#and wait until it's soggy

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hehe I really enjoy your comantary and captions you're so funny, I can't wait until we see Wen Ning again since we left his brief cameo

I miss him everyday.

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wen ning #ask #thanks for reading my silly commentary. I also can't wait until we see Wen Ning again! #Wen Ning is so full of babyboy energy....I just want good things to happen to him but oh no oh god the horrors #They keep happening to my precious guy! My sopping wet rabbit! #You have to make sure your Wen Ning gets head pats every day or he will start to wilt #Even if he gets a little stinky and soggy from being buried for 13 years #he is still so deserving of scritches and goodboy treats! #Goodboy treats are probably worms ngl. You think Wen Qing would *Not* feed her little brother worms as children? To see what happens? #She's a woman of science. Hypotheses must be tested. And now WN is a number one worm eater. #The whole corpse thing was just the most wild coincidence. Let WN eat worms regardless of being a live or not!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

wip game !! ✩

rules: post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

ty for the tags my beloveds @kissxcore @mossmurdock @shotorus @staryukis @elusivemoon <333

i wasn’t sure if i should do this at first bUT i realized it’s good for my lack of accountability + literally Everyone else is doing it so 😭😭 here i am !! hehe.

almost none of these have names but they r all very precious to me so if any concept catches ur attention pls dont hesitate to ask !!! i’d loveee to talk abt them i’ll give u a kiss on the forehead too <33

satoru gojo:

satoru x sorcerer!reader

sick!satoru x doting!reader

satoru x grieving!reader

suguru geto:

knight!sugu x royalty!reader

knight!sugu x townsfolk!reader (separate au from the one above !!)

sappy drunk!sugu x reader

single dad!sugu x roommate!reader

sugu x reader w intimacy issues

teen!sugu x teen!reader (prequel piece to there was no place in nature we could meet)

wolf/hunter!sugu x little red riding hood!reader

(platonic!)cult leader!geto / child!reader

kenjaku:

best friend’s brother!kenjaku x reader

artist!kenjaku x reader

kenjaku x unhinged!reader

others

satosugu x aroace!reader

skatergirl!nobara x reader

naoya x masc-coded!reader

stay-at-home husband!sukuna x reader

(platonic!)toji / teen!reader

comedy duo!kenkaba x reader

aki x convenience store clerk!reader (csm)

(i think most of my moots have done this / been tagged alr so im playing it safe and not tagging anyone BUT im soo excited for all ur wips !!!!! the ones ive heard abt are so so tasty!!)

#i am trying desperately to fill the void tumblr left me with #by writing #so ill take any motivation i can get and squeeze my brain like a sad soggy lemon until smth comes out <3333 #wait why are there so little gojo wips in comparison to sugu wips ……….. 🤨🤨 hmm. ominous #do we think sugu is gonna take over this blog yes or no …………. maybe he wants the top spot for himself #the most unhinged concept on this list is probably naoya x masc!reader that one’s just violent and homoerotic #then theres the kenny fics …….. and the lil red riding hood fic. …. the others are mostly Normal though

[gaykey]

despite starting later today and having a shorter shift, i'm still very tired, forgot my lunch, and my umbrella broke, all before i've even gotten to work. so i'm feeling very sorry for myself right now.

this is the face of someone on the brink of a meltdown

#i looked cute before i left #now i just look soggy #can't wait until saturday 😫

[aromanticduck]

Please put your answer and what country you're from in the tags or replies, I have a theory to test.

#polls #fireworks #organic home grown content #for me it's cold weather and uk #fireworks are for a soggy field in november #or an icy december turning to january #summer fireworks? waiting until 9pm so you can actually see them? couldn't be me

[benkeibear]

⋆꙳✧༄ Faking an orgasm

꒰ ͜͡➸ In which you fake your orgasm and are faced with the different ways these men handle it. Will they help or will you get punished?

❖ Characters: (true form) Sukuna, Yuta, Choso

❖ Reader: Female | AFAB

❖ WARNINGS: sub!reader, mean Sukuna, double penetration, rough/cervix fucking, name calling, slightly mean/manipulative but whiny Yuta, creampies, soggy Choso, (mutual) masturbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

❖ A/n: blaming @gojoath for the Yuta brainrot. Big thank you to @qichun and @suyacho for listening to me and beta reading this 🫶

☰ Sukuna:

ꕤ oh boy. Are you perhaps dumb or don't care about your life?? Now WHY would you do that to yourself??

ꕤ You were riding your king just the way he likes it, strong arms bouncing you up and down his cock until you were a blabbering mess for him, almost drooling from how good you felt

ꕤ Sukuna didn't allow you to cum however, punishing you for no reason other than his own entertainment but the closer he got, the further you could feel your release slip away, his voice booming “let go- fucking cum” he groaned out and you know better than to disobey your kings orders

ꕤ You weren't close anymore and decided to fake it, moaning and whimpering his name and title while you put on your best show but Sukuna could feel that this wasn't real, your pussy not gripping him as tight as it usually would and you were certainly not obnoxiously wet either

ꕤ while one set of hands held your hips down, allowing the tip of one of his cocks to sit right at your cervix, the other set of hands wrapped around your throat

ꕤ The aura around you shifted and so did his gaze from adoration for his queen to a derogatory one full of disappointment “You owe me this orgasm, slut. Do you really think that I'll let you get away with this?” His voice echoed and made you flinch, gasping for air

ꕤ You thought you were doing so well, being his good girl and giving him what he wanted but you just shoveled your own grave - knowing so when the mouth on his abs opened to lap at your clit while you remained impaled on his cock

ꕤ Sukuna enjoyed to watch you squirm on his lap only to sound so pathetic with every whimper and whine that fell from your sweet lips. Your noises the worship he craved until he felt your walls flutter around his cock for real this time

ꕤ “Such a needy little thing needing her clit played with” he cooed and started to bounce you up and down his length again until you were creaming all over his cock, your eyes glistening with tears from how intense it felt when his cock bruised your cervix but he was right - you give your king what he asks for, not a weak excuse

ꕤ He was far from done with you, one round never enough to satisfy him so when he flipped you two over and pushed your head onto the hard ground beneath you knew the true punishment is only about to come

ꕤ both his cocks were lined up with your holes, ready to plow into you until you were ready to beg him to stop, until the safeword falls from your lips because his sweet queen can only take so much pleasure

ꕤ “just like that- take my fucking cocks” he mused when you eagerly pushed against him until the tips slid into your weeping cunt and ass, begging him to destroy you. It's what you deserve for faking it.

☰ Yuta:

ꕤ Yuta teased you all evening long with calculated touches, whispered promises of what the night will hold and when he finally touched you it just felt so good

ꕤ it was worth the wait, everything you've desired - skilled fingers playing with your clit and massaging your sweet spot as his lips latched onto your boobs, gently sucking on your nipples

ꕤ the squelching noises of your cunt filled the room with their lewdness but every time the knot was about to snap and your cunt started to flutter, Yuuta pulled away

ꕤ “Not yet, baby. Need you to cum around my dick” he whispered into your neck as his kisses wandered from your chest to your neck to leave little marks there

ꕤ His words were full of promises but the edging eventually drove you further away from an orgasm each time and when he was finally on top of you, his dick aching hard when he sunk it into your heat it was unobtainable

ꕤ Yuta was rutting into you with quick and calculated thrusts, hitting all the spots that had your toes curling but it just didn't push you over the edge, guilt building up inside of you

ꕤ He was whining into your neck, begging you to release with him because he couldn't without the feeling of your plush walls milking him dry and the guilt was eating you up alive

ꕤ you faked your orgasm just as his thrusts grew sloppy and you could feel his cum painting your walls white as the softest moans fell from his trembling lips but a sigh followed the moment he came down from his high

ꕤ With his cock still buried deep inside of you “You owe me this orgasm, baby… I worked so hard for it. Don't do that to me,” his voice cracked while trying to sound stern and the dangerous glint in his eyes lit up

ꕤ He took it as a jab to his ego as well as feeling bad for not making you feel as good as he felt so he made it his mission to make you feel good until you begged for him to stop

ꕤ Yuta bit into your shoulder when his thrusts started once again, desperate mewls and whines falling from his lips as he pushed through his own overstimulation to punish you by making you orgasm over and over

ꕤ And when his hand slid between you to rub your clit you started to clench around him - this time for real and you could feel him smirk against your neck, not knowing the sinister thoughts his mind held. He would prove to you - and himself - that he's more than capable to get you off

☰ Choso:

ꕤ You were Choso’s first in everything and he was always so eager to learn how to bring you pleasure in all ways possible

ꕤ the concept of faking an orgasm was new to him, something you've never done before and he didn't even know why anyone would do that to begin with so the thought never crossed his mind

ꕤ and Choso tried so hard to get you off that afternoon after you had such a stressful day, genuinely just wanting to help you relax and he knew the best way. When you sank down on his thick cock to ride him, your cunt immediately clenched around him

ꕤ Having learned that you like it best when he rubs your clit while you ride him he eagerly swiped his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure

ꕤ “you're taking me so well… so good for me” he mumbled against the skin of your boobs as he gently suckled on your flesh while you bounced on his cock, desperate for an orgasm that just wouldn't come, your mind far too preoccupied to let your body relax

ꕤ So when Choso came, you clenched around him and moaned like you usually did when you came, not letting him know that it wasn't a real one - you knew he would be disappointed with himself and you didn't want to make him insecure since this wasn't his fault at all

ꕤ After a while of cuddles you excused yourself to the bathroom to “clean up” but in reality you sat down on the tiled floor and slid two fingers into your cunt, still dripping with Choso’s cum

ꕤ either you took to long or you weren't as sneaky as you thought because your lover knocked on the door shortly after, begging to come in and you opened the door, trying to act normal as if you were just cleaning up

ꕤ “I am aware of what you're doing in here… were you not satisfied? Did you want another round?” He questioned, looking like a hurt puppy until you explained to him that you did not orgasm - and still weren't able to do so because your head is just so noisy

ꕤ Choso sat down on the floor with you and nodded, his head working out the situation and why you would do what you did but it didn't matter in the end - all he wanted was for you to release and this time for real

ꕤ Your loving boyfriend doesn't care if it will take you hours to tumble over the edge, he will help you if you allow him, alternating between fingering and lazily fucking you until your body was so sensitive that his fingers coaxed an orgasm out of you by rubbing your clit - letting you fall from one orgasm right into the next

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez @ghostqueue

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #yuta x reader #yuta smut #choso x reader #choso smut #yuuta x reader #yuuta smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk sukuna #jjk yuta #jjk choso #true form sukuna #ghostqueues

[sweetercalypso]

What Takes the Edge Off || Joel Miller

Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: Now that Joel is living in Jackson, he’s picked up a few bad habits. When he comes home smelling like cigarettes, you punish him for his choice of vices

Notes: smoking, lap sitting, hair pulling, semi-public sex, grinding over clothes, edging, dom reader, sub(ish) Joel, no reader pronouns; smoking is gross unless you’re hot <3

joel miller masterlist main masterlist

Joel’s problem started with a crushed pack of Camels he’d found just a few short months after settling down in Jackson.

Truthfully, his problem had started when he was nineteen and naïve about the habit he was forming with the hand-rolled cigarettes stashed in his glovebox. They’d belonged to Tommy before Joel had quickly confiscated them with a lengthy lecture about the dangers of smoking.

Tommy was still a kid, but Joel was old enough to choose his own vices.

Everyone in Texas smoked; pipes, cigars, cigarettes – it was all commonplace in the rural heat of the South. Even after the world fell apart, there were plenty of people in QZs willing to trade a week’s worth of ration cards for a single carton of cigarettes, a stale taste of the life they’d left behind.

Joel had been more than happy to meet their demand, only occasionally skimming a few from his and Tess’s supplies. He didn’t crave the relief of nicotine any more than he craved a bottle of old whiskey or a quick, drunken fuck – it was just a way to cope with the life he’d been given.

Living in Jackson is different. The air is cleaner, the streets aren’t littered with soggy cigarette butts, and the weight of Joel’s bad habits has finally caught up to him.

The first pack he found, he’d shared with Tommy. The pair stood outside a crumbling house on their patrol route and chain-smoked what was left in the half-crushed box, reminiscing about the time Tommy stole an imported cigar from their father’s nightstand and had gotten sick from the first puff. Twenty years since they’d seen home, their Southern upbringing still kept them from smoking indoors.

