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munson-blurbs · 8 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

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

Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS

WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.

Chapter 16/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.

“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”

You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”

“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.

Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”

“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”

You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.

“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.

“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.

Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”

“Water?”

“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”

“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”

Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”

You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”

Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash.

“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.

The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.

It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.

“Daddy, I gotta pee!”

You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.

“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”

“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”

“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?”

Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them.

The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris.

Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”

Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.”

“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile.

Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”

Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”

You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence.

Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly.

Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day.

You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth.

Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”

“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”

You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”

You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”

“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.

Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later.

“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips.

“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants.

“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more.

“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly.

Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle.

The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.”

You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.

Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair.

“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”

The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.

Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.

“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.

“Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.

Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone.

“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together.

“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend.

“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”

The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”

Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits.

“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.

The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy.

“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad.

Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”

“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”

“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”

Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”

Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.

The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.

“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.

Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.

He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.

His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.

Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.

“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.

”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”

“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.

To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.

You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other.

She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.

“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”

Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”

You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.”

“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”

She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground.

Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”

“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”

He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”

Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance.

“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”

“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough.

Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”

You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”

“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently.

His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love my daddy?”

You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”

Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”

You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly.

“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly.

This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?

“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.

To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.

Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”

You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”

His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”

“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.

It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable.

You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.

He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder.

“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–”

“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.

Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.

He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.

“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.

You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.

Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.

Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.

“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel.

“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”

The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores.

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”

You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill.

“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”

“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop.

He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed.

“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway.

He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”

You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips.

“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”

The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”

“Yes, dear.”

You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”

He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”

The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.

“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”

“What?”

“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”

“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.

“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”

“I know!”

“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”

“I know!”

“--the whole time. Got it?”

“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”

Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together.

You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help.

Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.

“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.

“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”

Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson.

“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.

To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”

Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”

“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today.

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”

“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects.

“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around.

You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.

“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”

“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”

“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”

“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”

The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”

“Mhm.”

She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”

Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for.

The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you.

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found. “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”

Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”

“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize.

You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”

Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.

“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him.

“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.

“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”

Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”

Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”

The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you.

You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.

You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows.

“Going home.”

He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”

“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”

He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.

The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”

A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it.

He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.

You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.

“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation.

“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly.

He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.

Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent.

When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do.

He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly.

He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise.

“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments.

The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough.

That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in.

Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week.

Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?

Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger.

And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears.

The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods.

Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth.

You’re almost a full week late.

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undercovercameron · 10 months

Text

sunspent

summary: you're relaxed and calm in the obx summer heat, and rafe simply cannot have that.

notes: filthy filthy filthy! sorry not sorry bout it. also minor obx 3 spoilers; ie his parents are on that damn island and its just him in their big ole house. semi public sex kink and def a choking kink beware or be scared! i truly cannot write anything without that damn hand around reader's throat.. that's my b. enjoy! also thank you so much for all the love on my fics and the followers... so excited for all i will write in the future and so incredibly full of love from you guys <3

tags: rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count: 2542

The whole day had been perfect.

You woke up around 9:30, brushed your teeth, and went downstairs to have some oatmeal. By 10:30 you were in a bikini and setting out a towel on the back deck.

The sun was fairly hot, but the early warnings of a storm gave a cooler breeze. Your towel was in the perfect spot between the shade where you could get full sun coverage without moving too much.

Gentle music was playing from your speaker, something that sounded like what your mom listened to in highschool, and a couple vodka seltzers laid unopened in a small cooler for you to enjoy later. You were also halfway through a mystery book, and between the pages of every chapter you let the time drift away from you.

The most relaxing part of the start of your day? Rafe had left the house around 9 and had yet to return by the time you cracked open your seltzer at 1 o’clock. No ranting, no typical Rafe-isms— just sunshine and Paula Abdul. You wished he was able to do this with you.

It was so relaxing that you drifted off to sleep a little more than halfway through your drink, head resting on your folded arms.

“Y/N.” Something rigid and distinctly shoe-like nudges your arm. “Baby.”

You just groan and turn over onto your back, arms following to protect your eyes from the sunlight.

“Hi,” you croak, squinting, and peer up at him. He looks like the Statue of Liberty in this light— if the statue of liberty wore light wash jeans and slutty little beer brand t-shirts. (So on brand for him.)

“How long have you been out here?” He asks, bending to pick up what’s left of your seltzer for one final swig.

“Since like 10:45.” Your face breaks in a yawn and your arms fall to the deck as your eyes get used to the light. A smile creeps onto your face. “What’ve you been doing?” You sit up on your hands, scanning his body. He looks kinda sweaty.

“Um,” he starts, scratching at his forehead with a sigh. “Buncha shit. Went into a couple places to close Ward’s accounts with them—oh, I saw your mom at Cold Stone by the way.”

“Why were you at Cold Stone?” You grin, crossing your legs and pushing at his calf with your foot. He makes an innocent face, hands on his hips. He looks to the trees, playfully exasperated.

“Sometimes I need a milkshake, Y/N. What kind of question is that?” You snort. “Anyway— I think we should go out for dinner. It’s getting to be—shit, it’s almost 4.”

You’re silent, save for some puny, whiny noise you make at the mention of going out. You struggle to get up, a little wobbly on your feet, but Rafe catches you and hauls you up with a hand on your waist.

“What?” He brushes the wispy hairs out of your face. “You don’t want to go out?” He searches your face, blue eyes squinting down at you, and you just pout. In the most mature way a 20-something can when faced with leaving her very rich boyfriend’s very nice house who has asked her to stay with him graciously for the very near future while his parents are retired on some island in the middle of the ocean.

You curl a finger around the collar of his t-shirt, playing with it while you formulate an answer.

“Where would we go?” Is what you settle on, ever the people pleaser.

“I don’t know…” Rafe thinks, gaze drifting from you as he chews at his lip. You wind your arms around his shoulders, hands splayed across his wingspan. You pet the skin of his neck with your thumb, warm all over. You’re content just looking at him forever.

“What if I’m hungry now?” You ask, ever so innocently, and Rafe thinks you’re serious until he catches the look on your face.

“That right?” He grins, hand sliding down your back. He grabs at your ass and you squeak. “How hungry? Wait until after dinner?” He’s just teasing you honestly; it’s almost a hobby to see how desperate you get for him.

“Rafe.” You pinch his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

He just hums noncommittally, and dips to press a kiss to your neck. You shift up onto your tiptoes, wanting to be closer, and he hikes one of your legs up onto his hip. You can’t help the noise you make.

“Rafe,” you breathe, grabbing at him. “We have to go inside.” He bows forward, dangling you towards the wood of the deck, and you just hold tighter onto his shoulders.

“Why?” He murmurs, lost in your taste, and presses a kiss to your mouth that makes you shiver. “I don’t see why we have to.” He falls into a kneel, bringing you with him, and you suck in a surprised gasp. “Nobody’s around.”

“Somebody could be, baby,” you say, chancing a look around, and huff out a sigh when he lays you onto your back. This man.

“I don’t care,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world before following you down.

This bikini might be his favorite. He likes anything that will leave as little to the imagination as possible, but this one is his favorite shade of blue. Almost matches his eyes.

Your warm skin feels like silk on him, and when you wriggle when he presses a hand to your inner thigh, his dick jumps.

“Relax, Y/N,” he breathes. You roll your eyes.

“How can I, Rafe? You’re so—aggravating.” You huff. He’s still wearing his shirt, too. You tug at the sleeves of it.

“Oh, yeah?” He cocks his head, lips pursed. You just nod, pulling again at the fabric of his shirt. “Why’re you so wet, then?” He fumbles with the buckle of his jeans and your eyes lock on it.

“I’m not.” You look back up at him, self-assured to a fault, and try to will the dampness between your legs away. He just stares down at you, unimpressed. “I-I’m not.” Your thighs close.

“That right?” He murmurs, and wrestles your legs open again with an arm. His fingertips brush the crotch of your bottoms and you jolt, breathing hard out your nose. He lifts your hips and pulls them clean off, tossing them to the side.

He’s silent then, gaze locked between your legs, and he carefully guides your legs back until you can grab them by the back of your thighs and keep them out of his way.

“Not wet, my ass,” he murmurs to himself. His thumb rubs at your clit, and your sigh of pleasure ends in an impatient whine. He spits. “This pussy—,” he starts, but can’t finish.

He just bows and gets his mouth on you like he’s been thinking about since he left the house. Your head slams back against the deck almost immediately.

His large palm flattens to the back of your thigh and pushes your leg even further. The muscle strains but you can handle it.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue pushes hard through your folds. You’re really fucking wet. You wonder briefly if it’s because of how hot it was today, then cast that out of your mind completely when you hear Rafe groan. Your body vibrates with it.

His hands suddenly drag you by your hips, closer to his face, and he hums again.

“Taste so fucking good,” he muses, spitting at you, and glances up at your face. You can barely keep your mouth closed like this. “Brat, lying to me.”

You whine, every second of him talking taking his mouth away from where it so desperately needs to be absolute torture, but settle when his thumb begins tracing circles into your clit.

“Fuck me,” you breathe, back arching and leg muscles straining, and Rafe just laughs into your cunt.

“I will,” he murmurs, and you would roll your eyes if you could— but he pushes two fingers into you. His thumb spurs back into motion as you sing, throat already sore. He knows exactly where and when to curl his fingers, and you let him know right there is where they need to be.

“There you go.” He spits a third time, watching it mix with your slick. “Squeezing me so tight, honey,” he assures you, smoothing a hand down your thigh. If you could find words you’d agree.

You manage a “yes, shit,” before you go mute and your eyes roll back into your head. You squeeze around him like a vice, your legs flooding with warmth, and he fingers you through your orgasm. He can’t pull himself away when you get like this— you’re so soft and warm and perfect that he genuinely wonders if he could ever fuck someone else again. He knows the answer is no.

