But you were drunk,weren't you?-Cordelia asked.
Matthew nodded.
-I was. But that makes no difference now. We cannot share a bed,you are engaged to my Parabatai.-Matthew said.
Cordelia blinked. How could she forget such a thing? Being engaged to James had been her dream for so many years so. And now it was happening,but not quite how she imagined it.
It was a white marriage,to save her reputation. James did not love her,and he said it himself. His heart belonged to Grace Blackthorn.
But she was engaged to Charles,Matthew's brother. Cordelia could be wrong,but it didn't seemed like Grace loved James at all.
She doubted James would ever love her,but she would not love him forever. Maybe someday she would be able to forget him,and find someone that could truly love her back.
James had said that love would come for her in a year. Only if it were that easy.
-But i do not want you to sleep on the floor! Surely we can find another solution.-Cordelia said.
-There is no solution. What kind of Parabatai would i be if i let the future wife of James sleep on the floor? I cannot allow such thing. Parabatai's have a code of honor. You will learn all about it soon enough.-Matthew said.
Cordelia said nothing. Apparently he really was willing to sleep on the floor,which wasn't exactly what she wanted for him.
Cordelia and Matthew have gotten really close to each other during these four months of her engagement with James. He was somehow managing to make her smile,even when she had to face the cruel reality that James loved someone else.
-Excuse me then,Matthew. I am in desperate need of a bath.-Cordelia said.
She entered the small bathroom,the walls were almost yellow,as if the white had gone due to dirt. I didn't took long for Cordelia to enter the bathtub,full of hot water.
Perhaps love stories where indeed something that only happened in books. When she had first arrived in London,the thought that James could really love her made her jump with happiness. But that was only a silly fantasy that she had. A dream of a little girl.
Even after the Whispering Room,James once told her that he had kissed her because he wanted to,but after Grace had visited him,they were only pretending.
Maybe that was the effect true love had on people. Cordelia could be as bright as the sun,but if Grace were standing beside her,James would never look at her.
It was heartbreaking,but the truth was never easy to handle.
After her bath,she had put on her nightgown,it's color resembled the color of wine. Her feet was bare,and the floor felt cold.
She left the bathroom,only to find Matthew laying on the bed,with a bottle of cheap spirits in his hand.
-Matthew! Drinking again!? Must you do that all the time!? I can't have you in a hangover tomorrow! We have a mission,or have you forgotten about it?-Cordelia asked.
Matthew shook his head.
-I did not. And don't be vexed,i wasn't planning on getting drunk if that is what you are thinking.-Matthew said.
He looked at her. Even if the room barely had any light,he could still see her in her nightgown.
She was absolutely gorgeous. James was such a fool. How could he love Grace instead of Cordelia? Grace was like a statue of ice,beautiful but cold and emotionless.
Cordelia was like fire,stunning and warm,and he would never get tired of her flames,if she were to burn him. He should feel nothing for her,she was going to marry his Parabatai. And yet,that was not on his control.
-You should take a bath as well. I can sense the smell of wine from here.-Cordelia said.
Matthew nodded. She was not wrong,he did need a bath. Perhaps freezing water could calm his nerves a little bit.
Sometimes he wished he could be like Dorian Gray. He wished he could do the most scandalous and awful things and remain young and handsome,so that people would always believe he could redeem himself,that he could be better.
But he could not ever be better. He was a murderer,and did not deserve any kindness. Nor love.
The water got rid of the smell of alcohol,and Matthew relaxed a little bit. At least there were no expectations upon him right now. He was unable to deal with all the tenderness his friends had sometimes. No one knew the real Matthew Fairchild. No one knew what he had been capable of.
But secrets were like a terrible flame. Soon Matthew would only be ashes. And he was fine with that. He deserved it.
He was awful,and nothing would ever change that.
Cordelia was trying to read the new chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia Lucie had written,but she could not focus. She would often think about what James thought about her road trip with Matthew. They were Parabatai and trusted each other more than everything. Still,could James feel jealousy due to that?