The smell of tobacco had worn off by the time they returned to the city gates, and you were none the wiser about their indulgence. Even when you threw your arms around Joel and buried your face in his chest, you’d greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary.

A couple days after he’d finished the first pack, Joel realized how much he enjoyed smoking. He found himself missing the bitter taste in his mouth, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s flicking loose ashes from a phantom burning tip.

There’d been a gun in his hand for as long as he could remember, and now that his days are spent in protected leisure, Joel feels like a crucial piece of himself is missing.

He’s constantly searching for the sleek steel of a pistol, the pressure of a trigger responding to his unabating command. The weight of a cigarette balanced between his fingers had eased the grief of being still.

A sealed pack of Marlboro’s was Joel’s next find, left behind on a coffee table in a house just beyond his normal patrol route. His habit had never been routine enough to pick a favorite brand, but the familiar red and white emblem is a welcomed sight, a promise of earthy tobacco and a good, slow burn.

The matchbook in his pocket is a heavy burden on Joel’s conscience as he picks up the cigarettes and quietly slips them into his supply bag. This time, he isn’t sharing with Tommy or anyone else who feels they have a claim over a portion of his findings.

Jackson might be a commune, but just this once, Joel’s nicotine-fueled prerogative trumps his commitment to sacrifice.

He waits until he’s past the city gates to unwrap the crisp plastic and slide the first cigarette out of the pack. It’s nearly midnight when he returns his horse to the stable and begins the short walk home, unlit cigarette dangling between his teeth as he attempts to light a match under the warm embrace of the streetlamps.

The initial thrum of nicotine flooding his lungs is bittersweet, a slight burn that dulls his senses with each deep breath. He walks with his cigarette pulled up to his mouth, the weak orange glow of lit tobacco burning a crude effigy into the shadows of his face.

You’re sitting on the porch when he rounds the corner, lazed in a rocking chair that Joel had built the previous summer – his attempt at adjusting to the slow life.

When he realizes that you’re still awake, he flicks the half-finished cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with the toe of his boot, waving a hand to clear the lazy smoke lingering in the air. He grumbles under his breath and pulls the front of his jacket to his nose to gauge how long it would take the smell of tobacco to fade, but he realizes too late that the sickly-sweet aroma is already woven into the material – still clinging to his breath.

He makes his way up the sidewalk with a guilty look on his face and a hand tucked in his pocket, thumb rubbing soothingly over the side of the cigarette pack as if the feel of the box was enough to bring him relief.

It wasn’t that he expected to be chastised for his nasty habit – you knew better than anyone that Joel preferred to take care of himself. But he distinctly remembers a conversation you’d shared some time ago about old-world vices and your distaste for smoking.

He didn’t think it was worth mentioning his habit at the time; smoking was a luxury he doubted he’d ever have again, so why ruin his image of calloused self-restraint?

The sound of the porch steps creaking under Joel’s boots grabs your attention from whatever book you’d been reading, now abandoned face-down on the arm of the rocking chair as you turn to greet him.

“You’re home,” you drawl, the tired lilt in your voice betraying your content expression.

His chin dips in a bashful acknowledgement, tucked to his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your face. He still isn’t used to having someone waiting up for him; the thought only adds to the weight of his self-reproach.

“How was patrol?” you ask as Joel pulls away, though your eyes rake over him with another question in mind.

Before he can answer, you reach out and grab the front of his jacket, bringing the material to your nose to confirm what Joel already knew. “You smell like smoke.”

He swallows the sandpaper feeling in his mouth and shrugs. “Got a little cold out tonight, we stopped to make a fire on our way back.”

He cringes internally at his halfhearted attempt at avoiding the matter, but it doesn’t seem to deter you from putting the pieces together anyway.

“No,” you interject, brows pulled together in confusion. “You smell like cigarettes.”

He’s silent for a moment, unable to think of an honest way out of this conversation. “Huh.”

“Joel,” you drawl, standing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. A teasing grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, a scandalized amusement that makes his cheeks burn. “Have you been smoking?”

Your fingers weave through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly until his head rolls back.

His eyes flutter shut and he shudders as he pulls the offending pack from his pocket. “Found ‘em on patrol,” he pants, his free hand gently squeezing your hip. “People leave all sorts of useful things behind when the world’s endin’.”

You offer only a simpering tsk in response, not quite the reaction Joel was expecting.

The night air is silent beyond the quiet lull of Jackson and the floorboards shifting under your feet as you shuffle closer together, sharing an intimate moment in the dim light seeping through the front room windows. Joel’s hands are a firm presence on your waist, separated from your skin by only the thin flannel shirt you’d stolen from his closet. 

Eventually, you pull away, ushering him into the seat you’d abandoned upon his arrival. He drops into the rocking chair with a grunt and drags you into his lap.

“Missed you, baby” he murmurs, admiring the way you fit perfectly into the hollow of his frame, the way you balance yourself overtop him with practiced ease.

He knows he should be more concerned about your indifferent reaction, more worried about the possibility of someone walking by. But his sensibility is swept away by the heave of your chest and the little sound you make when his hand presses against the base of your spine.

Your hips drag slowly over his and for a moment, Joel thinks you’ve forgotten about the cigarettes. Or maybe you won’t mind his indulgence as long as he makes up for it. The warmth of your body pressed against his makes Joel ache for more, ready to offer an apology with more than just his words.

Just as he leans in to press his mouth to yours, you pull away far enough that he misses.

“Ah-” you stop him with a raised hand, fingertips pressed to his pouted lips. “You can kiss me when you don’t smell like cigarettes.”

The warm, hazy feeling is suddenly ripped from the air. Joel’s head jerks back in a look of disbelief, mouth hung open and brows pulled together as if he’d been scorned. “You’re serious?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, running a hand over his chest to soothe his trampled ego. “Can’t stand the smell, baby. You know that.”

The rocking chair dips forward as Joel drops his head onto your shoulder with a groan. “That’s just cruel.”

“It’s not cruel,” you laugh, pushing back the mess of curls falling into his face. “When you come home from patrol, I wanna taste you, not smoke.”

Your hips stir over his once again and Joel swears under his breath. His cock twitches in interest and he begrudgingly accepts the torment of your slow pace. This isn’t the time to take charge and chase his high; he’ll let you take the reins until you decide that he’s forgiven.

He picks his head up to glance around the empty streets, assuring himself that there’s no one here to witness his weak-willed acquiescence.

“I wanna touch you, make you feel good,” you continue, ghosting your fingers over the front of his jeans. “But how can I do that when all I can think about is those nasty cigarettes? Hmm?”

Your hands travel back to his chest, but your hips continue to roll over his, trapping his stiff cock beneath the comfortable pressure of your thighs. His eyes flutter shut once more as he leans back into his seat and lets you have your fun.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to near his end, subtly bucking his own hips to help himself along. He’s right there, right at the edge of his release, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the arm rests and—

The weight in his lap is gone, replaced with an empty chill that makes Joel’s hips stutter. His eyes snap open as he struggles to focus in his blissed-out state, but a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

You’re standing in front of him now, no longer providing the friction that’d been fueling the fire in his belly. “Sorry, baby. You don’t get off that easy.”

He groans when you crawl back into his lap and you’re flooded with a sense of empowerment. It shouldn’t feel this good to see Joel suffer. You know it’s not fair to tease him like this, but maybe he deserves a little punishment.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking, I’d let you enjoy this. Let you use your mouth to make me come, let you fuck me the way you want to.”

Joel stays silent, obedient. He swallows around shallow gasps of air that make his chest rise and fall with the labor of his breaths, thighs tensing as he struggles not to chase that feeling dangling just out of reach.

“I could do this all night,” you note, settling your weight in his lap again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I think you’d let me.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #sub!joel #sub!joel miller

[mellowsadistic]

"Lift up your pretty dress, baby," I ordered. "Show Daddy's friends what you're wearing underneath."

April's cheeks flushed, and she looked up at me imploringly, even as the men and women around us started to titter. "Please, Daddy," she whispered. "Please don't make me... I don't want them to see..."

"You should've thought of that before you started wetting your pants like a toddler, April," I said. “Now do as you’re told. Don't make me ask you again, young lady."

Looking tearful, April slowly raised the hem of her skirt, revealing the thick disposable diaper she wore beneath. The crowd around us burst into laughter at the sight of it. Many of them were our mutual friends, April's friends too from before her demotion to babyhood, but none of them saw her as an adult anymore. After months of carefully engineering public accidents and potty emergencies, not to mention a myriad of other babyish behaviours, I'd managed to strip her of her status as a big girl in the eyes of everyone who knew her.

Kneeling down, I pressed my hand to the front of her nappy and felt the warm squishiness within. "A bit soggy," I announced, to the raucous amusement of my guests, "but a change can wait until after the Easter egg hunt, I think. She hasn't made her morning messy yet, and all that rushing about is sure to get things moving!"

Our friends laughed even harder, and April's face went scarlet. "I don't wanna do a stupid Easter egg hunt, Daddy!" she whined, sounding exactly like a fussy three-year-old.

"All the children are taking part, April," I said firmly, delivering a sharp smack to the inside of her thigh, "and that includes you. Girls who still need diapers don't get to sit and have champagne with the grown-ups. You'll be toddling around the garden with the other kiddies, hunting for eggs."

April's bottom lip trembled. "But I'll look so stupid," she whimpered.

I ran my fingers through her hair, tucking a few strands behind her ear, and said, in a far more gentle voice than before, "You're going to look adorable, darling. You're so pretty in your little outfit. My baby bunny." I leaned in closer, so that nobody else could hear. "Tell you what, princess, if you can find the most eggs, I'll let you have an orgasm. Would you like that, baby? Would you like a little clitty tickle?"

April's eyes widened and she nodded eagerly. She hadn't been allowed an orgasm in a long time. I smiled. I wouldn't really let her cum of course, but on the off-chance she won, it would be worth dealing with a tantrum or two to see her stomping around the garden in a wet (and soon to be stinky) nappy, trying her hardest to find the most Easter eggs.

"That's my good girl!"

#mellowsadistic

[waughymommy]

My first 'mature' ABDL story. It's about a husband and a wife who have a problem. I hope to write a lot more after this, so I hope you like it!

Finding Mommy

'This isn't working.'

The statement didn't come as a shock to Andrew. He knew it wasn't working. But he didn't want to look like he didn't care, so he persued it, already feeling resigned and bitter about the discussion's inevitable conclusion.

'What isn't?' he asked, softly.

'This. This whole...baby thing. I can't do it,' his wife, Tammy, waved her hand in his direction. He winced, glancing down at his apparel. A slightly soggy diaper, and a t-shirt. He'd been wearing the same thing to bed every so often for a couple months now. His wife had initially chuckled and teased him playfully, but lately...lately the playful teasing had stopped. She wouldn't remark on his padded state, except if the diaper got too close to her. 'The tapes scratch my skin,' she'd explain, but Andrew suspected it was something else.

She went on.

'I'm sorry. I thought I could. I know you really want this. But I can't do it. I can't...pretend you're a baby. The diapers were one thing...but...I can't do that,' she looked away, as if preparing herself to say something upsetting. 'You know...when you first told me...you made it sound...sound like a sex thing...I don't mind that. I don't even mind...using them, sometimes...like...like before...you know?'

She trailed off, looking at Andrew, a pained expression on her face. Andrew's mind flashed back to when he'd first told her, almost a year and a half ago. How she'd been so...accepting.

--------------------------------

'Are these ones good?' Tammy asked, as she patted the package. 'I wanted to make sure I got good ones...I ordered these a few weeks after you told me...they just arrived on Monday.'

Andrew glanced at the large box of diapers, feeling a stirring of excitement at the fact that she'd bought so many...a whole case, in fact. God, what was she planning? Was this going to become a regular occurence? Was she going to keep him in diapers, for the whole day? Or wear herself? His head swam at the possibilities.

'I...uh...what are they?' he asked, licking his lips, nervously.

'Abena?' Tammy replied, scrunching up her face, trying to recall something. 'I...Abena X-plus? They had so many different names, but I think these are the good ones. Abri-form L4...The large ones...I wasn't sure what size we'd need...Oh.'