Your abdominal muscles spasm and jolt as you come down, neck straining to look at where his fingers give you a final stroke and find their way to his mouth.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you half-laugh and half-moan, head falling against the deck. You chest heaves as you catch your breath. “This is embarrassing.”

“What?” He says, voice hushed, and presses a kiss to your mouth. “Being on the deck or how quick I can make you cum?” He grins.

This time you can and do roll your eyes.

“Both,” you sigh, legs falling to their place around his hips. You curl up into a sitting position and pet his arm, coming back to reality. He smells like sunshine. “But you still haven’t fucked me yet.”

Your fingers trail down to his jeans, fingertips ghosting over his zipper. He hums in agreement, eyes following. You play with the button for a second, just wanting to tease, but pop it and unzip the fly.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about?” You ask, reaching up his shirt to feel his hot skin. “That time on the beach,” you purr, voice hushed and eyes wild.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip and sits back on his ass, taking you with him in his lap. Your knees bend and you sit comfortably on the seat that is only yours. “You thinking about my hand?”

“Mhm.” You lean and kiss at his cheek, trailing down to his jaw. “And something else.” You dig a hand down into his boxers and curl your fingers around his dick.

He’s hot and almost slippery, so hard you’re sure it’s painful. Your wrist slides against the tip and his hand on your ass curls into a fist.

You lean back, wanting to see his face, and watch as your touch washes over his body. He blinks rapidly, eyes focusing, and you smile sweetly.

It’s then that you shift into your knees, hand squeezing his dick, and sink down onto him.

His fingers fly up to your strained face and grasp your neck, immediately tight around your throat. Not tight enough to suffocate, but tight enough for your pulse to quicken.

Exactly what you’d imagined.

“You like that?” He pants, breath fanning over your cheek when you turn slightly and grip his shoulder for stability. You just nod and circle your hips.

His thumb on your chin guides your face back to his, wanting to see you fall apart, and you make a whiny noise. He feels where it starts and ends between his fingertips.

You ride between the strain of his hand around your throat and the movement of his body, head tilted back and mouth wide. Your fingers grip his shoulder and bicep as you ride.

It’s a difficult job, balancing the rhythm of your hips with the ache blooming from the muscles in your thighs, but you make it work.

You hear the bashfully whiny groans he’s exhaling into your ear and you make it work.

“You feel so good,” you whisper hoarsely as his hold tightens, chin tilting towards the sky. He grits his teeth and pushes his hips up into yours.

You scramble to grab onto his forearm and hold back your shriek.

The tightness of his fingers around your throat blur the lines of pleasure and pain, making it hard to catch a deep breath and ride him at the same time.

“Fuck, harder,” he stutters, almost whispering, and you nod furiously. Your thighs meet his lap, over and over with a noise that makes you blush even more than you already are, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises or at the very least a red mark.

He releases your throat and anchors himself with your hip and the small of your back, and when you finally gasp for air at the loss of his pressure on your neck he uses all his lower back strength to wedge himself deep into you.

You know you’ll have bruises there.

You push hard against his forearm as your back arches and the tension in your lower abdomen comes to a peak. Your toes curl where they are at his side.

Your vision comes in and out of focus as you cum again, blood white-hot in your veins. The climax is almost numbing. Addicting.

At this point you have no idea the noises you’re making, probably all gibberish and definitely humiliating, but the rushing in your ears is too much.

Rafe shudders and groans loudly into your ear, spending himself inside of you with a grunt, and you follow him as he falls back into the deck. You catch yourself with a palm on the sun scorched wood.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, heart pounding and chest heaving. Sweat coats his buzzed hair in a shiny sheen, and your whole body is so sticky you feel like you could peel the layer of perspiration off of your body.

His hands still lazily hold your waist and they begin their ascent to your neck. He feels your pulse with the space between his thumb and forefinger, and his face splits into a grin at the feeling.

“I definitely am going to need some food after this.” You push yourself back up into a sitting position and put your hands on your hips as you finally catch your breath.

He looks so beautiful, half in the shade and half in the sun. Laid out beneath you. Still inside. Like some kind of god.

The hot sun is in his eyes, and his body is numb with the tension spent in his muscles. Rafe half wonders if his dick is still fucking there.

He barely feels when you crawl off of him and stumble into standing. He jerks up into a sitting position, that familiar ache in his back present, and grabs for your leg. He winces at the stretch. You should really be paying his chiropractor bill.

“Where are you going?” He accuses, voice scratchy in his throat.

“I need to shower, baby.” You bend to pick up your bikini bottoms. “We’re going to dinner, aren’t we?” You smile and turn back around to go inside, ass bare and a huge red mark in the shape of a large hand curved around the trunk of your throat.

Yeah, drive-up it is.

#obx #obx 3 #obx 3 spoilers #rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #obx x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron imagine

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pedge-page · 6 months

Text

Plushies 4 - Teddy

Joel Miller x F!Reader - Yet ANOTHER plushie fic, follows Cluster

Plushies Series Masterlist

Can be read as standalone

Summary: Joel buys you two toys: a giant teddy bear from Costco. And a strap-on dildo.

Warnings: omg where to begin- stuffed animal masturbation, stuffed animal fucking, humping, 69-ing a stuffed bear, sucking dildo, dildo riding, anal play, anal sex, double penetration, pet names, daddy kink, slight cuck!Joel behavior, pussy slapping, finger fucking, vaginal fluids, language, Joel's plush obsession gone too far

18+ ONLY

- - - -

He's shopping in Costco when he sees the absolute behemoth of a Teddy Bear. Standing 7 feet tall, 75 pound of cotton belly, AND $100 off? Joel stares up at the thing and instantly knows he needs to get it for his girl. He doesn't care how ridiculous he looks lugging it into the shopping cart, women in the store eying him curiously as he checks out, and the jealous stares of children in the parking lot as hauls it in bed of the truck and speeds off home.

It just needs one more accessory and then it will be perfect.

Joel swipes his arm over the neatly made bed of squishmellows, not thinking twice as they clutter to the ground. He fetches big Teddy over his shoulder and slams its soft booty on the bed. The thing practically takes up the entire surface.

He hears you putting your purse and keys down on the counter in the kitchen. Quickly, he fashions his accessory to the bear before stepping away right as you open the door and are surprised to see him.

And a big fucking teddy bear on your bed.

"Joel! Oh my god!" You squeal giddily.

"You like it? This is Teddy's big brother. Like me"

"So the teddy you bought me for Valentine's day and I've buried in my pussy is...Tommy?"

Joel's hand twitches by his side as he stares at the bear. "Ok, This is Papi Teddy instead."

You kiss him on the cheek before jumping on the bed, legs spread like a starfish to latch yourself to the side. Joel laughs at how small you are compared to the monster. You wrap yourself around its side and smush your face into its dark soft curls, running your hands all over its body thinking about how Joel's hair is just as fluffy.

You go to sit in its lap to make Joel take a pic when you pause, noticing the hard thing between its chubby thighs.

"Joel. Why does this teddy have a strap on dildo?"

"Because he's a mature Teddy, baby."

Why can't I just have a normal fucking boyfriend who punches my stuffed animals' faces, you think to yourself.

"You spent $500 on a giant bear just so I could fuck it?"

"No. Of course not!" He exclaimed, hands on his hips. "It was on sale for $399."

"How much was the strap on?"

"... ok that was $79 with $20 shipping. Anyway, since you wanna fuck it so bad, go ahead. I didnt say shit. How did I end up with such a horny little girl?"

Sometimes you just wanted to slap him in his smug face.

Being such a hornly little girl (with your equally perverted boyfriend) is exactly how you found yourself in your current position, wearing cute lacy lingerie and bent over the enormous leg of the teddy bear, hand wrapped around it's silicon pink cock as you took it in and out of your mouth.

"Look so good swallowing Teddy's cock." Joel says. He sat in the chair opposite of the bed and watched you, leaning forward to get every detail of the way you slobbered all over it. "Like it when ya make a mess like that."

You hummed contently, bobbing your head to suck on the tip, giving Joel the show he wanted. It was like being front seat to his own private porno. He's been resisting touching himself, his bulge pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

You pussy throbbs with need at the scene, the pink jeweled plug Joel had placed in your rear twitching each time you felt the tip of the cock gag your throat.

"Straddle his face baby. Let Teddy get a taste of that pussy." You do as he says, pulling your lips off of him to position yourself reverse cowgirl on the enormous plush. Your thigh swings over his massive head, pressing your hips down.

"Oooooohhhhhhh, fuck Joel," you moan when his giant snout makes contact with your clit, mounting it like a horse.

"Not me, princess. Tell 'im."

"Ahhhh, OH , oh God teddy. Love riding your f-face."

Joel humms in content, watching you arch your back with each grind against the plush. "Get back to swallowin that cock with those pretty lips. Show him what a real fuckin nasty girl you are."

You push your hair back with one hand and grab the base of dildo with the other, wrapping your lips around the tip before inching it deeper. Your hips continued to hump the bears face, his massive nose parting your thong, through your folds. A guilty wetness smears against the fluff, its curls darkening to Joel's likeness from your juices.

"Yeahhh, oh baby, you should see yourself right now. Gagging on a big fuckin bear cock. My slutty little whore. Takin it so deep—yeah thats it— all the way. Put 'im in your throat."

You gagg around the plastic, holding your head there as your eyes squeeze shut. You knew Joel loved the feeling, so letting him watch it from another perspective would drive him crazy. You pull away and sucked a breath of air before going to jerk the cock with the copious amounts of saliva you had coated on it. Drool hangs out of your mouth, dripping to your tits and onto the plush but you didn't care. Not when the satisfying grind against Teddy's face brought you closer and closer.

"Wanna cum on Teddy's face, Daddy," you moan, putting the tip back in your mouth and hollowing your cheeks as your hips moved faster.