Cordelia shook her head. Why was she doing that to herself? James was her friend,nothing more. Why would he feel something like that? Wasn't the fact that he loved Grace enough to make her try to forget about him?
The door of the bathroom suddenly opened,revealing Matthew. He only had a towel around his waist.
Cordelia blushed immediately. Was he not seeing here there? Did he not know how improper that was?
But by the Angel,he was handsome. His shoulders were broad,he had a Defense Rune near his chest,and his abs were chiseled.
His body was dripping,his golden hair still wet. He was looking around the room,as if he had lost something.
-Matthew!? Why are you not dressed!?-Cordelia asked,blocking her vision with her hands. She had to force herself not to stare at him.
Matthew turned his attention to Cordelia. She was absolutely right. He had forgotten.
-Oh please forgive me! I never really shared a room with anyone before.-Matthew said.
It was true,to a certain point. He had been in rooms with different people before,though the thing was,he were there to undress,but with Cordelia was completely different.
He would never be intimate with her. And she was engaged. He had no right to stand here in that way. They were only friends.
Matthew grabbed his clothes and entered the bathroom once again,and got dressed. Black trousers and a light green shirt. He left,and sat beside Cordelia in the bed.
-Pardon me,Cordelia. It seems like i have a talent to vex every single one of my friends.-Matthew said.
Strangely,Cordelia laughed.
-Honestly,i think i overreacted. I mean,the entire Enclave believes i have spent a night in James' room,one can only imagine i have seem him...You know,that way.-Cordelia said.
-But you have not. I'm quite sure you have heard many times before people saying that i have a "reputation". I never cared about their opinion,and neither should you.-Matthew said.
-That is easy to say if you are a man. Nothing that you do will make people consider you "ruined". Unlike me,because this engagement is to save my reputation. Sometimes i wonder if i really did the right thing.-Cordelia said.
-You saved James from the Clave,and from Tatiana's accusations. Grace would not have lied like you did. She would obey her mother. If it were not for you,Jamie would be in serious trouble right now.-Matthew said.
But that was not what Cordelia was talking about.
-I don't mean that. I don't regret helping James,i would have done that for you,for Thomas and Christopher as well.-Cordelia said.
-I see. You are talking about the engagement,are you not? Do you have second thoughts about it?-Matthew asked.
-Mariage Blanc was never something i imagined in my life. I know James was kind to propose to me,so that i can keep my honor. But this feels wrong,i don't like lying to my family like this. It's not how i've imagined my engagement with James...-Cordelia was saying,but she suddenly stopped.
What had she done? Had she just revealed her true feelings for James to Matthew?
-I see. You truly love James. This is probably being hard to you. You are soon to be married with the one you love,but his heart belongs to someone else.-Matthew said,as if he was describing the story of a book.
-I am so selfish. He only wishes to help me,as i have helped him. How can i be so ungrateful to his help like this?-Cordelia said,covering her face with her hands.
-You are not selfish Cordelia. I will not accept you saying those awful things about yourself. James may be my Parabatai,but he is being quite foolish. I am sure that Grace Blackthorn does not love him. She will marry my brother,and yet James still believes that they will one day be together.-Matthew said.
Cordelia shrugged.
-Isn't that what true love is? Never losing the hope on your beloved?-Cordelia said.
Matthew shook his head. Talking about love should feel weird for him. What did he knew about love? He destroyed the life of someone that was not born but that he already loved. He harmed his mother and father,the ones who had always loved him.
And yet,there he was,talking about something that would never be allowed to him.
-How can true love bring so much pain? It doesn't seem right to me.-Matthew said.
-Have you ever loved before,Matthew?-Cordelia asked.
Matthew shook his head.
-Love is something that i simply do not deserve,Cordelia.-He said.
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. What was he saying?
-Why not? You have a gentle and kind soul. Why would you not deserve love?-Cordelia asked.