She suddenly stopped, pausing, as if worried about what she was going to say next. She reached into her (rather mysterious, to Andrew, at least) handbag, rummaging around. Andrew waited patiently for her to speak, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the large box on the bed. Abena X-plus was sure to be a world away from what he'd tried so far. He knew these were premium diapers. He felt himself jolt back to reality as Tammy started talking again.

'I bought...these...as well...'

Another package slid onto the bed, only this time it wasn't boxed or freshly delivered. It was clearly a packet of diapers. A packet of OPEN diapers.

'On the site I got the...uh...Abenas from, they were selling purple ones, too,' she said, nervously. 'So...I got some of those, in a smaller size...'

Andrew's mind could have exploded at that moment. Tammy stood up from the bed, an audible crinkling coming from her pyjama bottoms. Andrew couldn't believe he hadn't noticed the bulge of her diaper before, but he certainly noticed now. He stared at her rump almost hungrily as she turned sideways, looking coyly at him, grabbing the edge of her pyjama top and starting to lift it, revealing the purple waistband of the diaper.

Andrew stepped forwards, reaching out. His hand ran over her bottom, slipping off her trousers, until she was standing in just a diaper and a shirt. He patted the material of padding, pulling her close to him, hand trailing around and around the crinkly undergarment, feeling it, feeling /her/ through it.

'I...I guess you like it?' Tammy asked, feeling a little awkward. Andrew made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan.

'Yes,' he replied, simply.

'Would you like to wear one, too?' she asked, wriggling her bottom against his crotch, making him tense a little.

'Y...yes...' he gasped, hardly believing what was happening...

'Then lay down on the bed for me...'

-----------------------------

That night had been amazing. Andrew couldn't believe his luck. They'd spent the whole evening in diapers, exploring and experimenting. It felt like his wildest fantasies had come true. This beautiful woman, his future wife (he'd chosen to tell her a little while after they got engaged), was willing to wear and use diapers for him. He couldn't believe it.

She seemed almost as eager as him, that evening. She did everything he'd ever fantasized about, sexually. She wet. She asked for a change. She changed him...they even had...well. Andrew wasn't sure what to call it. Lots of rubbing. Wet, squishy diapers pressing together, then pulled aside for the 'main event'. Was that diaper sex? He supposed so. It was wonderful, whatever it was.

He wondered if what happened next had been a turning point. At the end of the evening, when they were snuggled in bed, she'd sighed contentedly and lazily rolled out of bed.

'Be right back, hun,' she told him huskily, slipping out of the room in an instant.

She'd returned, after a couple minutes, undiapered, her bottoms now back on. She'd smiled and gotten back into bed with him.

------------

'Why did you take it off?' Andrew asked, a little confused. 'Didn't you like it?'

Tammy dodged the question, but sounded just as confused as Andrew. 'Well...we're done now, aren't we? I'm really tired...I don't think you're up to going again, even I wasn't...'

She paused, sidling up to him in the bed, absent-mindedly flattening the covers over her. 'Why haven't you taken yours off?' she asked, finally.

'I...Well. I just...thought I'd like to keep it on. That's...okay, right?'

A few moments ago, he'd been certain it would be. It seemed silly even to ask. But now he wasn't so sure.

'Oh. Um. Sure,' Tammy replied, smiling again. 'I love you.'

She kissed him, turning away, and Andrew slipped his arms around her from behind, murmuring 'I love you, too' into her neck.

---------------

'That was okay. It made me feel...sexy. I loved that I could have that effect on you. It made me feel good, too,' she thought for a moment. 'I felt like your partner, then. I felt like I was desirable, sexually, like...like this was a special secret, between us. Something for the bedroom, something kinky and fun. I didn't care that it was nappies, I knew people had fetishes...but this isn't just a fetish, is it?'

Andrew swallowed as she fixed him with a steely gaze.

'Is it, Andrew?'

He shook his head 'no'. It was more than that. He wished he'd explained before. He thought she'd understood.

'You...want to be a baby, don't you?'

Andrew's mouth opened in protest.

'No! I mean...not all the ti-'

Tammy raised a hand, cutting him off.

'I know. Not all the time. Not most of the time. Not forever. Just occasionally, right? Like when I tried before...but for real?'

Andrew swallowed and nodded again. He remembered the brief times she'd tried to play 'Mommy'.

--------------

'Uh...crawl to me...come here, you naughty little baby...'

Tammy's voice was strained, as she patted the top of her legs, calling Andrew over.

Meanwhile, Andrew himself was feeling...well. He wasn't sure exactly.

There was something a little exciting about the humiliation his wife was bringing to this role. He found something arousing about how she threatened to spank him, how she called him names and teased him. It felt, well, /naughty/, and he decided he sort of liked that. It was very erotic.

But...he wasn't looking for this to be erotic. Something was wrong. He didn't feel like a baby; he felt like a naughty boy being punished. He didn't feel safe and looked after. He felt chastised and a little ashamed. He felt unspeakably adult, despite the baby bonnet and mittens he was wearing. Instead of an innocent little baby, he was some weird guy, crawling around, pretending to be an infant, calling his wife 'Mommy'.

'Crawl to me!' Tammy repeated.

Andrew sighed, starting to move.

'Yes, Mommy...'

-------------------

'I thought that was really weird, but you know...' Tammy shrugged. 'I tried. For you. I thought you wanted that. I thought it was a sex thing still.'

Andrew shuffled in the bed, feeling uncomfortable. He wished he hadn't worn to bed, now. He'd felt a pang when he'd gone to pad up; his case of abenas was nearly empty; her package of molicares was two thirds full. He hadn't expected her to use them of her own volition, but it was a reminder of just how infrequently she'd worn, for him or otherwise.

'Then,' Tammy continued. 'Then you told me that wasn't what you wanted, either. You wanted it to be more...innocent...more 'snuggly'.' That last word was almost a snarl, and Andrew felt himself flinch.

'So I tried that, too. But I couldn't do it...I mean...' she sighed, pushing the hair back out of her eyes, sighing in frustration. 'Remember what I told you when you told me this stuff?'

­Andrew nodded.

­­­

-----------------

'Aren't I...doing enough?' Tammy asked, a look of confusion on her face.

'No! No, it's not that...it's more that you're doing it the wrong way...' Andrew immediately regretted his words, seeing his wife's expression turn sour.

'No! I mean...I...I think maybe I didn't really explain what I want, not properly. It's not just the baby stuff, dressing up and that...I want...' he swallowed, hesitant.

'Well...I want it to be more...um...innocent? Like...like...I was a rea...' he stopped himself. 'Like, more snuggly? You know? Maybe some...cuddles...at bedt- at night time...I'd like to be, um...held...sometimes...'

Tammy stared at him as if he had just sprouted a third head.

'So...you want me to be like your real mother?'

'No!'

'As if you were a real baby, right?'

'I...No...I mean...it's not like you're my real mother...I...I just want you to...'

'To what? Look after you? Like an infant?' Tammy demanded, her voice even.

'I...I...in a way...yes...I just don't want it to always be so...sexual...'

Tammy sighed. There was a silence before she finally spoke.

'Okay. Look. This is pretty weird to me. I'm not comfortable with it. But I love you, Andrew. I always will,' she looked up as she spoke, taking Andrew's hand in her own. 'But I don't know how to deal with this. I don't think I can...do that. I'm sorry.'

'Oh.' replied Andrew, simply. He hated himself at that moment. If he'd been honest from the beginning, maybe none of this would have happened.

'But,' Tammy started, nibbling her lip. 'BUT. I'd like to be okay with it. So...You can do something...something small...I don't know, you could wear a nappy to bed. And I'll try to get more comfy with the idea.'

Andrew's heart leapt. Everything was going to be okay.

---------------

Andrew's heart sank. Everything was going wrong.

But Tammy wasn't done yet...

'I tried so hard to...to accept this. I started off like...like it was no big deal, remember? I used to tease you and you'd smile and for a bit, I thought maybe I could be okay with it. But then, then you started to...I don't know. Resent me? You pulled away. It wasn't enough for you. And maybe I pulled away, too. It hurt to see you wanting me to give you something I wouldn't, couldn't give you. It hurt to see you shut me out because I couldn't understand. So...now we're here...'

'Where is here?' Andrew said, asking, for the second time that night, a question which he really didn't feel he needed to ask, but if he didn't ask it, he knew it would appear he didn't care.

'Here? Here is...my husband wants to be treated like a baby...NON sexually...and I can't cope with it,’ she paused, seemingly thinking hard about something. Her mouth opened again, this time drawing out the sound of one little word, waiting for a statement to follow it.

‘So….’

Andrew swallowed. He waited for the crushing blow. He didn’t know what she would say, but he could guess.

‘So you can’t wear diapers anymore around me…’

‘So I don’t want diapers in the house anymore…’

‘So I don’t love him anymore….’

‘So I /can’t/ love him anymore, and I think we need to get a divorce…’

He knew whatever was said next would change their relationship forever. He was about to lose something, he didn’t know what exactly, but he also knew life would be a lot harder without him. He looked up at her with grim determination, resigned to whatever awful things came out of her mouth next.

‘So…’ she began again, and Andrew felt himself stiffen, worry making his heart pound.

‘So I think we need to find him…find you…someone who can.’

Andrew gawped at her. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. What was she saying? Was she leaving him? She must be… she was just being the wonderful woman she always had been, willing to help him find a more ‘appropriate’ mate, someone who’d be happy to indulge him. He felt his eyes sting a little as tears formed, before, in the silence, another possibility occurred to him.

She’d been watching him closely, and seemed to notice as a flash of something, hope, realization maybe, passed across his face. He addressed her again, voice shaky.

‘Do you mea-‘ he was cut off abruptly.

‘I mean, just someone to do that for you, you know?’ Tammy explained, her voice emphasizing the word ‘that’ in a way that made it clear she found ‘that’ distasteful. ‘I…no sex. I’m not leaving you. I love you, I always will, I think. I hope. I just…I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Andrew. And…I know this is so, so important to you. I see it, Andy, I see how much you want it…’

It’s her turn to look scared now, her eyes filled with tears, rolling freely down her cheeks. She’s shivering, but it’s not cold. Wordlessly, Andrew embraced her, his own manly sob joining her small, squeaking ones, her voice cracking as she tried to go on.

‘I…I don’t want to lose you…I’m…I wanted so badly to m…make you happy, but I CAN’T. I’m a horrible, awful wife. I’m a fuck-up. I…I don’t know why you married me!’ she howls, throwing herself into Andrew’s chest, his arms soothing her, rubbing her back, shh-ing her like you would a crying child. A tiny smile formed on his lips for a moment, as he considered the role reversal.

But it was soon replaced by another kind of smile, the kind that happens when you realize maybe you’re not alone, that your partner is just as afraid of what’s happening as you. That he or she is afraid of the exact same things. It was a tearful, almost regret-filled smile.

‘If only we’d talked about this sooner…’

He shook his head, clearing his mind. Right now, he had to help Tammy feel better.

‘Ohh…oh hun…’ he said, his own voice wavering, fighting back another hard sob. ‘Shhh… you know, I’ve been worried about the same thing. I thought I was an awful husband. I wondered why you wanted to be with me. I didn’t understand. I thought…just now, you were going to leave me…’

Tammy jerked back, head snapping upwards to look at him, a look of something…hurt, Andrew decides. Hurt he’d think she would do that. Her face pink and flushed, her cheeks damp with too many tears.

‘Never,’ She retorted, instantly, and then she was back in his arms, crying anew. ‘Never…I…I NEVER want to lose you…’

Andrew smiled again, sighing, a little in relief. Of course, given her earlier outburst, he already knew that…but it was lovely to have confirmation.

‘I know Tam, I really do. Now, at least. But I want to let you know, I love you too. I don’t think you’re an awful wife…you’ve been so understanding. Please, don’t think I don’t love you, don’t think I resent you, or hate you or think ANYTHING bad about you, after you’ve tried so hard to fulfill me and my selfish, perverted desires.’

He felt her shaking her head, disagreeing, with the part about her trying so hard, or the part about his desires being perverted, or both, or something else…he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter at that moment.