"Bet Teddy would love it. Do it, rub your slutty cunt all over his face."

Your pace slows with a long whine, eyes closing as your moan around the cock while cumming.

"Fuck, that's so fucking hot, baby. You're a goddamn dream, ya know that?" He groans, leaning back and pressing his palm to his crotch to finally put some pressure on his tented dick.

Your orgasm had barely finished before you were picking up speed again, humping your Teddy's face with your fresh arousal. Your hole twitched against the anal plug. "Daddy, need you to take care of me."

"Ah uh. Teddy might not be able to cum in you like I can but his cock still needs some lovin' from that tight pussy of yours." Joel stands and walks close to the bed, no shame in rubbing his cock through his pants. You whine at the sight, rubbing your pussy faster.

"You makin' a mess over here yet?"

You proudly lay back from Teddy's face and spread your legs, showcasing the large wet area on the stuffed animals face and the equally dripping arousal between your legs, swirling your clit with your fingertip and moaning loudly.

Joel ran his thigh hands through the matted wet fur of the bears face. "Fuck yeah, good girl, good fucking girl." His other hand finds your puffy pussy, smacking your finger away as he drove two thick digits into your wet heat. He finger fucks you aggressively, marveling at your juices splashing against your thigh and down Teddy's forehead. "God damn, got me my own little pornstar."

You throw your head back, clawing to keep your own legs parted as he works your oversensitive spot over. He presses downward, feeling the bulge of the plug through your vaginal walls. Your juices leak down to the jewel, generously coating your puckered hole.

He quickly withdraws his finger, tugging at his button and zipper with a renewed sense of pace. "Get on that dildo and ride your new teddy bear."

Joel moves away to stand close to the bed as you flipp your leg around to straddle the plush's belly. You inch your hips lower, wiggling them slightly to entice Joel. He platfully slaps your ass, making you giggle. Your hand wrapping around the width of the cock to line up at your entrance.

A high pitched moan escapes your lips as you sunk down on the toy all the way to the base in one motion. Your lips find Teddy's nose as you adjust to the girth inside you, kissing it and tasting the remnets of your slick.

"Fuck me, princess," Joel coos, running his hand over the length of your back soothingly. You look stunning like this, the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen. Is this what you always look like while riding his dick?

Gently yet sternly, you feel the pressure of his palm against your back, gliding along each ridge of your spin, urging you to move up and down on the dildo. You set off a slow pace, hands fisting the fluffy chest of your new Teddy friend, slick walls clamping down on both toys buried deep inside you. The plug in your ass occasionally nudged the tip of the dildo, making you whine. You felt very full, but not entirely too much. It was just perfect.

"How's Teddy's cock feel in your tight little snatch?" Joel guides your movements into a faster pace, now bouncing on the cock, tits jiggling with each thrust.

"Fuck, Teddy, feels so good inside me, fills me up so full." You glance at Joel who's licking his lips down at you. "Not as full as my Daddy's cock makes me feel," you add, smiling and biting your lip.

His lips clash against yours at the confession. Suddenly you feel your bralette being ripped off your chest. "Joel—" Your protest muffled by his incessant mouth, biting at your lips and sucking your tongue. You couldn't help but grind faster on the bear while Joel's fingers tweak your bare nipples and cup your swaying tits.

His other hand trails down your spine, swatting your ass. He tugs the thin fabric of the thong over your crack, pressing the anal plug further imside you. You keen into his mouth, tongue swiping his. His fingers honing on your hole, tapping it to remind you of its presence. He slinks further down to where you and Teddy's cock are joined together, your slick pouring down and staining the fluff below.

He feels your wetness at where your folds part to accommodate the pink length inside you. Hand now slick with your arousal, he inches back up to the plug, pressing it further inside you.

You gasp, breaking your heated kiss. "D-daddy, oh fuck... please," you cried, leaning forward, desperate to escape his pressure.

"You want me here?"

You nod, drunk on the need to cum again.

"Cum on Teddy's dick first."

You nod hazily again, arms propping you further up to recapture Joel's lips as he used the plug, tugging and pushing it inside your ass. Your hips move faster, now bouncing on your knees to get the tip of the cock to tap your g-spot inside. Joel loves how good you are at riding, always seeking your pleasure, knowing the exact angles to get yourself to cum.

Joel's fingers wrap around the exterior of the plug and pulls the base expanding around your hole and pulling it out. You cried out in ecstacy. "TEDDY oh—fu-fuuuccckk, s'good oh shit! M'cummin'—cumming on Teddy's cock! Yesyesyes, ughhh—teddyteddyteddyteddy—" you chant, cumming hard on the dildo, arms giving way as you crashed down on Teddy's chest, pussy grinding down against the plush surroundings as you floated in your orgasm.

Joel wastes no time, mounting you from behind, one knee pressing into the mattress with his foot planted directly next to the plush bear foot. You yelp as Joel pushes your body fully flush against the bear, the dildo sinking deeper into your cunt. "Hold on to Teddy, baby."

Your arms wrap around Teddy's middle. You felt a gob of slimy liquid fall directly on your puckered hole, gaping as it swallowes down Joel's spit. His hand spread your ass to watch it twitch, rubbing the tip of his cock to smear it all over, dipping inside ever so slightly before retreating, prepping you.

"Obedient little bitch in heat, just begging to get stuffed full of cock tonight. Gonna take both our dicks at the same time?"

You whine in the bears fluffy chest, wiggling your hips in the air to entice Joel's movements into action.

He lines the tip of his cock against your pulsing little hole before pushing in just the tip, your muffled moans being swallowed by the plush below you.

"So fuckin' tight, babygirl. Holy shit. Never gonna get used to this perfect little ass," He groans, eyes fluttering at the squeeze of your walls struggling to accommodate his length. While the dildo buries in your pussy was generously sized, it was nothing compared to Joel's girth and length, practically splitting you in half.

Teeth clenching into the fluff fabric, you swallow down a cry as Joel's hips inched further, invading your guts.

Joel let out a pained breath as he bottoms out inside your ass. "Fuck, princess. How you feelin'?"

"S-so-so f-mm-fuullll."

He leaned over your body, pressing his cock further into you, his belly slotting perfectly along your arched back. He brushes your hair away from your face to kiss your cheek.

God, you loved this man so fucking much.

He sits back up, aggressive hands seaking your waist as set a brutal pace, hips rutting into the fat of your cheeks.

Nevermind, fuckJoelfuckJoelfuckJoelfuckJoel—

You were trapped between the giant head of the bear and Joel's incessant pounding. Each drive of his hips push you down further into Teddy's softness, the dildo inside you plunging deeper, rubbing against the inside of your belly. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, tongue out panting like a dog, arms wrapped so tightly around the plush as you held on for dear life.

"So fuckin' good, oh my Fuck, you're an angel. Just a doll, takin' my cock like this. Getting fucked by your Daddy and your Teddy too—FUCK—sweetest little cunt and ass, my perfect little cock slut, so amazing, 'm so lucky, love ruinin' this ass—holy s-shit!"

The combined fullness of the dildo and Joel's cock inside you rubbed all the deepest, desperate parts inside you, filling you to the brim over and over again. Both cocks rubbing against your walls, their tips nudging, lengths pressing against each other through the membrane. You could feel a drop of Joel's sweat trickle down your back, his harsh almost pained breaths filling the room along side the obscene slapping of his hips against yours.

"You like this? Like getting pounded like the little whore you are?"

"Yes,yesyes holy fuck Daddy yes! Love getting railed by your big cock in my ass, Teddy deep in my pussy—oh fuck Joel 'm cumming!"

You clenched around both Joel's and Teddy's length as you came, screaming into air, uncontrollable shaking as you hump and grind your clit into the soft plush under you, tits pressing against its fullness.

Joel's fingernails dig painfully into the sides of your hips, stuttering his pace as the feeling of you clamping down on him. Brows furrowed, he let out a pained and long growl as he stills completely, cock pulsing, dumping a massive load of his seed deep inside you.

He slips his softening cock out of you carefully before collapsing on top of your sweaty back, sandwiching you between him and the bear.

"I love you," he whispers right into your ear, only for you.

Afterwards, Joel cleaned you up with a warm towel, leaving you sprawled arms and legs draped over the bear in the same position he fucked you in, exhaustion preventing you from doing anything other than wince when Joel slipped the silicon cock out of you. He showered you in praise and sweet kisses all over your body, cradling you to lie on your back as he removed the soaked Teddy bear from the bed. He climbed into the sheet with you, after having tossed a few more plushies around your body to surround you in extra softness.

You slept for a few hours. When you awoke, your eyes adjusted the blurriness to see Joel luing next to you on his back, a squishy sitting on his chest as he playfully tilted it to brush again his nose, staring at it with a straight face.

"That one's cute. You wanna take him home?" You asked curiously.

"Well, I mean Kitty is there all by herself on my big bed, could use a friend..." he mumbled, not totally aware that you were watching him eye your stuffed animals on the bed. "Or that's the shit you'd say, right?" He added quickly.

You playfully pout with him, trying to hold a giggle. "He does need a friend..." You said, hoping to encourage this newfound softness of the man you love.

Joel nodded briefly before pausing his fiddling. "Kitty's a he?"

- -

Extended scene:

"Nah uh, I read all cats are girlies on the little machine at The Olive Garden."

"The what?"

"The little tablet thing at Chili's? Says all cats are ladies."

"You mean the true or false quiz that says: Calico cats are almost all female?"

"Yeah 'ats that one."

"That's ONE breed of Kitty Joel."

"I'd like to breed your kitty."

"I can't take you anywhere."

- - - -

Next: Piggy

Or more Teddy special

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fanfiction

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absolutebl · 8 months

Note

What are some BL couples who you DO think could actually have a long haul perfect ending and not burn out two months after the show ends?