Matthew took a deep breath. Should he tell her? This was something he refused to even tell James. And he had feelings for Cordelia,feelings that he should not feel at all.
But if he revealed what he did to her,if he revealed his greatest sin,she would despise him. He knew she would.
Cordelia was too good. She would never love him. But happiness was not something guaranteed in one's life.
But he was tired. Tired of keeping all of that inside him. And for so many years now.
He needed to tell her.
-I am not gentle,nor kind. I am a wicked spirit. I have blood in my hands Cordelia.-Matthew said.
Cordelia looked at him,her face full of concern.
-What do you mean?-She asked.
-You know that i do not get along with your brother. As a matter of fact,i cannot stand him. Have you ever asked yourself why?-Matthew said.
-Yes. But Alastair never said anything to me,and neither did you.-Cordelia said.
-I will tell you. When i was at the Shadowhunter Academy,your brother began to spread a rumor about my mother,and about Gideon Lightwood.-Matthew said.
A memory suddenly came up in Cordelia's mind. When she was younger,she remembered her parents discussing something about the Consul cheating her husband.
-He told me that i was the bastard son of Gideon. That my father was half of a man,that he could not father children,and that he could not satisfy my mother. And that was why her actions were understandable.-Matthew said.
Cordelia felt a sudden anger inside her chest. How could Alastair say such awful things? All of those were lies!
-My brother spreaded those lies!? By the Angel,Matthew,i...i am so embarassed! I can assure you i will give him a good piece of my mind when we return!-Said Cordelia.
But Matthew only shook his head again,as if nothing she could say would make him feel any better.
-Your brother's words made me go paranoid. But what i did was only my fault. I was desperate,i needed to know the truth about what was happening. I could have simply asked my parents,but who could guarantee they would tell me the truth? I could not accept more lies. So i decided to visit the Shadow Market.-Matthew said.
Cordelia blinked. Shadow Markets could be a very dangerous place,if one were careless. It was usually full of downworlders,and they did not like Shadowhunters in there.
-I found a faerie in the Shadow Market. I asked her for a specific kind of potion. A potion that would make one incapable of lying.-Matthew said.
Cordelia felt worried. That was not a very good decision. Faeries could not lie,but that didn't meant they were trustworthy.
-That day,my mother was at home. I baked some cranberries for her. I used the potion in the cranberries. I wanted to ask her if i was indeed my father's son,or if i was Gideon Lightwood's son. I wanted to ask her if her marriage with father still existed,or if they were only pretending to be okay. But i didn't had the chance. She ate one and fell right in front of me.-Matthew said.
Cordelia remembered that. There was a day when everyone was gossiping about the Consul being ill.
-But she recovered! You did not kill your mother Matthew! There is no blood in your hands as you say.-Cordelia said.
-But there is. I became so obsessed with that lie,that i killed someone. The potion was poison,and my mother was pregnant. She was expecting a girl,something she had always dreamed of. My little sister. I did not gave her a chance to meet us all. I didn't allowed her to live. And her blood will be forever in my hands.-Said Matthew.
His face was wet,tears dropping from his eyes. Cordelia began to cry as well. Her heart was shattered.
-Now Cordelia,tell me. Am i gentle? Am i kind? Do i deserve to be loved? I harmed my own family because i was not capable of believing them.-Matthew asked.
Cordelia had put her hand on his face. Now it was clear,why she had always seen a shadow hanging around Matthew.
The deadly shadow of guilt.
-Oh Matthew...I am so sorry for all of that.-She said.
She hugged him,quite strongly. And she felt Matthew fall apart in her embrace.
-You must despise me now! You can't possibly want to be my friend after all that i have told you. I am a murderer! You must hate me!-He said,almost choking with his own tears.
-I do not despise you! I would never be able to hate you either! Matthew,i cannot lie to you,it will not be easy to handle with the consequences of your actions,but still...Charlotte and Henry are your parents! They will always love you!-Cordelia said.