‘So I’m just telling you, no matter what, I’ll love you. I’d have loved you even if you said I could never wear another diaper. I’d have loved you even if you told me you’d stopped loving me. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself…’

Tammy’s cheeks turned a little pinker, her sobs dying down.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks, not moving to look at him.

‘Positive,’ he says, more confident now. ‘Do you feel better now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you ready to talk about…it?’

‘…Yes.’

There was a pause as Tammy pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, so she could look at him. She smiled, her eyes wandering over him, as if appreciating him newly. When she reached the diaper her expression clouded, eyes flitting back up to his, as if just remembering they had something else to discuss now.

‘So…do you mean it?’ Andrew asked, anxiously.

‘Yes.’

He looked unconvinced, so Tammy continued.

‘I don’t have a problem with it. I really don’t. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, an-‘

‘Why didn’t you ask me before?’

‘Wh-what?’

‘Why didn’t you ask me before?’ Andrew repeated, his tone not demanding or forceful, but genuinely curious.

‘I…well…’ Tammy looked away, embarrassed. ‘I was scared…’

‘Why?’

‘Well…first I was worried you’d say no, because she wouldn’t be me, and you wouldn’t be able to feel anything with her. And if you said no, I’d be out of options. I don’t know what would h-happen if…’ her voice broke again, eyes swimming with tears. Andrew frowned slightly.

‘What else?’

‘I was afraid if you said yes, you would love her...too much. You’d leave me. Because you don’t love me at all, not anymore…how could you? I mean-‘

Andrew squeezed her hand suddenly, shaking his head, stopping her from working herself up again.

‘Not true, love. I want you. I love you. I’m not going to replace you. Even if I agree to this, I promise,nobody’ll never replace you…are you sure you’re okay with this?’

Tammy nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘What…sort of things would she, uh, do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tammy admitted, seeming to shrink back a little. ‘I mean…change you? Give you bottles…pacifiers…play with you like a real baby.’

Andrew felt his heart flutter twice; once at the prospect of a genuine Mommy in his life, after so long… and once at the sudden feeling of utter love for Tammy that swept over him. ‘The ideal woman…’ he thought, snorting somewhere inside his head at how corny that was.

‘Would I be allowed to call her Mo…’ Andrew blushed, dropping his voice to a whisper.

‘Mommy?’ he finished, waiting.

‘Yes. Of course. I mean, that’s what you want, right? A Mommy? For the…the baby inside you? Just no sexual stuff. Please. I need that from you.’

Andrew nodded unhesitatingly. The thought of having sex with another woman (beyond occasional fantasies) had never even crossed his mind. He was missing an emotional, platonic, maternal bond, not a passionate sexual one.

They both smiled a moment, almost in triumph. They were still together. This might just work out.

‘So…’ Tammy started, grinning now.

‘So…’ Repeated Andrew, a playful smirk joining hers. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Now? Now we sleep. I’m so tired. I just want to be held. I’m so…worn out…’ she leant forwards again, nuzzling his chest, smiling softly. She sighed, a long, happy sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘Okay…do…you want me to go change before we-‘

‘No. I don’t want you to leave.’

Her tone was demanding that time, and Andrew chuckled. She wriggled, pulling the covers out from under them both, as they each shuffled and worked to lie down, his arms still wrapped around her. Their heads reaching the pillows, Tammy smiled wearily, shifting away a little, finding her husband’s body too warm for comfort. He leaned forwards and kissed her on the forehead.

‘Goodnight Tammy…’

‘Goodnight…’ she hesitated, wondering if she was really going to say this, worrying he’d take it the wrong way. She stopped hesitating.

‘Baby,’ she added, one hand slipping down and squeezing the soggy bulge of his diaper. She watched his face for a reaction.

Andrew blushed a little as she withdrew her hand.

It was a simple, loving gesture. A show of acceptance.

It hadn’t meant anything else. She wasn’t going to baby him. She didn’t see him that way. She didn’t want to be ‘Mommy’. She was his wife, and she was just showing how much she cared, how safe he was with her, how much she truly wanted him to be happy, even in this.

At that moment, that was all that Andrew needed.

He lifted his hand to squeeze her retreating one, smiling.

‘Thanks,’ he said, earnestly.

With that, she sighed slightly and turned around, snuggling into him backwards. Tomorrow, she thought, was sure to be a very interesting day.

#ab dl diaper #diaper community #ab/dl diaper #diaper faggot #diaper sissy #diaper training #abdlsissy #abdlcouple #ab/dl mommy #abdlbabyboy #abdllittle #abdlbabygirl #abdlgermany #ab dl girl #abdlmommy #ab/dl babyboy #sissy tasks #diaper pee #diaper dependent #diaper regression #diaper gal #feminine sissy #faggot sissy #sis

[steddieas-shegoes]

sounds like a date

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is sharing food' rated g | 743 words | no cw | tags: fluff, established relationship, flirting

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

"Can I have a fry?" Eddie asked with his mouth half full of the last fry he'd stolen off Steve's plate.

"Why didn't you just get your own fries?" Steve asked, handing him a fry from his plate.

"Because I only wanted a couple and you always share with me," Eddie shoved the fry into his mouth.

That was true; Steve always shared his food when they were having their usual date night at the diner. In fact, he pretty much only got fries because he knew Eddie would want some.

He preferred just eating his turkey club sandwich and smiling over at Eddie who always ordered two milkshakes because he could never decide on a flavor, a cheeseburger, onion rings that he complained were soggy every time, and a chef salad for balance.

Eddie never finished his food, or the milkshakes, but he always finished Steve's fries.

So it became an unspoken routine, something Steve wasn't even sure Eddie noticed even after months of doing it. Robin said he was a sap for doing it, but he didn't care.

"How's the chocolate shake?" Steve asked as Eddie dipped another stolen fry into it. "Good with the fries?"

"Yeah, but the strawberry is better. They didn't add extra chocolate syrup this time," Eddie half-pouted, as if he didn't complain about their lack of chocolate in the chocolate shake every time he ordered it.

"Can I have a sip of your Coke?" Eddie asked after another minute of stealing fries from Steve's plate.

Steve wordlessly handed his cup over, surprised it took him this long to ask for it. He usually asked way before he'd even started on the fries.

Eddie, as expected, took a few large sips, almost draining the rest of the drink.

"Why doesn't the waitress ever bring us napkins?" Eddie asked as he set the cup back down in front of Steve.

Steve handed him one of the napkins he'd grabbed from the table they passed on the way to their own. The waitress did always forget to bring them, so Steve prepared.

"You're so good to me," Eddie smirked, brushing his foot against Steve's ankle under the table.

Steve was pretty sure the waitress knew what was going on between them and just hadn't bothered to say anything, and the rest of the diner was empty. Their date night was pretty late, right after Eddie's Hellfire night with the kids that always seemed to go longer and longer. It was damn near midnight now, most of the town in bed, the rest up to no good somewhere else.

It was peaceful, being here with Eddie like this.

It was a look at a future they could have, at least a version of it, though neither of them planned on staying in Hawkins forever.

Steve slid his plate of the few remaining fries over to Eddie and wiped his hands on his napkin. "Finish 'em. I'm done."

"You didn't even eat any," Eddie pointed out before grabbing another one.

"Wasn't that hungry, I guess."

"Mhm," Eddie smirked knowingly, but didn't comment further.

"All set for the bill?" The waitress came by to ask, tapping her pen against the pad of paper. "Who gets it tonight?"

Eddie pointed at Steve, like he did every single week they did this.

Steve took the bill from her hand like he did every single week.

He pulled out his wallet, grabbed the $10 in cash he always kept there for date night, and handed it back to her.

Eddie waited until she walked away to pull out his wallet, grabbing $2 for a tip.

"You know at some point, you may have to actually pay for a date," Steve said as he slipped his jacket on.

"Maybe," Eddie shrugged, like he knew Steve loved paying for their date, made him feel like he could provide. Eddie joked it was his inner caveman. "Maybe I'll just take us on a nice road trip with all this money I'm savin'."

"Oh?" Steve froze.

Eddie looked back at him, beaming smile.

"Yeah. Next month sound good to you? A tour of diners across the midwest. Every night is date night. All my treat," Eddie suggested, like he'd already had this planned for a while. "I'd love to steal your fries in new places, Stevie."

Steve felt himself blushing, somehow always surprised at the lengths Eddie went to to make him feel so loved.

"Sounds like a date."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is sharing food #fluff #established relationship #flirting

[luveline]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part six | chapter list

summary you’re a not so single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue movie night, a good sandwich, a better cry, and the best birthday party ever. [23k]

warnings afab!reader, fem!reader, mom!reader, mention of implied period/menstruation, money worries, unhealthy eating habits (not finding the time), food insecurity, physical/emotional fatigue. fluff heavy, love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, idiots in love, slight angst.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie's carrying so much stuff he can barely see over the top of it, let alone open your front door. He stands fumbling at the top of the porch steps, hoping you'll hear the sounds of his arrival and come to help. 

You must be in your room or the bathroom, as no one comes to save him. Eddie can hear the echo of the TV from the living room, kid's cable or one of Junie's VHS tapes, as well as the pulling sound of the pipes under the trailer. A faucet must be running. 

When he finally manages to open the door, he's expecting to see you in the kitchenette with your back to him, humming as you clean the dishes and in your own little world. 

You're not there, to his surprise. 

Eddie puts all of his things on the kitchen table, takes off his shoes, and goes looking for you. There aren't many rooms to search, only your bedroom and the bathroom. He can hear running water the closer he gets to the bathroom, so he knocks on the door. 

"Sweetheart, you in there?" 

The tap turns off abruptly. The door opens, and Eddie frowns at the lack of you, finding only empty air. He looks down to find Junie standing there in the gap, short and small and completely soaked.

He can tell immediately what she's been up to, some mischievous playing while you're distracted elsewhere. She has a look on her face like she's both thrilled to see him and sorry to be caught. 

Eddie bends down. “Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?" he asks.

"Cold!" She giggles, wielding her wet palms at him threateningly. 

He takes her little hands in his. "Freezing!" he agrees. 

Eddie pulls a towel off of the hand towel rail and quickly rubs it up and down her wet arms. She's still in her clothes from daycare, which isn't necessarily unlike you. If she's having a shower tonight, you'll be waiting until after to change her into her clean pyjamas. 

He checks his watch with a frown. It's well past bath time. 

"Where's mom?" he asks. 

"She's sleeping," Junie whispers, bringing a finger to her lips. "Shh." 

Ah. That makes sense. He hangs the towel back on the rail and takes one of Junie's still-cold hands in his, walking her to your bedroom, where the door is closed. You wouldn't have closed it, not while June was in another room. 

Eddie squeezes her hand fondly. She's becoming quite the deviant. He wonders if it's his fault. 

He opens the door and sighs when he sees you, feeling sorry for his girl, all curled in on yourself sitting on the bedroom floor with a pile of unfolded laundry in your lap. He can imagine the ache brewing in your back, worse than the usual and persistent twinge you've mentioned between your shoulder blades.

Eddie kneels down beside you. Junie follows suit without instruction. Even her socks are wet, her soggy heel cold against his thigh. 

"Y/N," he says softly, easing his hand under your chin. 

He hooks his fingers behind your ear and lifts your heavy head, leaning forward to straighten you up. You rouse with a frown. 

"What time is it?" you ask after a moment. Your voice barely comes out. 

"Nearly seven. Are you feeling okay?" he asks, pushing your shoulders against the bed behind you for support, his hand falling to the juncture of your neck. Your skin is clammy. Your brow twists. "You coming down with something again?" 

 "Just tired," you mumble.

You close your eyes and cover them with one hand. 

There's something to be said about it, how that, a few months ago, you would've sprung up to finish what you were doing, explaining to him in rushed tones that you don't usually fall asleep like that, you would never leave Junie unattended: he knows already. You're a parent, not a superhero (though sometimes he thinks you're both) —you aren't infallible. You get tired, and you try your best. Eddie wouldn't ever think that you don't. He certainly wouldn't think you're a bad parent for falling asleep sitting up in the middle of a chore, and you know that now. You know you can sit there and gather your bearings without explanation. That he'll look after you and Junie whenever you need him to. 

A little shimmer of pride brims at the realisation. 

He rubs your throat with his thumb before sitting back. Junie climbs into his lap and leans her soaking front into his chest, cold enough that Eddie quickly covers her with his arms in an attempt to warm her. 