(Also if possible, could you drop the show titles aswell? Thanks)

20 BL Couples I Love & Think Would Actually Make it In the Long Run

Ha, yeah I intentionally didn't include the titles in that last post because I was being negative. Since these are positive... here you go!

Advance Bravely

I know right? One from China. But yeah I think they're very opposites attract but still well balanced and suited to each other. Plus "stern but indulgent Daddy + spoiled brat" is a favorite dynamic of mine.

Guardian

He waited 10,000 gd years. It has to work out. Despite censorship.

Old Fashion Cupcake

They both mature enough to be very motivated.

Tokyo in April Is

They suffered for that love. It's an enduring eternal kinda thing.

Cherry Blossoms After Winter

Taesung is NEVER letting him go. Never.

Long Time No See

Not only are they staying together, can you imagine anyone trying to separate them?

Nobleman Ryu's Wedding

I just think they gonna live in obscurity in the middle of the woods with their books forever.

Our Dating Sim

Of course they're gonna last, that was the whole point of the show.

Oh Boarding House

I think they both had to come around to each other with a lot of self-examination as to what it meant for them, their identities, and their lives. That kind of thoughtfulness bodes well for longevity.

(This is an under-appreciated gem. IMHO)

Be Loved In House I Do

Yeah they just so into each other but also adoring but understand each other's quirks. There's no meanness or pettiness to either of them. Double down on affection + chemistry is a good recipe for longevity.

DNA Says Love You

They came back for, and waited for, each other.

HIStory Obsessed

It's in the title. This level of mutually obsessed disfunction only ends in death.

HIStory 4: Close to You

Problematic side couple. Dito the above.

Thousand Stars

It's high romance of the eternal forever kind.

2 Moons Ambassador

They are *that* couple. "I married my college sweetheart and am incandescently happy forever in a disgustingly sappy way" that shouldn't work but does.

My Only 12%

Again, they suffered too much not to make it work. They are basically each other's half, it codependent, but that's the point.

Ingredients

They define domesticity. The true key to most couple longevity is the ability to actually live together.

Oh My Sunshine Night

File these two under the "once he had a taste, its' forever." The seme is too bossy and too possessive for anyone but the one he picked. This one lasts because Rain would MAKE IT last.

Oxygen

Dito the above, only softer.

Until We Meet Again

Of course. I mean, OF COURSE OF COURSE. That's the point. Dean's entire existence would be a failure if they broke up.

Despite my love of the genre I didn't pick any high school BL couples. Even if I think they may have a chance I'm not sure how I feel about that kind of pairing.

I didn't pick ones we know lasted because they showed it to us: e.g. Unintentional Love Story, His, Dear Doctor, My Ride.

There are a few I left off because I think they could last as a couple but the circumstances of their lives and surrounding, means I'm not sure if they would be allowed to, like Not Me, Never Let Me Go, Manner of Death.

(source)

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clementine-thedestroyer · 7 months

Text

Kinktober day 3/4: body writing + body worship - Scaramouche x reader

Warnings: fem!reader, afab terms, nsfw, it may be a stretch to call this body worship but shhh. You and scaramouche are in a relationship, and he’s a sweet brat.

Scaramouche has a body writing kink, and you indulge him in it. He’s a bit bratty, but sweet.

Scaramouche had a hand on your back, not quite holding you down, but keeping you in place. He’d been at this for a while now, and by now, you were regretting agreeing to this idea of his in the first place.

You groaned and propped yourself up on your elbows, looking behind you and shooting Scaramouche the most fed-up glare you could muster. Only for him to flash you his signature shit-eating grin and typical assurances.

“I’m almost done! I swear!” He said, laughing as he gently tried to push you back into place on the bed.

“Scara! You said that 20 minutes ago!!”

“But this time I mean it!”

You groaned, begrudgingly laying back down on your stomach and huffing in annoyance. You were bored out of your mind- yet Scaramouche was apparently having the time of his life.

“You know, if you let me see what you’re writing, I might be more tolerant.” You say, still pouting.

Your boyfriend laughed, the mattress dipping down as he sat to your side and began to draw something on your lower waist. “Nope! It’s a surprise! You can’t look till I’m done.”

God. You could practically hear how hard he was grinning in his voice, and you couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he was doing.

After a few more (barely tolerated) minutes, Scaramouche scooted across the mattress to sit in front of you, tapping your cheek to get your attention.

“Look up for me.” he said, grinning, as always.

You eyed the uncapped black marker in his hand warily, looking up but pulling your face away from him as you protested. “Scara, you’re not going to write on my face with a permanent marker.”

Scaramouche threw his head back and whined dramatically, looking down at you with pleading eyes. “Pleaseee? Just a little! And it’s not a permanent marker, it’s a body marker!”

You groaned, rolling your eyes but giving in. “Fine. But no words, and only a little.”

Scaramouche grinned, taking your face in his hand as he made a small mark under and to the side of your eye, along the highest point of your cheekbone. After making the mark he gave you a once over, nodding in approval and snapping the cap back onto the marker.

“Can I look yet?” You asked, grumbling as you looked up at him, annoyed with his slow pace.

Scaramouche doesn’t respond, smirking and wrapping his arms around your waist, hauling you into his lap and facing the two of you towards the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door. “Look.” He commands, taking your face and gently turning it towards the mirror.

You can help but gasp. You knew he had done a lot, but god- he really wrote a lot. You also couldn’t help but be… suprised by the nature of the markings.

You had expected to find yourself covered in every manner of degrading and vulgar words and phrases- but instead, Scaramouche had covered you in words of praise, loving sentiments, and sweet little doodles.

Your eyes stung and you blinked back tears as you glanced over the marks. It was sickly sweet- all of it. From the way he had drawn hearts and written praise over all your insecurities, to how he’d repeatedly written “Mine.” over and over across your skin. And of course, a small heart on your cheek.

Scaramouche ran his hands along your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he murmured into your ear. “What’s the matter dear? Don’t like it?”

“I-I do- I’m just- I was expecting…”

“What? For me to write “slut” and “whore”?” Scaramouche grinned, sliding his arm up to knead your breast in his hand. “I was too…. But I decided I wanted to appreciate my girlfriend today- cause I probably don’t do it enough.”

You scoffed, still unable to take your eyes off your reflection. “Who are you, and what did you do with my boyfriend?”

Scaramouche didn’t answer. Instead, smiling and kissing you as his hands lovingly caressed your body, eventually pulling you backwards and onto the bed with him to properly appreciate his work.

Extra bit:

“Since you used a body marker- that means it’ll come off in the shower, right?” You asked, looking up towards your boyfriend’s suddenly guilty face.

“Um... Sure, (y/n). Sure.”

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

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afeelgoodblog · 11 months

Text

The Best News of Last Week - June 6, 2023

1. Biden orders 20-year ban on oil, gas drilling around tribal site in New Mexico

Hundreds of square miles in New Mexico will be withdrawn from further oil and gas production for the next 20 years on the outskirts of Chaco Culture National Historical Park that tribal communities consider sacred, the Biden administration ordered Friday.

The new order from Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland applies to public lands and associated mineral rights within a 10-mile (16-kilometer) radius of the park. It does not apply to entities that are privately, state- or tribal-owned. Existing leases won’t be impacted either.

2. Groundbreaking Israeli cancer treatment has 90% success rate

An experimental treatment developed at Israel's Hadassah-University Medical Center has a 90% success rate at bringing patients with multiple myeloma into remission.

The treatment is based on genetic engineering technology. They have used a genetic engineering technology called CAR-T, or Chimeric Antigen Receptor T-Cell Therapy, which boosts the patient’s own immune system to destroy the cancer. More than 90% of the 74 patients treated at Hadassah went into complete remission, the oncologists said.

3. Federal Judge Makes History in Holding That Border Searches of Cell Phones Require a Warrant

With United States v. Smith, a district court judge in New York made history by being the first court to rule that a warrant is required for a cell phone search at the border, “absent exigent circumstances”. For a century, the Supreme Court has recognized a border search exception to the Fourth Amendment’s warrant requirement.

4. Indigenous-led bison repopulation projects are helping the animal thrive again in Alberta

Indigenous-led efforts are reintroducing bison to their ancestral lands in Alberta, bringing back an iconic species that was nearly extinct. These reintroduction projects, such as the one led by the Tsuut'ina Nation, have witnessed the positive impact on the bison population and the surrounding wildlife.

The historical decline of bison numbers was due to overhunting and government policies that forced Indigenous peoples onto reserves. These initiatives aim to restore ecological integrity while fostering spiritual and cultural connections with the land and animals. Successful results have been observed in projects like Banff National Park, where the bison population has grown from 16 to nearly 100, providing inspiration for future wilding efforts.

5. Breakthrough in disease affecting one in nine women

Sydney researchers have made a world-first leap forward that could change the treatment of endometriosis and improve the health of women living with the painful and debilitating disease. Researchers from Sydney's Royal Hospital for Women have grown tissue from every known type of endometriosis, observing changes and comparing how they respond to treatments.

It means researchers will be able to vary treatments from different types of endometriosis, determining whether a woman will need fertility treatments.

6. Latvia just elected the first openly gay head of state in Europe

The country’s parliament elected Edgars Rinkēvičs to be its next president, Reuters reported prime minister Krišjānis Kariņš saying.

Rinkēvičs publicly came out as gay in November 2014, posting on Twitter: “I proudly announce I am gay… Good luck all of you.” In a second tweet at the time, he spoke about improving the legal status of same-sex relationships, saying Latvia needed to create a legal framework for all kinds of partnerships.

7. France bans short haul flights

The introduction of France’s short-haul flight ban has renewed calls for Europe to cut down on journeys that could be made by train. Last week France officially introduced its ban on short-haul flights.

The final version of the law means that journeys which can be taken in under 2.5 hours by train can’t be taken by plane. There also needs to be enough trains throughout the day that travellers can spend at least eight hours at their destination.

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

BUY ME A COFFEE ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog.