-But i do not deserve that! I deserve no love! No happiness! Only bitterness and darkness are allowed to my soul.-Matthew said.
-No! Do not say that! I will not accept that self hatred!-Cordelia said.
-Everyone believes i use the green carnation because of Oscar Wilde,but there is another reason. "Green will mend our broken hearts". But my heart will always be broken.-Matthew said.
-No Matthew! Love can change everything! You must believe that your parents,that your friends,would still be capable of loving you!-Cordelia said.
-And you? Would you be capable of loving me?-Matthew asked.
In seconds,Cordelia was kissing Matthew. Their mouths crashed in each other,like moths to a flame.
It felt completely different than kissing James. They seemed to have an urgency in their kiss. A desperate need to fill any empty space. Her unrequited love for James,and his lack of love for himself.
James. He seemed so far from her mind and heart right now. She could only think about and feel Matthew there with her.
His hands ran through her dark red hair,then to her dark skin,she felt as if she was burning in desire.
Matthew got rid of his shirt so quickly that it nearly seemed like magic. Her hands were against his hard chest. She could feel his heart beating against her palm.
He laid on top of Cordelia,his torso pressed against her breasts. Her moment with James in the Whispering Room seemed small if compared to this.
Somewhere deep in her mind,she could hear James' voice,swearing to her that he would not act like a unfaithful husband.
Perhaps she was being unfaithful to him now,but she was not being unfaithful to herself. James did not love her,and he never would. And she was free to love someone else.
Matthew suddenly stopped. He was panting,nearly breathless. There was guilt in his eyes.
-You will become the wife of my Parabatai. I cannot do this to you. You should not get intimate with someone like me.-Matthew said.
Cordelia got rid of her nightgown,revealing herself to Matthew. His gaze was on her body.
-You are gorgeous Cordelia. It was the first impression i had of you,when i saw you at the ball in the Institute.-Matthew said,smiling.
-My marriage to James means nothing. He does not love me,and my honor will be restored after my divorce. You will be able to propose to me by then.-Cordelia said.
-But why me? I am the worst of men. I do not deserve to be loved by anyone.-Matthew asked.
Cordelia shook her head.
-If you can't love yourself,Matthew Fairchild,let me love you.-She said.
Matthew only nodded,he was no longer crying. They kissed again,as Matthew got rid of the rest of his clothes.
James told Cordelia that love would come for her,in a year,she remembered well.
But perhaps James was wrong. Perhaps love would not take that long to come for her.
Perhaps it had always been there,by her side,in that handsome green eyed boy.
#cassandra clare#chain of gold#the last hours#james herondale#grace blackthorn#cordelia carstairs#matthew fairchild#charlotte fairchild#henry branwell#cordelia x matthew#ghosts of the shadow market#cast long shadows
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I posted 173 times in 2022
That's 173 more posts than 2021!
5 posts created (3%)
168 posts reblogged (97%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@laikamaeris
@sumersprkl
@2dames2zine
@propafranduh
I tagged 14 of my posts in 2022
#dames and dragons - 5 posts
#dames and dragons falen - 4 posts
#falen the betrayer - 3 posts
#dames and dragons fran - 3 posts
#fralen - 3 posts
#is there a ship name? - 2 posts
#? - 2 posts
#dames and dragons diamond - 1 post
#i just want to clarify that i did get permission to post this and that it did involve me making the 🥺 face - 1 post
#love this dichotomy. real falen had a job to do and he was gonna do it. other falen decided his job was to be hot - 1 post
Longest Tag: 126 characters
#the 'we can put some avocados in a bag for you it'll be just like the real thing' 'you're so weird corbin. thank you' exchange
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
OMG IN THE LIBRARY IN THE DWARF KINGDOM FRAN FAILED A PERCEPTION CHECK TO SENSE THE EVIL FALEN. The Falen-sense doesn't work when she knows it's a fake Falen! Her uncanny ability to make impossible Falen-related observations failed her enough that he could sneak up on her!!!