"What have you been up to?" he asks her. 

She hums, pleased, and babbles about the water. "It dwas… it was cold and fast," she emphasises. 

"You're not supposed to be in the bathroom without mommy." 

"She's sleeping," Junie says quizzically. Like the rules don't apply when you're not awake to uphold them. 

"I'm not sleeping," you say.

"You're still not supposed to be in there without me or mom," Eddie says, giving her a playful glare. "Now you're all wet." 

Junie buries her face in his neck, hiding from his mild scolding and possibly trying to soak up some of his warmth. You rub your eyes. 

You're in your work uniform with dishevelled hair, but you look cute anyhow. 

Eddie pats Junie's back, unperturbed by her damp clothes. She's warming up the longer she sits there. 

He supposes her willingness to simply sit and be cuddled is a conditioning of your unending affection. You're always praising and kissing and stroking her hair out of her face, always carrying her around when she could easily walk. You're ridiculously touchy, like a sponge for love. You want it just as often as you give it. He and Junie are both happy to humour you.

Eddie takes the initiative. He gives June a toss to the middle of your made bed and smiles when she giggles, grabbing a change of clothes for her from the wardrobe, and then a change of clothes for you. He's almost completely familiar with your wardrobe these days, having made multiple adoring contributions to it. Selfishly, maybe, he grabs a shirt he knows he got you, as well as a newer pair of pyjama pants. 

You still haven't managed to stand when he finishes, but you've turned to see Junie, making kissy faces at her as you tickle the sole of her foot. 

"My girl's all wet," you're saying, not a lick of tiredness in your voice. You hide it from her easily. "What trouble have you been up to while mommy slacked off, huh? You're soooo bad, I'm gonna have to lock you up." 

Junie giggles thickly as she crawls toward you. You can't reach her foot when she turns but you aren't bothered, tickling her arms and sides instead. You and Junie stay like that for a second, eye to eye, Junie on her front and you hiding your mouth in the sheets like a cowboy shootout, waiting for someone to give in. 

Junie shrieks with laughter and you sit up in time to stop her from headbutting you, gathering her up into your arms to kiss her forehead. 

"Sorry," you say, to Eddie's displeasure. "Mommy's silly, huh, falling asleep when you're still awake?" 

"She's human," he corrects lightly. 

"Baby," you say, like you're going to say more. You don't, you just smile at him. 

"Do you want me to have her? You can shower by yourself, have some 'me-time'?" 

"No… she needs a bath. Don't you?" you ask her.

"Do you want me to–" 

"Eddie," you say, struggling to stand with Junie in your arms, "I don't want anything. Except…" 

He bounds the two steps it takes to get his arms around you both and plants a huge kiss on your cheek. You visibly relax, better when he presses a much softer one against the corner of your mouth. 

"Except a kiss?" he asks into your skin. 

You sound flustered, "Except a kiss. Another one. Please." 

He pulls back enough for you to turn into his kiss and align your lips properly for a chaste peck. 

"Hello," he says. 

"Hi, baby," you say, shy even now. 

"Hi." He steals another kiss. Junie makes a noise of offence and he dots one on her appled cheek. Her lips perk into a smile. "Girls. Let's get our movie night back on track. I brought presents." 

You groan and Junie cheers. Finally getting to grips with certain words even if she hasn't said them aloud yet, Junie is well aware as to what presents are. She gets enough of them (to your chagrin). 

"What did I say? Presents are for special occasions," you say mildly. 

"Movie night is–" 

"Not a special occasion."

"Kind of is. Especially if we make it a tradition. If you really don't want them then I'll take them back," he says. He really means it, no guilt trip involved. 

You look down at Junie, back up at him, and puff out a theatrical breath. 

"Sorry, I've made it hard to say no," he says. 

"Don't be sorry. Thank you for the presents, really. We'll look after a shower, okay?" you ask, darting up to give him a quick kiss and then nudging him aside. 

"I'll make dinner real quick while you shower and you can open your presents after that." He catches your sleeve. "Deal?" 

"Deal." 

Another round of kisses are exchanged. Kisses like a first love, excited and quick and wanting a little bit more each time. 

You leave for the bathroom to set up Junie's fold out baby bath in the shower and fill it with water. He smiles on his way back down the slim hall to the kitchen at the sound of her laughter, hidden beneath the hurried rain of the shower head. 

Eddie makes two cans of vegetable soup with pasta shapes in a saucepan on the stove, cooking it through and letting it simmer while he waits for you.

The bathroom door opens. He gives it a minute before pouring the soup into bowls, knowing it'll take you a while to powder and lotion you and your baby, especially when getting her into jammies lately has been like clothing an eel. 

A few minutes later, Junie comes sprinting down the hall quick as a lightning bolt, barefoot to stop from crashing face first into a cabinet. You have no clue why, but lately she's extremely energetic. You've done some more baby-proofing around the house to avoid injury, moving tables completely out of her way and sticky taping your rug in the living room flat to the floor so she can't slip over it at speed, but nothing works as well as bare feet for good grip. Not even dragon themed grippy socks, Eddie laments. They looked so cool. 

He pours soup into three bowls and adds a splash of cold water from the faucet to Junie's, giving it a good stir and dipping the tip of a clean pinky finger in it to check it's not hot. 

"Hi, trouble," he greets, following her into the living room with her bowl. "You want some dinner?" 

He doesn't give her much chance to answer, grabbing her up in his free arm with a heaving groan and carrying her like a curled weight to the sofa. She's giggly to a fault, happy to be shuttled from one place to another if there's a kiss or some food promised at the end. 

He sets her down, puts the bowl on his thigh, and pulls out the bib he'd tucked into his pocket to secure it nice and loose around her neck. He's careful not to get any of her hair in the velcro. 

"Tada!" he says. "Let's get eating." 

Junie's amazing. Eddie lifts a spoon and her lips part expectantly. He could let her eat by herself, she's old enough and she's getting much better with a spoon, but he wants to avoid the mess and get her fed quickly. She's eaten every last morsel by the time you emerge. He's more pleased than he started, because you trust him to do this while you get dressed without rushing, and you'll allow yourself the luxury of ten minutes alone. 

Your footsteps sound across the kitchen. You turn into the living room, your face tacky with something, and even from the middle of the room Eddie can smell your deodorant and moisturisers, maybe even the lingering scent of conditioner on your hands. 

"My poor baby was so hungry," you say upon seeing Junie's empty bowl. You kiss the top of her head. "Sorry, Junie. Good thing Eddie's here to take such good care of you, hmm?" You kiss her cheek. You lean over her head and kiss Eddie's. He's about to start running a temperature, you're so affectionate tonight. "Thank you." 

"Don't," he says gently. 

You straighten up. Like you've been caught in a trap, you stop suddenly and peer down at him, hiding your smile with a pout. He's already seen it, but he lets you get away with it. 

"Your bangs are growing long again," you say, brushing them away from his forehead. 

You comb down the lengths of his curls with your fingers, partitioning the tangles with care. 

"Maybe you can trim 'em for me tomorrow," he says. 

Your eyes light up. "Yeah, for sure." 

"Good. Our soup is getting cold." 

"Oh, gotcha. I'll warm it up. You want more, junebug? More soup?" 

Junie doesn't answer, distracted by the TV. She's stopped bothering to support herself, her weight splayed over Eddie's thigh, her soup-stained cheek dangerously close to his pants. He has to admit that since knowing you a lot of his clothes have been stained irredeemably. He doesn't worry about the sweatpants, though. It's only soup. 

Eddie thumbs hair out of her face and smiles. 

"She could probably eat more." 

You know it already, but he says it because it feels nice to say. Plus, you like it. You'd told him so, a whispered admission sometime last week. 

I like that someone else worries about her, you'd said, your lips soft on his naked bicep, your face hidden by the lack of light and a few of his rogue curls. I like that you take some of the load. I'm sorry if that's not fair. 

Baby, he'd said, voice gritty with how much he meant it, it's not unfair. I'm happy to do it. And I know you're not expecting it from me.

No, you'd said quickly. 

I know. He'd kissed the top of your head, laughed against your skin, his breath fanning every which way. Don't think about it like that, like it's costing me something. 

I'm not saying it costs anything. I know it does, even if you don't feel it. And I'm not saying she isn't easy to love 'cos she is, but loving someone and taking care of them are different, and I know you want to do it–

Eddie had cut you off, sitting up enough that you'd been forced to take your weight off of his shoulder where you'd been laying down across the well-loved couch. He'd felt a familiar spring under his thigh as he shifted, the TV painting your face in a milky white that had your eyes shining like gemstone. 

I do want to do it, he'd affirmed. You guys– you're my girls. Eddie could've told you he loved you right then and there. He's sure you already knew. Why are you worrying about this stuff?

Have to worry about something. These days my options are slim pickings, thanks to you. 

He'd pulled you in for a hug, trying to squeeze the misplaced gratitude out of you uselessly. He's happy you're happy, happy you feel like he's draining your impossible levy, but he doesn't want you thinking you owe him anything. That's not why he's with you. 

You trek back into the kitchen with Junie's empty bowl and spoon, your pyjama pants slightly too long for you and dragging across the floor. You hadn't been with him when he bought them —he eyeballed. They fit around your waist and thighs just fine, but both of the pairs he got that day are too long. 

Eddie wipes Junie's face with the end of her bib and reluctantly hands her over when you return, reheated soup in hand. You swap him for his own bowl and feed Junie whatever she wants from yours, blowing on each spoonful as you go. 

"How was work today, sugarpea?" he asks between bites of pasta. 

"No," you say immediately. 

"Not a sugarpea fan?"

"Not when you say it like that," you tease.

"What about sweetcheeks?" He grins at your grim expression. "It's not that different to sweetheart, 'n' you like that one." 

You glance at him over Junie's head. "I think I'm used to sweetheart. You say it enough. Sweetcheeks is like a foreign object my brain is rejecting on the grounds that it is super duper weird." You smile as you talk and your voice takes shape through it, all smooth and silky and warm. 

"Honeybuns?" he tries, nearly choking on a pasta shape when you laugh. He can't help himself; whenever you laugh he instinctively wants to join in. 

"Work was fine," you say, stealing a big spoonful of soup. Junie huffs. "It was good, really, I got an amazing tip from Bernard, you know Bernard?"

"Bernard," he repeats menacingly. 

"Your competition. He gave me twenty dollars 'n' told me to put it in the Junie jar, so that was awesome. Now my little lady's gonna get some new shoes."

You don't like handouts you haven't worked for. It's why his gifts can be hard to accept, as much as you appreciate them. Eddie insisted months ago that being friends was 'doing things for other people', and letting people do things for you —as in, letting him buy you small presents is actually a service to him and a credit to you. 

You don't necessarily like it. You like presents, most people do, but you don't like his spending money on you because of some ill-conceived notion that you can't deserve them. It's why Eddie doesn't go out and spend his wages on the things that you want willy-nilly. It would embarrass you, put you out, and that's the last thing he wants. So while he's in a place where he's fortunate enough to have disposable income, and he doesn't think twice about spending it on the people he loves, he does think about how it makes you feel. 

But boyfriend privileges are very real. The step up he took from a friend who's suspiciously affectionate to an actual proper boyfriend is large and luxurious —he gets away with doing a lot more than he could beforehand. Eddie can put gas in your car, pay for breakfast, bring by a gallon of laundry detergent when you're running low without a word of protest. It's little things, and they mean a lot to him. 

He thinks they might mean a lot to you, too. 

So he would buy Junie new shoes if she needed them, but she doesn't. If she did, you would've got them already. You want her to have new shoes, and you're saving up for a nice fancy pair that she'll grow out of within the year. You should take pride in that. There's nothing so sweet as treating your daughter. 

"How come I can't contribute to the Junie jar?" he asks in a playful whine.

"Don't start with me, Munson. You tipped me ten dollars for a coffee yesterday, don't think I didn't notice. And the coffee was for me," you say, smiling still. 

He grins down at his soup and kicks his socked foot against yours. 

"That wasn't me," he lies. With no effort involved, the end result is lackluster. 

"Yeah, well, it wasn't Davey," you say. 

Davey's a grumpy regular. He never tips. 