SUBCRIBE HERE for more good news in your inbox

#best news of last week

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wanderingsimsfinds · 5 months

Text

WanderingSims Fave CC - Office/Study Pt. 2 List

1, 13, 15 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Pierism The Office Mini Kit (iSimac, Chair, Printer)

2 - breadcrumbssims3 - Cosy Academia Desk

3 - Kale House - 4t3 MXIMS Apple Mac Book Pro 15

4 - Simply Imaginary People - 4t3 MXIMS Ikea Norrasen Desk

5 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kawaii Gamer Desktop

6 - Metisse - 4t3 LeoSims Besta Desk

7 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 PsychicPeanutKitty December Clutter Pencil Holder

8-9 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 ddaengsims Office Supplies Set Stationary Tray & Copic Marker Box

10-11 - Julietsimscc - 4t3 ddaengsims Instax Mini 9 Polaroid Camera & Polaroids

12, 18-20 - Onyx - Atencio Set (Wall Shelf, Narrow Cupboard with Single Door, Narrow Cupboard with Two Doors, Narrow Cupboard with Four Drawers) (TSR)

14 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Sims-KKB Interior Props 4 Book Case

16-17 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Simbishy Cute Stationary Set Part 1 Post Its & Papers

21, 24 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 pqSim4 Study Space Shelves & Grid

22-23, 25-26 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 pqSim4 Stationary Haul Set (Tombow Box, Stabilo Highlighters, Transparent Organizer, Notebook With Pens)

27 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kawaii Study Calendar

28 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Soloriya Art Studio Wall Deco Brushes

29 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Heartpop Set Acoustic Guitar

30-32, 34 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Study Room Set (Mood Shelf, Pencil Holder, Flower Clock, Work Hard Shelf)

33 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Drawing Table

35 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Mini Organizers

36 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Organizer

#cc list #ts3cc #s3cc #s3ccfinds

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dellalyra · 1 year

Note

you putting “megumi needs his mom rn” in the cw makes me wonder how he and the family reacted to yuuji dying after the detention center mission (and also what was the reaction to him coming back since i’m assuming gojo told reader before they revealed it to everyone else)

Family Formations - Part Eleven

Summary: Deja vu visits you when your son loses his best friend.

Warning: swearing, angst, acc kinda soft too, mourning, mentions of blood and vomiting, canon typical violence, MDNI

A/N: I had already started this fic when this request came through so loving the telepathy going on here. Also. This is sad. I’m sorry. I’ll make it worth it dw dw.

Recommended Listening:

Daylight - David Kushner

No Surprises - Radiohead

Ghost of You - 5 Seconds of Summer

Sparks - Coldplay

Your doorbell chimed, glancing at the clock hanging above the fireplace from you’d spot on the sofa, 8 pm? Satoru wasn’t due home until 9 pm plus - he just warped inside your home. Did he order your flowers again? You check the baby monitor and see your 4-month-old is still sound asleep in his crib.

Walking up to the door, you sensed a very familiar cursed energy. Megumi? What’s he doing here, it’s Wednesday.

You could hear the rain and thunder pouring and hitting your windows in waves.

You open the door, and you see nothing.

A whimper emanates from beside you, and on the ground – slumped against the doorway is your eldest boy.

You fall on your knees beside him.

“Megumi! Baby, what’s going on? You’re going to catch a cold.” You brush his hair out of his face, and you are stricken with the realisation that he is crying. His angular face is so devoid of any emotion, but the tears scream otherwise. You could count the number of times you’ve seen him cry in 10 years on one hand and you hadn’t been prepared for this tonight.

“Jesus, baby what’s going on?” You try to heave him up from the ground and he’s as limp as a rag doll as you try to guide him inside the door. The hallway is as far as you can manage his weight before you give in and shut the door to the outside world. He’s now just leaned against your sage green wall, if he wasn’t breathing, you’d think he was comatose.

Only now do you realise he’s bleeding. His lip is busted, and his eyebrow is too. But what type of curse would elicit this reaction?

“Megumi? Honey? Talk to me - what’s happened?” You kneel beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the top of his head.

Empty eyes, now a dull blue, look up at you through lashes soaked with rain and tears.

“He’s dead.” The tiniest voice, again, void of emotions.

Satoru? No – you had been on the phone with him 20 minutes ago.

“He killed him.” His eyes are facing you – but they’re looking straight through you.

“Who’s dead, Megumi?” You probe – anxiety gripping your stomach like a vice.

“Sukuna – ripped his heart out. In front of me. Just ripped it out. His heart. He’s dead.” The words are barely intelligible in the mumbles that come from his out and you’re still as confused, Sukuna? How could- oh my god Yuuji is dead.

Yuuji Itadori.

Dead.

“Oh my god – fuck. Megumi, my sweet boy.” At this point, he turned to you.

He looked into your eyes.

He turned his head and vomited on the floor beside him.

You pull him into you, tears flooding your face as you think about that sweet, sweet boy – a soul too good for this world so brutally ripped out of it.

You wipe his mouth on your sweater sleeve and once again haul him up into your grasp he almost falls but you pull on every muscle fibre you had – you needed to get him dry and cleaned up.

A memory played in your mind, a sense of déjà vu – Satoru vomiting and sobbing and you shaking with tears curled up together – the loss of another best friend. The fates were cruel masters to make you relive this scene again.

Once he was up the stairs you lay him on his bed. Where he just sat on the edge, legs still on the ground and stared at his shoes. He went to vomit again, and this time you caught it with a bucket you’d retrieved from the closet.

“I need to get a cloth. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t acknowledge this. You just needed a moment to gather yourself before you went back in - you’d be no good to him if you continue to try to help in the state you're in, a mess of shock and grief and anger. White hot anger.

You shut the en suite door of his room behind you, and you rush to the toilet and heave up all of your remaining food at the mental image of that darling boy laying cold and dead and gutted on the ground.

You give yourself a moment – your son and you breathe so that you can deal with everything later – wait, does Satoru know?

Grabbing a cloth – you go into the room, laying the cloth down for a moment, you go into your and Satoru’s room and grab one of his sweatshirts. In Megumi’s room, you pull sweatpants from his wardrobe and look at your son. He’s dripping rainwater onto the carpet and there’s blood from his injuries mingling, tinging it pink.

You think some of the puddles might be tears, his or your own, you don’t know.

You stand in front of him, remembering the times when you’d do this to help him into his frog pyjamas - he was only 6 back then – 16 now and 5ft 9 – almost a whole foot taller than you. You lift his arms and unzip his jacket – his T-shirt underneath is soaked through too. You peel them both from him and check for cuts on his torso – bruises, old and fresh – but no blood.

You pull Satoru’s sweatshirt over his head, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that you’re moving him. He’s just limp in your arms, and you swear to anyone who’s listening to if you could take that pain and shoulder, it yourself then you would.

You peel his slacks down, pulling his sweatpants (a Christmas present from your brother) onto his lanky legs you tuck his hair behind his ears and dry it with a cloth. You then dab at his bleeding wounds, they’re clotting now, and the bleeding is stopping.

You throw the cloth away to the far side of the room.

He’s seen enough blood for today.

Tears are flowing freely from you both as you sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

Your proximity must trigger him back to this plane of existence and he looks at you.

“I couldn’t save him.”

“I know sweet boy, but it’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”

“It was a special grade – he, the curse had a finger. Our mission didn’t say any of that.”

“A special grade? Was Satoru there?” He couldn’t have been, he was in Osaka today.

“No. Just me and Kugisaki and Itadori.” His voice quavers.

You knew exactly what happened. It was clear from even the bare minimum you had heard.

But – now was not the time. Willing yourself to push the thoughts aside. Megumi doesn’t need that right now.

“You did everything you could, ‘Gumi. There was nothing you could have done.”

This was his kryptonite. A heavy, choked sob broke through the air and his body collapsed onto you.

“His heart – he ripped it out. He was right there and he just – momma, he’s dead. I couldn’t save him, Momma.” You broke down, sobbing yourself, cradling this boy – this poor broken boy, into your chest as you hugged him so tight you could feel every shake of his body in your own. You carefully moved. you both so you could sit against his headboard with his sobbing head laid on your stomach.

You are so grateful that Akio is a heavy-sleeping baby because you need to focus on your oldest son now. He needed you, and you were his to protect him, 100%.

You stroke his hair and whisper placating nothing into his ear. Nothing will fix this. Nothing will make it easier or make it feel better. You just need to be here; you just need to hold him now. You can tell him until the cows come home that he did all he could, he couldn’t have stopped Sukuna, that it was not his fault – but all these worlds will refuse to sink in until he’s ready to hear them. Yet, you tell him anyway. Over and over again.

You’ve no idea how much time passes. Your tears mingle with the lingering water on the side of his head as you cry with him but eventually, the sobs turn into heavy breaths, and you realise he’s passed out. Sheer exhaustion has taken his body hostage and for a second, you’re put at peace knowing at least right now – his mind will be quiet.

You slip your phone from your pocket, without moving or disturbing the boy on your lap.

‘Please call me.’ A message from Satoru.

You ring him.

The phone barely dials once before you hear his voice – hoarse.

“Y/N. I –”

“I know ‘Toru. Megumi came home.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t there.” He sounds so broken.

“You have no reason to be sorry baby, we both know how this managed to come to pass.” You hated that he always still felt the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.

“I’ll kill them all.” He says, and you know he’s serious.

“You could, but you won’t. Maybe 10 years ago – maybe then we’d have done it together. But not now, not anymore.” You reply, voice still thick with tears.

There’s silence.

“Where are you, ‘Toru?”

“The morgue.”

“Shoko?”

“On her way in.”

“I can’t leave the boys.”

“I’ll be home soon.”

“I love you.”

He hangs up the phone. Nothing more needs to be said. These feelings are sadly all too familiar to you both. You realise Shoko will have to do the autopsy.