5 notes - Posted October 31, 2022
#4
Me: "The real tragedy of Evil Falen being into Fran is that he can't pull her hair to playfully flirt with her. Because her hair is water."
My SO: "...uwuh 🥺"
Me: "Well that was a noise!"
Them: "He could try 🥺"
~~~
My SO: "Don't post that, you're bullying me!"
Me: "I thought it was cute! I'm not bullying you, I'm just... metaphorically pulling your hair."
7 notes - Posted October 31, 2022
#3
Real Falen's first impression on Fran: *stabs two people she likes, has that awkward spit interaction with Corbin, leaves without saying anything to anybody*
Other Falen's first impression on Fran: *leans over her to whisper with a sexy voice directly in her ear* "Ooh, scholarly...~"
7 notes - Posted October 31, 2022
#2
I don’t know how old Diamond is, because all of the group swooning over him reads sort of like middle schoolers fangirling over a much older boyband member, but I DO know that if he IS age-appropriate to crush on any of the main group, he is HEAD-OVER-HEELS in deep, courtly love for Maeri.
I mean, like. She’s canonically gorgeous, she didn’t lock eyes with him and immediately become a fawning sycophant, she’s incredibly powerful, she holds herself with grace and dignity, and she’s just genuinely good and kind and willing to try to rail against injustice and the systems that harm mortals, she’s a literal goddess but she still has a deeply human side. There’s nothing in that entire description that ISN’T bard catnip.
Maeri is LITERALLY the stuff of songs. Maybe DIAMOND’S songs. We know that Jambo the Maskmaker knew the Survivor’s Ballad, but (as far as I know) we don’t know who wrote it. Maybe Jambo picked it up from Diamond.
I just wanna imagine Diamond, newly-crowned champion of Dawson, getting saved by the Guardians and latching onto Maeri as his muse. He hears news of the battle, learns how she Names herself in the most dramatic and thematically appropriate way possible, and is DEVASTATED by the news that she has become trapped in the void. He prays to his benefactor, who gives Diamond a chance to save her. If he gathers all these powerful artifacts from all these dangerous places and brings them across the continent, he gets to bring her back. HE gets to be HER hero.
And then after all that work, somebody beats him to it, and his god shows up and shoos him off to the side while he bargains for his own life.
And yeah, at least he gets to look really cool while giving the Guardians a concert, which is what he’s best at in the whole world, but Maeri doesn’t even look that impressed.
Heartbreaking.
49 notes - Posted September 5, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
With enough repeated exposure to the Guardians' concentrated attention, all antagonistic Dames and Dragons NPCs will eventually succumb to what I call the "Falen state," in which that NPC, against their better judgment, will let the Guardians steamroll their decisions.
Symptoms of the Falen State include, in chronological order:
- the urge to strangle one or more members of the party, which becomes more and more impotent until it disappears almost entirely, but may still flare up with provocation
- resigned tone of voice with flat affectation
- being unable to say no even after repeated protests
- extremely reluctant fondness for the Guardians
- unhealthy levels of devotion to the Guardians, which may result in the affected NPC uprooting their entire way of life, agreeing to help them kill gods, or helping them overthrow the government of their home nation.
NPCs who have shown symptoms of the Falen State include, but are not limited to:
- Falen
- Alden
- Orestes (He showed early signs but managed to cut contact before Stage Three)
- Strong Selni, Wolf of the Waves (She showed the most resistance, but was the single focus of the Guardians' attention for more uninterrupted time than any other NPC. She didn't stand a chance.)
The best way to avoid falling into the Falen state is to avoid contact with the Guardians, if possible. If you must be in contact with the Guardians, avoid being interesting enough to hold their attention. If you start to feel any of these symptoms while in contact with the Guardians, cease contact immediately. Those with only the early symptoms can still live full, happy, boring lives. There is no cure for the later stages of the Falen State.
72 notes - Posted October 30, 2022
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