"It could've been. Maybe he had a change of heart. And, biassed as I may be, you are a very pretty waitress. I'd tip you if I was allowed," he flirts. 

You turn the spoon in your hand so the well is toward your chest and pretend to load it at him like a trebuchet. 

He wimps out, "June, mom's attacking me! Mommy's trying to get soup on me!"  

"Am not!" you protest. 

The damage is already done. Junie, her face a mirror of your own but smaller and with eyes a little bigger in their framing, glares at you and tries to take your spoon, babbling an outraged, "No no no!" 

You make a funny squeaking sound and drop the spoon back in the bowl, your lips parted in mock shock. 

"You don't really believe him, do you?" you ask, your bubbly talk saccharine. "Baby, I'm just playing." 

She's your number one fan. The sound of your voice would win back her affections by itself, but your lovely smile, your hand behind her back, it's instantaneous. Junie forgets all about the imminent danger he's in and puts her hand on your chin. You close your eyes. 

"Mommy, can we have kisses?" she asks. 

"How many?" you ask, delighted. It's rhetorical. Eddie finishes his soup and you kiss her cheeks so many times he reckons you'll have dry lips, humming, "Mwah, mwah, mwah," as you go. 

He'll make you something else tonight to make up for how little soup you've had. It's not a substantial meal either way, and he knows Benny feeds you well at work, but it's been a long time since lunch rush. 

Junie wiggles out of your grip and drops to the floor, clearly having had enough kisses. 

Eddie doesn't see what she's doing from the kitchenette where he's carried all the dirty dishes, but he listens intently to her babble talk, new words popping up in her chatter every day. She says, "Mr. Bear," and "pretty," and "let's go!" between gibberish. 

"Oh, hey!" Eddie calls to be heard over the running water of the sink and the TV. 

He can see your head through a gap between the counter and the cabinets attached to the ceiling. You turn at his voice, arms across the back of the sofa, chin resting on your hands. "Yeah?" 

"She said, 'fast'!" he tells you. "When I grabbed her from the bathroom, she said the water was cold and fast. That's a new one." 

"The bathroom. I need a lock. Do you have anything?"

"Do I have a lock? Maybe."  

You nod hurriedly, eyebrows pinched in stress . "It's an accident waiting to happen. I had no idea she could reach that handle, I don't want her in there when I can't see her." 

"Don't worry, we'll nab one of those child locks from the store tomorrow if it bothers you." 

You're quiet for a moment. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep." 

"You couldn't help it," He puts a dish down on the rack. "It's not a crime to nod off, I do it all the time. It was an accident." 

"It doesn't matter. She can't be alone with water, it's dangerous." 

"You said it yourself, you had no idea she could even get in there. Now you know, you'll make sure it doesn't happen again." He turns off the faucet, trying to snub your self-annoyance before it twists into something cruel. "Yeah?" 

You hum. 

He wipes his hands dry on a rag and slides around the kitchen counters, back into your living room. Your eyes flash wide as he approaches. You know what he's gonna do, tucking your arms away as he drops into your lap. "Woah," you groan. 

"You're a good mom," he says seriously, shuffling back so his weight is on a couch cushion rather than your tired thighs. "I mean it, you're a good mom. You fell asleep. It happens, okay? Don't punish yourself for something that didn't happen. We can jam the door closed with a sock or something tonight, and I promise you she won't get in there again." 

You bunch one of his legs in your lap to rest your mouth against his knee. He holds himself up with one arm, watching you relax with relief. 

"She said 'fast'?" you ask, turning your face so your cheek is on his knee instead. Her building vocabulary excites you endlessly. You've been practicing descriptors. 

"She said that the water was cold and fast," he says. She would know, she made your floor into a slip and slide. 

"She's a genius." You rub your cheek against his pants. "I knew it." 

He flops back into the couch cushions, arms behind his head. "Yeh. You can't help yourself, can you? Making that girl cooler every day." 

You pinch his thigh. "Lay off." 

He's serious and joking at the same time. It's a very cheesy thing to say and it isn't untrue. It's the juxtaposition of every parent, he supposes, the insurmountable task they perform on such a grand scale. It looks impossible, and yet people have been managing it for thousands of years anyways. At varying levels of success, sure. 

He hasn't lied to you once. You're a good mom and you're raising a sweetheart, and while neither one of you could care less about Junie being an actual 'genius', singing her praises is a pass time you love. 

He isn't tired enough to fall asleep sitting up, yet slouched down as he is with your hands on his legs stroking slow lines feels like a blanket has been thrown over him, fresh from the dryer. Speaking of… 

"Can I give you the gifts now? I promise they're not too much," he says. 

"Can I tell you something first?" He nods. You hug his knee to your chest and look him straight in the face, unabashed. "You have a really nice voice, Eddie. Listening to you talk, I don't know. You could read me the yellow pages and I think I'd like it." 

"Wait, are you flirting with me?" he asks, making a show of sitting up slowly. 

"It's nice and deep. Not too much, but it is. And you say things in such a particular way sometimes, it makes me want to smile even when I've had a garbage day." You stroke down his thigh with a fingertip. "Everything about you is nice, but I wanted to tell you." 

"Thank you," he says warmly. "I'm glad you think so. 'Cos when I'm around you, all I want to do is talk. And I mean that in the best way." Eddie sits up, bending at the waist so he can kiss your cheek. He doesn't move away immediately, pressing the bridge of his nose flat to your skin as he continues, "I want to hug you really badly right now, like, a make-your-spine-click kind of hug. Think I can do that?" 

"Yes, please, it's not even hurting. You can hug me as much as you want." 

Eddie shuffles forward on the couch to be near you, his cheek smushed against your ear as he wraps his arms around you in a hug. He goes over your shoulders. Even if it isn't hurting today he doesn't want to inspire any backache, and you return his hugging eagerly. 

You smell like your favourite lotion. He breathes it in. 

"You're sniffing me," you murmur. 

"You smell nice," he murmurs back. 

"You smell nice, too." 

"I smell like sweat." 

"A little." 

He encourages your face into the crook of his neck, beaming. "You're so weird," he dotes. 

"Sorry," you say, rather shyly. 

You're not shy because he said you're weird —he says that stuff all the time and when he means it, it's adoring— you're sorry because you're genuinely embarrassed that you like how he smells, sweat included. He wants to kiss you forever. 

"Don't you dare be sorry. It's my irresistible musk." 

"Ew," you say, "ew, ew, ew. Musk is a gross word." 

"Yeah?" he asks, giving your cheek a quick stroke with the side of his knuckle. 

"Yes. Definitely banned around my daughter." 

He snorts. "Like it's a curse word." 

You run your hands in sync up and down his side, his t-shirt hiking up with each swipe. Your eyes have softened and renewed you, your earlier fatigue a memory without evidence. The fine wrinkles at the corners of your eyes smooth away. 

"I'm so happy," you whisper. 

He takes your elbows into his hands, thumbs rubbing at the crooks fondly. "Me too." 

Your hands fall to his waist. Eddie's never been more content; he's so grateful to feel as he does, whole at your side, affectionate and aflame and in love with your every attribute. Your timid admission, your knowing smile. 

"Can I give you your present now?" he asks. 

You lean back into the couch, mumbling, "Oh, if you must," with a pleased smile. 

"I must, my lady. It's imperative that you and your charge receive the most splendiferous of gifts in haste."   

"Then so be it, my liege." 

He's morphing you into a nerd one corny joke at a time. 

Eddie stands up. His movement grabs Junie's attention from her toys and make-believe, the small girl climbing to her feet. She hops toward him, hands out in expectancy to be picked up. 

"Two seconds, June, let me get your present first." 

His bags are exactly where he left them on the kitchen table. He rummages through them to make sure he's presenting the right gift to the right girl, before yanking the present from the bag it came in and putting it out of Junie's reach.

"Here," he says, sliding his hand under the gift's cardboard fastening and ripping it open. 

The blanket he's bought for her, big, gorgeously soft and made up of pastel pinks and oranges, puffs out and reaches the floor. Junie strokes it. 

"It's so soft!" he encourages. "Isn't it soft, sweetheart? This is going to keep you nice and cozy tonight for our movie. Do you want me to wrap you up?" 

He drapes it around her shoulders. Little kids are temperamental even if they aren't bad-spirited, and chances are that she doesn't even want it on her, but she smiles as he wraps it around her and lets out a happy line of sounds. 

"Do you like that?" he asks, beaming. 

She drops her cheek to her shoulder and rubs it, her eyes slipping closed in happiness. 

"Eddie," she says sweetly, "it's soft." She says 'soft' clumsily, with lots of weight on the 'oft'. 

Her adorableness often sucker punches him. He kind of assumed he'd felt everything there was to feel, but there's a particular kind of awe that comes with watching her grow, and experiencing nice things. She's endearingly enticed by the material, putting her hand under the blanket so she can pull it to her face and feel it against her nose. He can't see more than the corner of her mouth, but he can tell from the way her cheek apples that she's smiling at hum. 

"I'm glad you like it, junebug." 

"Will you tell him thank you?" you ask, hand on the wall, looking down at her with a similar fondness as he is. "Say, 'thank you, Eddie'." 

Junie has a different plan. She pulls as much of the blanket as she can to her chest and waddles toward him, where she leans her face into his legs. Eddie covers the short breadth of her shoulders with one hand. 

"Thank you," Junie says. 

"Of course, sweetheart. You're very welcome. I'm so happy, you look really comfy. Now we can watch movies in style." 

He turns to his second bag and yanks out another blanket, this one a solid dark grey. He doesn't know if he should, but he does the same as he'd done for Junie, tearing the cardboard fastening off of the blanket and shaking it out, before beckoning you forward and wrapping it around your shoulders. You smile, and you look like you could cry, not that you will but you could, your lips pressed together and your eyebrows gently furrowed. 

He takes your face into both hands. 

"That's an acceptable present?" he asks. 

You turn your head, your lips pressed to the base of his thumb. He strokes the top of your cheek, the skin there smooth and dewy, fresh from the shower. 

"Do you want a kiss?" he asks knowingly. 

You fluster at being read that easily, "No, I… yeah, I do, I do, don't be smug, please…" 

"I'm not smug, I wanna kiss you just as bad as you want me to, I'd crawl into your skin if I could–" 

Your laugh is a shock, your chest shaking where it touches his, and he can't take it anymore. He kisses your smile, his lips clumsy and too eager, a total mismatch as you giggle into his touch. 

He gives your cheek a good rub with his thumb. 

"Thank you," you say. 

He shakes his head. "Don't mention it." 

"This is nice. Did you get one for yourself?" 

He did. "I'd love to say I got one for myself 'cos I thought you'd accept it easier, but I wanted one. They're so soft." 

"So soft," Junie says, slipping on the ends of her blanket as she wobbles toward your embrace. "Up?" 

—

While the blankets that Eddie's brought for you are, in fact, so soft, they're much too warm when the three of you are laying on top of one another. Eddie's like a superheater to your left, Junie's a hot water bottle on your chest, and your hair is damp with sweat. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and sit up on the couch, hand behind Junie's dozing back. 

"You okay?" Eddie asks, pulling his attention from the movie. 

"Too hot." 

"Pass me the baby." He says 'baby' dramatically, like she's one of the rings from his books, or the prodigal child. 

You hand her over. She mumbles something but settles, her nose jabbed into Eddie's clavicle. He pats her back. 

You shrug off the blanket and pull the collar of your shirt away from your neck, fanning yourself lightly. When you're feeling less like you're cooking you stand up, squinting in the dark. Now you've moved the table to the side of the room you don't have to worry about catching your calf on a corner, but it's still a death trap in here when you haven't put away the toys. 

"Do you want another drink?" you ask. 

"Please. Coke if there's any left," Eddie says. 

You walk to the kitchen on tired legs to make two drinks. You hadn't wanted to think about it but you're really hungry, your stomach hurting with it. You open the fridge for the bottle of coke and cast your eyes over the contents. There's more fresh food than you're used to having, but tired as you are, you can't think of anything to make. Something quiet and easy for the late hour would be nice. 

You hear as Eddie follows you in. You look over your shoulder to see if he's brought Junie with him. He's alone. 

"You didn't eat much," he says. 

"I know, that's what I'm looking for." 