She delivered Akio 4 months ago. Now she’d be cutting up the corpse of the boy who waited outside of the labour ward for 16 hours.

You lean your head back – closing your eyes. Flashes of a pink head tossing back in laughter and strong arms hugging you in thanks, of meatballs served to you as you nurse your newborn and the Spider-Man lamp being plugged in making you smile at the giddy teenager. The faces change, now they’re old and wrinkled and whisper words with serpentine tongues laced with deceit and heartlessness in their actions. They knew what they were doing. Satoru wasn’t in Osaka for no reason. They knew.

They all fucking knew.

They sent him to his death, knowingly and intentionally. They sent three children into a trap all because they are scared. Cowards who hide behind words of ‘the good of society’ and the guise of ‘the greater good’. Satoru and you had screamed and pushed and threatened to stay the execution, but they found a loophole anyway.

They risked Megumi and Nobara – did they think you wouldn’t piece together the big picture? Did they think that you wouldn’t realise?

You don’t know how long you sat there but your phone buzzed again.

📲Satoruuuuu is Calling… ✅⛔️

You pick up.

“He’s alive.”

“What?”

“He’s alive. Yuuji’s alive. Sukuna woke him up…” There are so many tones in his voice and so many thoughts in your head you have to close your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Well - he’s talking and walking so unless The Last of Us was accurate then…” he attempts a joke – relief clear in his voice.

You softly lift the head from your lap, and place it on the navy pillow. He doesn’t stir.

You walk out into your room, sitting on the balcony – the air was what you needed.

“I don’t know what to say.” That is all you can manage.

The torrent of emotions your mind went through was making you so dizzy you sat on the wooden chair looking at the sky.

“He’s not safe here, they’re going to come for him.” Satoru’s voice comes, quiet through the phone.

“What will we do?” You say.

“He needs time, he needs to train and learn to manipulate and use his cursed energy. If he can protect himself…” Satoru begins.

“We need to hide him. He can’t stay at school or come here.” Your sorcerer’s brain was switched on now.

“I can’t bring him to the Gojo estate either, the elders the family visit too much.” He speaks.

Lightbulb.

“They visit your family… but they’d never think to visit mine. Satoru, bring him to my mom’s. I’ll call her, you can train him there every day, and if we’re being watched it’s not suspicious to visit our own family. She’ll take care of him.” You say, you knew that your family would protect this boy with their lives, he was family to Megumi, family to you.

“Y/N… we can’t tell anyone. The only people who know are me, you, Shoko and Ijichi.” He says, and your heart stops.

You’ll have to lie to Megumi.

“Fuck. It’s too dangerous for him to know – if they catch wind of this, and they find out he knows…” you say.

“He’ll be branded a traitor. Who knows what they’d do for information.”

“He’s going to hate us.”

“He’ll understand. He’s a smart kid.”

“Come home to me, to us – ‘toru. Bring him to my parents and then please come home.” You whisper to him.

He agrees and tells you he loves you.

The weeks fly by as you feel yourself crumbling from the weight of the sadness spilling from your son, Kugisaki isn’t much better and Satoru is still reeling from the elder’s deceit. You stormed to the council meeting the following day and threatened to burn the place to the ground if they so much as considered harming a hair on the head of the other kids.

“Unfortunate circumstances occur on missions. Nobody knows the outcome of these situations.” They fought.

“Oh – you knew the outcome of this one. You knew full well. All of you, every single one of you knew and you allowed it. In legal terms, that’s murder. You’re all sociopaths and whatever awaits you in the next world, I hope it hurts even a fraction of the pain you’ve all caused. Endanger my family again, and I’ll deal with you all personally – never mind Satoru.”

The training was going well – you had gone to your mother’s house two days after his resurrection, after the water cooled and you were sure you weren’t being surveilled.

You had run to Yuuji, running your eyes and hands over every bit of him, checking for wounds and crying into his shoulder. He had died, and somehow you were being comforted by him.

Satoru and you explained the situation, taking turns to train with him. They came up with a ridiculous idea of Yuuji playing Jack in the Box at the exchange event all you could do was allow it.

Back home – you explained to Megumi that the mission had been a nefarious plot concocted by the elders and higher ups to get rid of Yuuji, since you and your husband kept getting in the way – they took the opportunity of your maternity leave to send Gojo to Osaka and place the kids in the path of a Special Grade Curse. You hoped being armed with this information would help him understand why you and Satoru had lied to him, and allowed him to grieve. It hurt you, but his safety was paramount.

When the day came and Yuuji was released, you stood beside Megumi as he and Nobara watched him return from the dead. Jaws hanging open, they couldn’t tear their eyes from their friend.

Reunions and rejoicing complete, you and Satoru pulled Megumi by the sleeve away from the scene, into your classroom.

When the door shut, you began to sob.

“‘Gumi, I’m so sorry. We didn’t have any choice but to keep it a secret. It –” Satoru wraps you into his chest.

“We had to keep it secret, because they would have killed anyone involved if they found out, kiddo. We had to keep you safe.” He says hand on Megumi’s shoulder and a crying wife clinging to him.

“It’s okay.” Megumi shrugs.

You freeze, you thought he’d never forgive you.

“What?” You and Satoru say in unison.

“I get why you did it. Thank you, guys, – for helping him, and uh – for protecting us all.” He says and God this boy will never fail to amaze you. His maturity was something you and Satoru could only have dreamed of at his age and even rarer was hearing such genuine praise from him – he was softer with you, but this was directed to you both.

Wordlessly, you and Satoru wrapped him in your arms and he begrudgingly and awkwardly reciprocated the affection.

Over his head, you looked at your husband. His crystalline eyes filled with relief and love for you and your patchwork family, and you pressed a soft kiss to his lips – a silent thank you for everything you do. The road was never easy, but God was it worth it.

TAGLIST: @vesta-ro @lilithlunas @mialexandruh @sassy-cat-in-town @madam-ri @cjm-cookiethief

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #anime #dad!gojo #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji #pixie writes: family formations

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brbsoulnomming · 6 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 26

-----

"You boys all right?" Hopper calls, after the sound of Chief Powell reading Jason his rights has started to fade.

"Can't complain about the rescue," Eddie calls back.

"Doing a lot better than we'd be without you," Steve agrees.

"All right, just hang tight until I get confirmation that Carver's all settled in the cruiser and on his way to the station," Hopper says.

And Eddie sees the merit in that, really, he does, but Steve had dodged directly answering the question of if he was all right the same as Eddie had, and Eddie needs to see him.

He creeps off in the direction that he'd heard Steve's voice come from, sticking to the growing shadows, until he damn near collides with Steve - who must have had the same idea.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, grabbing the front of Eddie's shirt and hauling him in for a kiss.

Eddie wraps his arms around him, holding him as close as he can as he kisses him back, every last bit of the terror he'd felt in the last however long coming out in sheer desperation.

"Eddie," Steve murmurs against his lips, his voice a little frantic like he needs to say it but doesn't want to stop kissing him. "Eddie, baby, are you hurt?"

"No," Eddie says, muffled by the fact that he can't stop kissing him, either. "No, I'm okay. Are you?"

Steve doesn't answer right away, kissing him again and again, and Eddie cups the line of his jaw, cradles it in his hand for a moment before he pushes his fingers into Steve's hair, checking for any tender spots.

"Hold up for a minute, let me look," Eddie insists, but he doesn't pull away when Steve stubbornly keeps kissing him.

"Stevie," he whispers, the sound stolen up by Steve's ragged inhale.

"I'm kind of trying not to freak out," Steve admits.

Eddie registers the press of something cold and hard against his chest where Steve's still holding his shirt, the clink of metal when he shifts, and he remembers the handcuffs.

"Fuck," Eddie curses. "What can I do?"

"You're okay, right? He didn't hurt you?"

For a moment, Eddie thinks Steve might be deflecting, but the look on Steve's face tells him no, he's answering Eddie's question just fine - that's what Eddie can do to reassure him.

"He didn't hurt me," Eddie says. "He pushed me a couple of times, and one made me lose my balance, but no damage."

"Let me see-" Steve starts, but Eddie shakes his head.

"Uh-uh. You let me see first, then you can look," he insists.

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of Steve's lips. "I take care of you, you take care of me?"

"Bingo. So no trying to get fresh with me again until I've had a good look, all right handsome?" Eddie teases.

This time, Steve lets him cup his jaw again, peering closely at his face. It's getting dark enough that Eddie can't tell exactly, but nothing looks broken. He's pretty sure he's going to have some bruising, though.

"Okay," Eddie says once he's satisfied - or as satisfied as he's going to get until they're home. "Your turn."

Steve lifts Eddie's shirt up without any preamble, peering at his stomach and chest and running his fingers over his skin. His touch brushes over some of Eddie's soulmate ink, and - oh, fuck, if last time was Steve's hands in his hair and hot water washing away a week's worth of grime, this is molten heat running down his spine, the taste of Steve's tongue in his mouth, the feel of his breath on the back of his neck. Eddie shudders, lips parted in a soft gasp.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Soulmate words," Eddie says.

"Oh," Steve says absently. Then, "Oh."

"Yeah. Fuck, we're doing that again once we're home," Eddie says fervently.

Steve's looking at him again, all warm and happy like he's just had the best experience of his life.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"You said home," Steve replies softly, gently tugging Eddie's shirt down and leaning in to kiss him again.

Oh.

"It is," Eddie says. "With you and Robin, it is."

Steve closes his eyes, forehead pressing against Eddie's. They stay like that, tucked in close to each other, until Hopper's voice calls out and tells them it's safe to come out.

Hopper's got a flashlight on him, and he looks them both over when they emerge, the corners of his mouth dropping down lower and lower when he looks at Steve's face and wrists.

"Hey Chief?" Hopper says into the police issue radio he's got hooked on his belt, as they walk back towards Forest Hills.