"I," he says, melodic, his elbow up as he scratches behind his neck, "will make you whatever you want." 

"Really?" you ask. 

"Sure. Or I could go get you something?" 

"I don't want you driving alone at night," you say. 

"It's not dangerous." 

"No, I know, but I don't want you to leave." 

"Good. Me neither." He joins you in front of the fridge. "I could make you a huge sandwich," he says. "I got some of the fancy cheese at my place." 

"I'm not eating Wayne's cheese." 

"I paid for it," he insists. "No, look, you have cheddar, pepperjack, we don't need fancy cheese. Let me make you a sandwich." 

You slip your hand behind his back and squeeze. 

Eddie kind of grabs you, all jokes, and pushes you down into a chair like he thinks you're trying to run away. "Stay there, fiend," he demands. 

He makes you a sandwich. It's a simple pleasure to watch. He washes his hands, grabs all the fillings, and makes it carefully. It's too much care to be put into a sandwich. It makes your chest ache. 

He browns it in the frying pan and presents it to you with little fanfare. Odd, for him.

"What, no, ta-da? No kiss?" you ask. 

"I was trying to keep it classy," he says, bending down to kiss the skin shy of the corner of your eye. "Now eat, please. I worry about you." 

He doesn't need to ask. He likely couldn't stop you. You're glad he's already your boyfriend, otherwise the speed with which you take your first bite might have put him off. 

"Do you want half?" you ask. 

"No, you eat that whole thing." 

He puts your glass right next to you on the table. There's something unsaid in his gaze, not judgement but close. 

"I've been busy," you defend. 

"How much did you even eat today? You had breakfast, right?" 

You nod, taking a sip of your drink, and size him up. "Munson." 

"Did you, sweetheart? Honestly?" 

"I did! Eddie, please don't worry," you say, pushing him toward the open chair rather than let him crowd you. "You know I'm eating properly, you feed me ten times a week." 

Eddie sits, propping his foot up on the chair by your thigh, and stretches his arms across the table toward you. He flicks your elbow. 

"I don't like thinking about you going hungry," he says. 

"Then it's a good thing I'm not." You take a showy bite of sandwich. 

"Promise?" he asks.

"Yes!" You pat his shin. "Promise promise. It was a busy day, but I had oatmeal and Benny made me a fancy salad, and now this. I'm all fed, thanks to other people. I'm lucky like that." 

"You're not lucky. People want to take care of you because you take such good care of them," he says. You like how he says it, like it's no big deal. 

"I just wish you'd take good care of yourself," he finishes, digging his heel into your thigh. 

You squirm away from his attack, ditching the last couple of bites of your sandwich in favour of the paper towel he'd brought with your plate to wipe your fingers and mouth. 

Clean, you get up from your chair before you can stop yourself and sit on one of his thighs, careful not to rest your full weight there. 

"You're being dramatic," you say as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nose close to his and getting closer. "I love that you worry about me, but you don't need to. Think of all the energy you're wasting on me that could be spent on your music, or your games." 

Eddie pulls you into his lap properly.

"It's one game," he says, hooking you against him so you can't slide off of his legs. "Fine. I won't worry about you so much if you finish your sandwich. Cool?" 

"Don't let me fall," you mumble, stretching back in his arms to grab your plate. 

You slide it across the table, pick up the last quarter of your sandwich, and eat it there in his arms. He looks ridiculously happy to watch. 

The night passes like that. No matter where you go it's in his arms. He calls you his barnacle and you like him so much you let it slide. You only part to carry Junie to bed, sliding her into her toddler bed with all the precision of a professional. 

Eddie gets his hands on you soon after, pressing your back to his front as you brush your teeth half-asleep in the mirror opposite, his minty kisses pressed generously to the side of your head. 

You don't remember getting into bed. When you wake up, it's to the sounds and smells of French toast, or Eddie's approximate version, a spatula scraping against the sides of your frying pan and Eddie singing a children's song. You scrunch your eyes together and groan as you turn into the sheets, hiding your head under the pillow from the noise. You love them, you're tired —maybe in half an hour you'll want to join in. 

You're not sure how much time passes when you wake a second time. Rings slide across the curtain pole, quiet footsteps smushed into the carpet. You turn onto your side and pry your eyes open, lashes barely parted. A bleary slice of Eddie's back takes centre stage. 

He shakes out Junie's blankets and tucks them in. He plumps up her pillow. Gentle, he rights her fallen teddies and sits them up one by one like proper gentlemen. His expression is handsome but blank.

Squared, Eddie moves away from Junie's bed to your forgotten pile of laundry. You'd fallen asleep folding it, and the unfolded stuff will no doubt be full of creases. He gathers everything into your laundry basket and heads for the door, not having looked your way once. You smile to yourself and close your eyes again, totally at ease. 

The door creaks. You haven't managed to open your eyes when a hand is on your shoulder and pressing you into the mattress gently. Eddie kisses your forehead, before dipping down to rest his own against it, sealing in the kiss. He laughs under his breath. 

"This is nice," you say, lips like glue, voice an incoherent mumbling.

"I thought you were awake," he says. 

"I'm not." 

He rubs your shoulder, a long and loving sweep. "Stay in bed as long as you want to. Me and June are gonna go outside and try soccer." 

You groan and throw your arms around him tiredly, "No," you say, "you better help me up so I can change her diaper." 

Eddie helps you sit up. You blink blink blink, and rub your eyes, and when you can see again you stand up. He follows you into the hall. You don't question it when he starts to clean you up from behind, stroking your hair and pulling your pyjama pants back up the hip they'd been falling down. 

"I feel like I've been run over," you tell him. 

You feel heaps better when you see the main section of the trailer. 

The kitchen is clean. Sparkling. The living room is the same when you peer around to find Junie. She's standing on the couch, Eddie clearly having brushed her hair, the mess of the night before nowhere to be seen. He's taken care of everything while you slept. 

You about to turn around and collapse on him in a hug, but Junie sees you and starts talking, taking big bounding steps across the couch cushions until she's at the end of the one closest to you. You step forward to greet her. 

"Hellooo, lovely girl," you say, dragging her up the length of your chest to meet her eyes. "Eddie says you're gonna play soccer outside. Do you think that sounds fun?" 

"I want mommy," she murmurs.

"I'm right here," you say. She pouts. "What, you want me to come and play soccer?" you ask. "I'll play soccer, baby, just let me get you changed first." 

She isn't happy, but she perks up when she's clean again, double when you squeeze her into a dress and tell her how nice she looks. 

"Eddie did your hair already, so there's nothing left for me to do," you say sweetly, brushing your hands down the length of her skirt. "You're all ready!" 

Junie is less ready for soccer than you thought. Eddie runs down to his home to get a ball and you, having changed and eaten, sit down outside in the growing grass surrounding your trailer on a towel. The sun shines, the sky is a beautiful ocean blue, and Junie does not want to get up from your lap. 

You're content to let her sunbathe, applying sun cream to her face, neck, arms and legs just in case and which she abhors, wriggling and whining as you coo at her. She calms as you rub it in. 

"You'll thank me one day," you say with a small laugh. 

Junie goes quiet. It's not like her, she's a babbler, but you sit in it with her rather than talk for a moment. 

She looks like you.

She's happy, and loved. So much has changed since you moved here. She was always loved unconditionally, and nearly always happy, but she's growing. You both are. 

You thought moving here would be good for her, but you never stopped to think it might be good for you too. Eddie terrifies you, or rather the idea of losing him does. You have these moments where you think about him and plot the possibilities, that one day you'll be waiting for him to come calling and he won't, or one day Junie will ask you where he is and you'll have nothing good to say. It's a catastrophisation if you've ever had one —you trust Eddie, you've let him into almost every aspect of your life. It goes without saying that you trust him not to hurt you. 

But trusting him doesn't mean you can stop yourself from worrying about the future. You told him already, maybe it's being a mom or something, that your brain chooses a new thing to needle at every day, and you roll with it the best that you can. 

Junie smiles at you. 

"Mom… so pretty," she says. You stop short. 

She does this sometimes. You've taught her a lump sum of conversational tidbits from everyday life. Like, "Don't touch, baby," often referring to something hot, or, "Wow! Look at you!" when she's in new clothes. Every time she says one back to you it makes you laugh, but this one hits you like a freight train, right in the heart. 

"You think I'm pretty?" you ask. 

You don't know if Junie even knows what pretty is. You say it to her so often, it might feel like a strand of "I love you," or even, "Good morning." Maybe she doesn't get it. 

She sits up in your lap and reaches up for your face with both hands. You bend to let her. 

"Pretty," she says again. She squeezes your cheek. 

Maybe she doesn't understand. Or maybe she does. Yeah, she does. Your baby thinks you're pretty. You pour love into her unfailingly and she's giving you some of her own. 

"You really think that?" you ask, smiling in her little palms. "Gorgeous girl, I love you. I love you love you." 

"I love you," she says back. 

"You do?" you ask, delighted and selfish because of course she loves you. You wanna hear it again.

"Yes." She drags the 's' sound, her eyes crinkled up. "Mommy," she says. 

"Yeah?" 

Her hands fall back onto her chest, and she sags against your thigh. "Mom?" 

"What, baby? You want something? You want some juice?" She doesn't respond. "You want something yummy to eat?" 

She says a string of words you don't understand. Not a lick of sense start to end. You sigh, duck your lips to her neck, and blow the biggest raspberry that you can. At the same time, you press your fingers into her underarms, tickling down her sides. You laugh at her sudden shrieking and blow another raspberry, and another one, struggling to draw breath as her giggles infect you completely. 

"I got you," you tease. 

"No, mommy!" she squeals, sounding more pleased than her pleas might suggest. 

"I do, I have you!" 

"It tickles a lot!" 

"I have to tickle you, it's part of my job." 

"Mommy," she says, almost breathless. You ease up. You don't want to wear her out. 

"Mwah," you say, giving her a sorry kiss. 

She laughs again. You think she might attempt another sentence —you can practically see the cogs of her brain turning behind her eyes— but she's cut off by a familiar voice. 

"Girls! Y/N!" Eddie hollers. "They're having way too much fun without me." 

You look up at his call, frowning at his odd phrasing, and are immediately startled to see he isn't by himself. 

At one side of him stands a pale girl with brown hair cropped to her chin, in a mock biker jacket despite the heat carrying the promised soccer ball Eddie left to retrieve. A half step behind her is a taller guy with dark blonde hair, a smile on his face. You meet his eyes accidentally, forcing yourself to smile despite your confusion so he doesn't get the wrong idea. 

They must be Eddie's friends. You've met Gareth, from his old band, and Melanie, one of the cooks from The Hideout, but you haven't met these guys. 

"Y/N, sweetheart," he says, rather proudly, if you do say so yourself, "these losers caught me at home. Robin," —he points at the girl, who smiles with all her teeth— "my very good friend, and Steve, her leech." 

"Hi," Steve says first, surprising you again. "And that's Junie?" 

"That's Junie," Eddie says, again so proudly. 

"Hi Junie," Steve says. He's smiling at you, sure, but he's beaming at your baby. "Holy– she's bigger than I thought, I kind of pictured a baby baby, you know?" 

"I showed you a picture, man," Eddie says.

"She didn't look this old in the picture," Steve says. He looks heistant for a second. "Can we sit down?" 

"Yeah– yes, yeah, please. Can I get you guys something to drink?" you say, sitting up too quick and almost tipping Junie out of your lap. She says, "Woah!" in her little voice and Steve, Robin and Eddie all laugh. 

"I'll get drinks, don't worry," Eddie says. 

He walks around your towel to head up the trailer steps. Steve sits on the grass by your towel, and Robin kneels with the ball in her hands opposite. Neither is dressed for the sunny weather but they don't seem to mind. 

"It's nice to meet you," Steve says, giving Robin a weighted look. 

"We've been asking," Robin says. 

"I didn't know," you say apologetically. 

"No, we know, you're like Munson's best kept secret half the time. One minute he's showing us your picture all smug but when we ask about you he just rolls his eyes." 

"'Wouldn't you like to know,'" Robin quotes with a smarmy smile. 

"So he doesn't talk about me?" you ask. 

"He doesn't shut up," Steve says. "Sorry, we're kind of kidding." 