"Yeah Hop?" Chief Powell asks.

"Get the handcuff master key out and ready for when we get to the station," Hopper tells him. "And you might want to add unlawful restraint to that list of charges."

Eddie blanches. "Who says we want to go to the station?" he grumbles.

"We can't do it tomorrow?" Steve asks.

"You'll be glad you got it over with," Hopper points out.

Which is probably true, but Eddie isn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying it.

"Got it," Chief Powell's voice comes back over the radio. "Which one of them is it?"

Hopper shoots him and Steve a little look. "Better get ready to hear from Lillian Harrington."

"Ah, shit," Chief Powell mutters. "All right, see you soon."

There's no police cars when they get back to the trailer - just Steve's BMW, still parked out front next to the abandoned boxes of Eddie's things.

"Can you help get those in the trunk?" Steve asks.

Eddie wants to point out that they don't feel all that important right now, but Hopper's already crouching down to pick two of them up, and Steve's awkwardly fishing his keys out of his jeans pocket. And it's - yeah, okay, if they went through all of this on a mission to get Eddie some of his life back, he doesn't want to come back empty handed, either. He picks up the last box, tucking it inside the trunk.

"Found this, too," Hopper comments, setting Steve's bat next to them.

Just the sight of it makes some of the tension leak out from Steve's shoulders.

"Get in," Hopper says. "I'll drive you to the station."

"It's my car!" Steve protests. "I've driven with way worse!"

"That's exactly why you're not driving now," Hopper says.

"That doesn't make any sense," Steve mutters.

"Stevie, if he isn't driving, I am," Eddie tells him. "You want me driving your car in my current state?"

"I know you've done it before, kid," Hopper adds, his voice gentler this time. "You shouldn't have had to then, and you don't have to now."

Steve looks away for a moment. Then he nods, clambering into the backseat of the car. Eddie joins him, sitting as close to him as he dares. Once they're in route - Eddie risks slipping his hand over, palm up. An offering, just in case.

Steve grabs it immediately, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight.

"How come the cops are so scared of your mom?" he asks Steve in a low voice.

There's a little laugh. "My mom's a lawyer. She's mostly a corporate lawyer now, but she was a criminal defense attorney for a while, and she'll still take some cases. She's going to be all over this."

Hopper gives a soft snort of amusement. "She's going to threaten to sue everyone from Powell to the mayor if Carver doesn't get charged the way she wants him to."

"She's a good lawyer," Steve agrees, grinning a little.

Hopper's eyes flick down in the rear view mirror, and Eddie knows he can see him and Steve holding hands. For a moment, his heart jumps into his throat - but Hopper doesn't say anything, just slips his gaze back to the road.

Flo's waiting for them with a set of keys and three steaming mugs of hot chocolate when they get to the station.

Eddie takes the keys before Hopper can, hurriedly unlocking the cuffs from Steve's wrists. Steve sags a little when they're gone, leaning into him for a moment before straightening up to accept his mug of cocoa.

"You can wait in the break room," Flo tells them. "The phone's free if you want to call your mom."

She ushers them in and closes the door.

Steve and Eddie take the threadbare couch, squished together, while Hopper plops down on a folding chair.

The phone's on a table by the couch, and Steve puts it on speaker after he dials.

"Wolfram, Hart, & Harrington, this is Lacey Shepherd speaking."

"Hi Lacey," Steve greets. "Can you connect me to Mrs. Harrington? This is Steven, one of her clients. I'm calling from a police station."

"One moment, please," Lacey says, before some truly terrible music drifts through the phone.

"One of her clients?" Eddie repeats.

Steve gives a little shrug. "She's working. She'll answer for a client."

But not for her son?

Eddie doesn't know why he's surprised, considering everything, but getting hit in the face with it like that is still a bit of a shock.

Fuck, he's going to hug Steve so hard after all of this.

Granted, he was going to do that anyway, because Eddie really wants a hug after this, but still.

The hold music stops.

"Steven?" Mrs. Harrington asks.

"Hi, Mom," Steve says.

"Steven." There's comprehension in her voice now. "What happened?"

"Jason Carver," Steve says. "He ambushed me with a gun when I was walking back to my car, threatened to kill me and my soulmate."

"Just threatened?" There's a sharp alertness in her voice now, and Eddie can hear the scratching of writing.

"He handcuffed me to a railing, took my soulmate out into the woods and shoved them around. Punched me in the face a few times."

"Punched you in the face," she repeats.

"In his defense, I was choking him with the handcuffs he made me put on," Steve adds.

"Steven Everett Harrington," she hisses. "I know you didn't just say that in a room full of cops."

"It's just Hopper," Steve says.

"No cops here now, Lillian," Hopper says.

She sniffs. "Once a cop, always a cop, Jim. You don't talk to cops."

If he wasn't for everything else he knew, Eddie might actually like her.

"What did the Carver boy say to you?" she asks.

"Uh - that he was trying to get justice and remove the curse from Hawkins. He said he believed we could do it. He was upset about Chrissy, and wanted to make us suffer. Something about planning to send people to Hell."

All technically true, and Eddie sure as shit isn't going to volunteer anything that puts Jason Carver in a better light.

"I knew that boy was unstable," she mutters. "The whole police force was wrapped up in looking for some insignificant gutter trash, and they're letting the real threats go around right under their noses."

Right, shit, so much for liking her.

Eddie slouches down, until he sees the anger in Steve's eyes. As nice as it would be to let him say whatever he's going to - Eddie puts a hand on his arm, shaking his head.

"You tell Chief Powell to call me after you're done giving your statement," she says. "If I don't hear from him in less than an hour, he won't like the outcome."

"Yes, Mom," Steve says.

The dial tone rings out in response.

"I don't want her to talk like that about you," Steve says immediately.

"I appreciate it," Eddie says, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against the bruise appearing on Steve's cheek. "But you've taken enough hits for me tonight. You can save swinging at your mom for later."

It wasn't until he said it that he recognizes the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knows Steve doesn't agree, knows he's made it very clear otherwise, but - part of him can't help but feel like this is his fault, like Steve wouldn't have had to go through tonight if Eddie wasn't his soulmate.

He doesn't say anything, but Steve narrows his eyes anyway.

"You're my soulmate," Steve says. "I don't regret it."

Hopper clears his throat, and Eddie jumps, his hand dropping away.

Fuck, he can't believe he almost forgot he was there.

"Hop," Steve says.

Hopper shakes his head. "He's your soulmate, right? Whatever that means, you got nothing to fear from me."

There's a beat of silence, then, "At least it's better than Mike Wheeler, anyway."

Eddie barks out a startled laugh, clamping one hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Hopper grumbles. "I'm sending the little shit to you when he gets on my nerves."

It's not long before Chief Powell comes to take their statements. They give him the same spiel that they gave Steve's mom, with a little more detail about how Jason was trying to make Eddie confess.

Chief Powell sighs. "Boy's not saying much in there. I think he finally gets how much trouble he's in. I better go give Judge Ellison a call, then get Lillian on the phone."

He scrubs a hand over his face, then looks at Hopper. "You sure you don't want your job back?"

"Nah," Hopper replies with a grin. "It's all yours."

Steve doesn't put up a protest when Hopper gets into the driver's seat of the Bimmer this time. He just reaches one hand out, and Eddie takes it, giving it a soft squeeze.

"The whole motley crew's probably at your place by now," Hopper warns them as he drives. "Your girl called a code red. The only reason we didn't have the rest of those numbskulls showing up at Forest Hills in a panic is because she'd already called 911, and the police were on their way as soon as they heard Jason Carver and gun. Joyce took the kids and Argyle over to wait with Robin, so I'm sure the rest of them are there too."

Sure enough, the Wheelers' station wagon, Argyle's van, the Byers' car, and his uncle's truck are all parked outside when they get there.

Part of him thinks so much for getting to kiss Steve senseless, but the bigger part is touched that they're all here like this. He sneaks a glance over at Steve, sees a slightly stunned smile, and gives his hand another squeeze.

Hopper walks in first, mostly so he can fend off the immediate rush at the door.

Robin's the only one that gets past him, flinging herself at both of them and hugging them.

"I'm okay, Robs, we're okay," Steve whispers into her hair.

She hugs them tighter.

Then she steps back. His uncle is in her place immediately, folding Eddie up in his arms - and then hauling Steve in to hug him, too.

"I'm okay, we're okay," Eddie says.

Finally, his uncle lets go, too, letting the crowd get a better look at them.

"What happened?" Dustin demands. "Robin said Jason locked Steve up and dragged Eddie off somewhere!"

"Handcuffed," Steve says. "But I got free."

"Handcuffed?" Erica repeats flatly, shoving her way to the front of the group.

She looks him and Steve up and down. Eddie can see the way the fire in her eyes burns hotter and hotter as she lingers over the welts around Steve's wrists, the bruises on his face, the dirt and blood on Eddie's own hands. He hadn't noticed that before now, but he must have ripped at the edges of a couple of his fingernails, digging his hands into the ground like that.

Then Erica turns on her heel. "I'm going to call Tina."

"Tina?" Eddie asks, confused.

"She's the biggest gossip at Hawkins Middle," Erica replies. "Jason Carver is a ruined man."

"He's already in jail!" Steve calls.

"Yeah, and when I'm done with him, everyone will know what a psychopath he is!" Erica shouts back as she slams the door to the study down the hall.

Nancy makes this little giggling snort sound - the same one he heard her make when he was in the hospital, what feels like forever ago.

Apparently it was a good sound, because she's smiling.

"She's going to be a terror when she gets to high school," Robin says fondly.

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "I'm so proud of her."

"Ugh," Lucas groans.

"Luckily, she's got better friends than I did, to keep her grounded," Steve adds, looking out over all of them.

Joyce worms her way to the front, looking both of them up and down just like Erica.

And just like Erica, there's a ferocity to her as she takes them in, though hers burns cooler.

"Oh, honey," she murmurs. "Come on, let me look at you in the kitchen."

There's a moment of silence, then she looks at them.

"Both of you, now," she orders.

Well, not that much cooler.

"Hopper, will you order pizza for everyone? I know it's late, but I'm sure we could use it," she calls back as she ushers them into the kitchen.

She points them both to the kitchen table, and what the hell else is Eddie going to do but obediently sit? She digs into the freezer, gets out an ice pack and wraps it in a towel, then gently places it over Steve's eye and cheek.

"Hold it there for a little while," she tells him.

Then she wets another towel and comes over to Eddie, taking his hands in hers and gently cleaning them up. She looks at him with such softness and warmth when her eyes catch his that, horrifyingly, he feels his chin quiver a little, and he has to look away.

"I haven't gotten to tell you," she says quietly. "It was a very brave thing you did, helping fight against One."

"It doesn't feel like it," he finds himself admitting.

She hums softly. "Because you were scared?"

"Terrified," he agrees. "But because I didn't do enough."

She makes a tsk noise, wiping away the last of the grime and wrapping a bandaid around the tip of his finger, where a drop of blood had sprung up. "You're here. That's more than enough."

Jesus Christ, he's not going to cry, he's not.

She takes pity on him, patting his hand one more time and then going to check on Steve.

"That goes for you, too," she tells him as she lifts up the ice pack to take a peek, then puts it back down. "You think I haven't noticed that it's always you?"

"They're kids," Steve protests softly.

"So are you," she tells him, in the kind of tone that manages to be both gentle and leave no room for argument. "And you are worth more than how much damage you can take for them."

"Okay," Steve says, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

She tsks at him, then gently cleans the dirt off of his face and hands.

"There's juice and stuff in the fridge for everyone," he says.

"You're a sweetheart," she tells him.

Eddie snorts before he can stop himself.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You have an opinion on that, Edward Munson?"

Shit.

"No ma'am," he says quickly, even though he knows it's a lie.

Steve drops the ice pack away from his face, grinning. He looks - a little punch drunk, a little like how he'd light up so high every time the house is filled with people. "That was a lie," he stage whispers to Joyce. "He definitely has an opinion."

She tries to hide her smile. "Oh? Enlighten us."

Eddie groans. "Look, I love Steve, okay, he's the kindest, bravest, best guy I know, but he's way too much of a bitch to be a sweetheart."

Steve cackles, head tilting back as he laughs.

Joyce has one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening with what looks like unshed tears. Eddie frowns, tries to think back to what he said - fuck, he'd said love, okay, but everyone knows Steve's his soulmate now, and he hadn't said what kind, so there's no way she'd assume -

She reaches out, takes one of their hands in each of hers. "Will you boys come to dinner on Sunday?"

Steve's brows furrow in confusion. "Well, yeah, of course."

"Good. Will and El missed you," she tells Steve, then nods at Eddie. "And I think Will's unsure about it, but I know he'd like to be in that club of yours. I think having you around, together, will be nice."

Oh.

"Of course, Mrs. B," Eddie says, exchanging a look with Steve.

She squeezes both of their hands, smiling softly at them a moment longer. "Are you ready to go back out and face the questions?"

They are, and they do.

Eddie takes over, dropping into DM mode to spin the story of what happened into something a little more colorful, a little less scary - and manages to cut his poetic waxing about Steve ripping the railing off and choking Jason while handcuffed short when Robin pointedly nudges him.

He's just about done when Erica emerges, looking very satisfied with herself.

"The whole school knows all the details of what a creep Jason is now," she says. "Both schools, by morning."

Steve picks her up, twirling her around.

She shrieks.

"Steven Everett Harrington, you put me down!" she shouts at him, kicking her feet.

Eddie notices she doesn't actually do anything to try to get him to let her go, and her shrieking is definitely the more gleeful variety, but he doesn't point it out for fear of the verbal dressing down he'd get.

She flips her hair when he finally sets her down, loudly commenting, "Ugh!" as she storms off to the couch.

"Me next," El requests, holding her arms out to him.

Steve immediately picks her up, smiling wide and playful as he spins her around to the sounds of her delighted laughter.

When he sets her down, he turns to Max - who was apparently waiting for that, and promptly throws a couch pillow at him.

"Don't you dare! What, just because I'm a girl! How sexist is that, why don't you try to twirl one of the guys?" she demands.

Steve tilts his head like he's considering that. "Okay," he agrees.

Eddie expects him to chase down Dustin or Lucas - but instead, the next thing he knows there's a pair of arms around his waist and Steve is hauling him up to twirl him around.

He cackles, draping his arms over Steve's neck and tipping his head back. "Come on, Harrington, put those muscles to use and twirl me faster," he teases.

Steve spins him around again, then sets him down, beaming at him.

Joyce whacks him on the shoulder.

"Quit that," she scolds. "You should both be resting. Go, on the couch, the both of you."

"How does Erica even know your middle name?" Eddie asks Steve once they're settled on the couch, after Uncle Wayne, Hopper, and Joyce have gone back into the kitchen.

"I know everything," Erica replies smugly.

Dustin scoffs. "Sir Everett is Steve's paladin. She only knows because he told us when we played."

In his indignation, he says it loud enough for the whole room to hear, and Lucas, Mike, and Will's heads immediately swivel over to look at them.

There's a moment of silence, as Dustin seems to realize what he just said. His eyes widen, gaze cutting over to Steve.

"You told!" Erica shouts delightedly. "Shotgun privileges revoked for a year!"

"You played with my sister?" Lucas asks, sounding betrayed.

"What the hell!" Mike agrees. "He was our friend first!"

Steve raises one eyebrow at him.

"You were!" Mike insists. "We even made you a part of the Party and gave you a walkie everything!"

"You sure that wasn't just to con your way into free movies last summer?" Steve teases, hands on his hips.

"Steve," Lucas protests.

"I think we're forgetting that Dustin knew about this," Will points out.

"Will, come on!" Dustin whines.

"All right, how about this," Steve says. "Will, when are you running one again?"

Will looks thrown. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Steve says.

"Oh, I, uh. I don't know." Will's gaze cuts over to Eddie, then skitters away so quickly he's not completely sure it happened.

Yeah, looks like Joyce was right about him being uncertain. Eddie remembers Steve saying that Will was leaving his party behind and didn't want anything to play for a present, but his friends clearly hadn't done the same. Eddie can see how that'd cause some conflicting feelings.

"I've heard a lot about you," Eddie chimes in.

He feels Steve tense briefly next to him, then relax when it's clear Eddie isn't lying.

"What?" Will asks, looking back at him.

"Oh, yeah. Not to my face, of course, before spring break these little shits were terrified of me - and I already mourn the loss - but I heard them talking." He clears his throat, making his voice all high and squeaky. "'Can you believe that? Will never would have done that! Will would have given him a whole backstory! Will's introduction was ten times more interesting!'"

All right, maybe he's playing it up a bit - but he had overheard them talking about the differences in his and Will's styles a few times, and there were times that they liked Will's better.

"I wasn't the only one who DMed, though, Mike used to do it, too," Will says, face a little pink.

"Yeah, but you're way better," Mike says earnestly. "Remember how long my last couple of campaigns took me to plan and how quick we finished them?"

"Tell you what," Steve says. "You both work up one together, and Eddie, Robin, and I will play."

Jesus Christ, it's like Christmas came early.

Eddie cackles. "Just wait, boys, you haven't seen me as a player yet."

"Why am I roped into this now?" Robin protests, but it's the tone of voice she uses when she's going to do it, she just wants to bitch.

"We'll all play," Jonathan cuts in, glancing over at Nancy and Argyle. "Right, guys?"

"Oh, for sure. Bring it on, little dudes," Argyle agrees.

"Fine," Nancy says, rolling her eyes, but she's smiling. "I'm not dressing up, though."

"Dress up?" Eddie repeats, pouncing on it immediately.

"No!" Nancy retorts immediately.

Eddie wriggles, twisting so he can peer at her from over Robin's shoulder, eyes wide and beseeching. "Come on, Wheeler," he whines.

She glares at him, managing to hold it for a few seconds before she caves. "Fine! Remember this when it comes time for your study sessions."

Shit, that's right.

…eh, worth it.

"Dress up?" El repeats.

"Yeah, but boring dress up, not fun dress up like at the mall," Max says.

Eddie clutches his heart. "Mayfield. Don't you want to be a maiden fair? A tiefling princess?"

Max narrows her eyes at him.

El squeezes Max's hand.

"If I get a mace," Max says. "And I get to hit Munson with it at some point. I'll consider it."

"Deal!" Eddie immediately agrees.

He's pretty sure she means her character, and he can sacrifice a few hit points.

…she definitely means her character, right?

Eh, still worth it.

"Wait, there's costumes now?" Steve asks.

Eddie drops himself back over Steve. "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

Steve pulls a face. "Great," he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Mike and Will, who'd bowed their heads together to have a quick, fervent discussion, separate to look back up at the group.

"Okay," Will says. "We'll let you know when we've got it worked out."

The pizza arrives not long after, and even though he, Steve, and Robin already put away one earlier - that feels like forever ago, and he still devours a few more slices.

Eddie kind of expects some of them to go home at some point that night, but they never do.

Uncle Wayne takes the guest room that Steve told him he could have, and Joyce and Hopper end up in the other one. The rest of them all crash out in the living room, on couches and chairs and in sleeping bags.

No one bats an eye when he, Steve, and Robin tangle themselves up in each other.

Eddie falls asleep surrounded by his family, and thinks - there's no better feeling in the whole damn world.

Just one more part left, and then this will finally be wrapped up!

-----

Part 27

Tag list (always happy to add more for the last bit!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fic #robin buckley #dustin henderson #erica sinclair #joyce byers #jim hopper #steddie soulmate au

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