"Oh–" Junie wriggles in your arms. Her face is in your neck, but she keeps turning to sneak peeks at these friendly newcomers. For once, being a mom is gonna save you from awkwardness rather than subject you to it further. "June," you say softly, "you wanna say hello? These are Eddie's friends. You can say hi, baby." 

Junie isn't shy around new people. After your reassurance and a couple more seconds looking at them with mild suspicion, Junie turns her face to Robin and says, "Hi." 

"Hi," she says back. "She's a really pretty kid. Me and Steve have worked at the video store for like, almost three years, and we see some uggos." 

"Rob," Steve says.

"What?" Robin asks. 

"You can't say that." 

"Mom," Junie says. 

You look down as she looks up. "What?" 

"Where's Eddie?" she asks. 

You lean back and turn her encouragingly toward the open trailer door. "He's inside. He's coming back." 

"He…" She looks between you and the doorway. Her voice is quiet. "Play soccer and me?" 

"Yeah, he's gonna play soccer with you." 

"With me," she says. 

You grin. "Exactly." 

You've only ever had Junie, so you don't know what counts as slow or advanced or normal, but you know kids all go at their own pace, and that most get there eventually without help. 

Your girl's never been quiet. She speaks even when she doesn't have the words. Daycare and your dedicated encouragement have brought it on suddenly, leaps and bounds of words, but she's still slightly behind, you think, although you trust that she'll get there when she can. Her vocabulary grows every single day. 

"How old is she?" Robin asks, pulling her knees to her chest, soccer ball held in front of her shoes. 

"Uh, she'll be three really soon," you say. 

"Oh, she's kind of small," Steve says. 

"You just said she was big," Robin says belligerently. 

"I already said, she looks different in the picture," Steve says, frowning at Robin forcefully. "Does she look three to you?" 

"Yeah, doofus," Robin says. 

"Her birthday's in June, so it's really coming," Eddie says, a tray in hand you barely remember owning and bedecked in drinks. 

He has four big lemonades and June's sippy cup, the pink one that was supposed to help her transition from bottles to cups and has yet to be progressed from further. Like always, these things take time. 

"Can you believe that?" you ask. "It's already summer." 

"Ew, no. I need time to slow down. Summer at the video store is hell, and it's about to get worse because Steve's ditching me." 

"How come?" you ask.

Eddie sits beside you with the tray. It impresses you that he doesn't tip a drop, until you remember that he's a bus boy, and at times when the Hideout gets super busy he acts as a regular waiter, just like you. 

"Steve's gonna start working at Cork Kids," Eddie says. 

"The daycare? No way, that's where Junie goes," you say excitedly.  

"Really?" Steve asks, smiling again. "I just signed my contract with them. Looks like we might be seeing each other all the time, Junie." 

"You'll have a friend before you start," you say. 

"Oh, thanks," Steve says, looking down at his lap momentarily. 

You side eye Eddie, who gives you a look that says he knows what you're thinking. At first glance, Steve looked like a normal, perhaps preppy guy, but it makes sense that there's some uncertainty there. Eddie seems to attract earnest people with self-esteem issues.

"Have you been around kids before?" you ask. 

"I– yeah, I had to take a course, but this is my first go at it as a job. I can handle it though, I'm good with kids. I'm new to looking after the younger ones."

"It's hard work," Eddie says. 

You shake your head. "No, it's easy, they're lovely. My June is a sweetheart, I promise." 

"She makes it look easy," Eddie says, shaking his head vehemently. 

Robin snickers at Eddie's fear mongering and drops the soccer ball in favour of one of the glasses of lemonade. Ice cubes clink against the side of the glass as she takes a sip.

Junie's interest is piqued by the ball. She sits up in your lap, looking tentatively between the adults surrounding her and the prize ahead. Robin nudges the ball toward her subtly with her foot. Junie's delighted as it rolls toward her, standing so she can grab it. It makes her look small to be holding something so big near her head. 

"Do you wanna play?" Eddie asks her. 

Junie shrugs. "With you?" 

"Yeah, with me." 

She looks at Robin. "Play?" 

"Sure," Robin says. 

"What about me?" Steve asks. "Can I play, too?" 

Junie looks oddly hesitant. You rub one of her arms briefly. "Steve can play too, right, baby?" 

She squints at him. "Okay. Steve too." 

Eddie chokes on a laugh. "Exactly how I feel about him. Oh, come on, Harrington! You know I'm joking. Just get up already, Junie wants to play." 

—

Eddie's lying down in the grass a couple of hours later when you sit at his hip. He's tuckered out from running, kicking, and throwing June around, and he's in desperate need of a shower. You clearly don't care, bending over his prone form, your arms around his stomach in a skewiff hug.

"Hi, handsome." 

"Hi. She's sleeping?" 

You'd dragged Junie inside and out of the sun to change and feed her, and Eddie had stayed outside to say a proper goodbye to his friends. Now they're gone, and the lack of her points to one obvious explanation. 

"Missed her nap. She was asleep by her third mouthful." 

"That's my bad." 

"No, she had the most fun she's ever had today." 

What's better than one person willing to dote on you? Four. Steve had been eager and honestly more than happy to meet Junie and get to know her, and Robin had been awkward at first but just as kind. Good thing: Junie declared Robin her new best friend. Eddie couldn't help feeling a little sorry for Steve, but she warmed up to him eventually. 

"I'm glad, actually, 'cos I've totally fucked my jeans. Cancels out."

You'd absolutely decimated your jeans with grass stains. Reluctant, you'd agreed to play soccer, or a mismatch game with way less players. You, Junie, and Robin against the boys. You were starting to enjoy yourself when you slid, and Eddie thought, Oh, fuck, she's gonna be embarrassed, ready to jump in and help you up, but you burst out laughing and Junie ran to your side, ecstatic at the sound.  

"I'll get you new jeans." 

"I'll get myself new jeans," you say, rubbing your nose against his chest. It tickles, butterflies erupting beneath your touch. "It'll wash out. Probably." 

"I'll get you new jeans," he says firmly, searching for your hand. 

He wraps his fingers around it and feels your skin without motive, the sky a calmed, darkening blue above him, orange and pink hints whispering at the horizon. 

"Do you think they liked me?" 

"They did. I know they did. Steve gave me that look guys give each other." 

"That look," you croon, laying down in the grass beside him. 

Eddie misses your hugging but lavishes in the feeling of you under his arm, your face turning into his chest. He lifts his head to see you've closed your eyes and pressed your mouth against his shirt. 

"He's jealous." 

"He's not jealous," you say fondly. 

"He should be," Eddie says, curling his arm around you. 

"Don't flirt with me." 

"I can't stop." 

You laugh. He doesn't hear it so much as feel it, the gentle shaking of your shoulders. Dropping his nose into your hair, Eddie closes his eyes as you have and breathes you in. 

"Holy shit," he says, pretending to be alarmed. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." 

"Tell me," you say. 

"No, it's nothing." 

You huff showfully and lift your head to look at him in question. The longer you look the weaker your resolve becomes, until you're cupping his face, total adoration in your eyes as you ask, "What?" 

"Just can't believe we're together," he says. He lifts his chin. Your hand falls to his neck. "That's all." 

You soften further. There's a hint of sadness to your tone, "Me neither." 

"It shouldn't be feasible for someone to have as much luck as I do. Hey, d'you think you could kiss my dice before I leave tonight?" 

You tuck a piece of hair behind his ear, your gaze on his lips and chin.

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah, I'll kiss your dice… m'just thinking." 

The wind blows mildly, lapping the smell of grass and dry dirt your way. Eddie finds he kind of likes it, but that could be the smell of you overtop, domineering as it is. Jasmine, the lingering scent of talcum powder, honey and milk hand soap. The last remnants of your shampoo, if he really thinks about it. You smell like everything he's ever wanted. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asks quietly. 

"You and me." 

"I'm always thinking about you and me," he says. 

You hug him, hiding your face in his chest for a second time. "I'm the lucky one," you say. 

Eddie stretches back in the soft grass and looks up into the sky. Sunset approaches without any concern for what Eddie wants; to stay here with you for a long, long while. It's too bad that he has to find a lock for your bathroom, and go see Gareth and the remaining Hellfire Club (or rather, the remaining members of his Hellfire generation) for another session of D&D.

"Maybe I'll call. Cancel." 

"No, you have to go. You spend too much time with me as it is. You need your friends, and you'll have fun when you're there, you always do." 

"I don't spend enough time with you," he says. 

If he had it his way, he'd happily spend forever locked in time with you here, the warmth of your body sinking into his side and his hair trapped under your weight. It tugs every time you move. He likes you so much that he doesn't consider asking you to stay still. 

It's quiet. Eddie can hear the wind over the grass, the ticking wheel spokes of bikes somewhere not far, and your breathing. Slow, deep breaths. 

"I'm glad I could fall in love with you before I noticed it was happening," he says, his voice low and a tad rough.

Your breath catches. 

It's a half truth. He was well aware of how much he liked you, but hadn't realised it was going to be such an intense sort of reverential affection until he was already knee deep in it. 

"I barely felt it," he says. "No, that's wrong," —he smiles, his words warmed by affection— "I did feel it. I felt it and it was intense, but it was ridiculously easy. Like I'd already done it before. One day I'm stealing looks at you over Friday dessert and the next I wanted you so badly I couldn't make myself ask for it.

"And… even though I wanted you, I think I fell in love with being your friend first. I'm fucking grateful for that, for you. You're everything to me." A best friend and a great love. 

"Oh," you mumble, your hand sliding up his chest to the space opposite his heart. "You might actually have to cancel seeing your friends, I don't think I can let you leave after that." 

You lift your chin, steer his face to yours, and kiss him. It's soft, but Eddie can feel an exuberance underneath it. Like a vibration. A thrumming fondness for him in the way you pull away and dive right back in. 

One kiss turns to two, and a third lends itself to something deeper, his lips parting under the light pressure of your weight above him. 

He drapes his arm behind your neck, hooking you into the crook of it. The kisses after that are endless and too short, heavy and not heavy enough. He can't tell his own touch from yours, your hands or his hands, the tip of your nose as it slides into his; as you search downward for something more. 

"Public indecency," he says when he can't breathe, nudging you away. 

You draw in a big breath and sit up so you're kneeling beside him. He sits up too in an attempt to minimise the space between you, feeling flushed as though he's done a forbidden thing, rather than having just kissed his partner. 

He grabs your hands. He isn't ready to part with them. 

"I think I fell in love with you when I cut your hair," you say. The setting sun is like gold, your skin aglow in its wash. 

"Yeah?" 

"Or maybe the first time that you came to see me at work." Your eyes light up at the memory. "You didn't even try to pretend it was for food. You didn't care." 

He shakes your hands around mindlessly. "The haircut was a big event for me, too," he says through another smile. 

They're constant when he's with you. 

"Do you still want me to cut your hair?" you ask, tilting your head to one side in appraisal. 

"Maybe tomorrow. I think I'd lose my mind tonight." 

"I think so, too," you say.

You lean down as you lift one of his hands to the underside of your chin, rubbing your skin with his knuckles. You draw a line with his hand, your chin to your jaw to your cheek. 

His heart skips a beat at the sight. Your serene expression, your soft cheek, and the little smile that blooms as he opens his hand and strokes quarter circles into the desired space with his thumb. 

"Are you gonna shower before you go?" you ask mildly, eyes half-lidded. 

"Do I smell?" 

"Kind of," you say. 

"You never smell gross," he says, a tiny lie. Everybody smells bad sometimes, but the majority of the time you smell like heaven on earth. 

You roll your eyes. "You're all talk." 

"Maybe. Maybe not." 

He leans in for a quick kiss, like a dotting of the lips. He does it another two times, to be sure you feel as loved as he feels. "Okay, I better go. I'll shower, and I'll see if there's a lock I can borrow for the bathroom 'til I have time to go to the store." 

"You don't have to do that, I can take Junie and get one tonight."

He kisses you again. "It's okay," he says with a smile, his lips a hair's width from yours. He pulls away. "I don't mind. Saves you having to get her ready, I know she's a demon in the store lately." 

"She used to be our little lady," you lament faux-tearfully. 

"That she did, sweetheart. That she did." 

Eddie pulls himself out of your arms reluctantly. 

Wayne's eating a grilled cheese sandwich over the sink when Eddie gets home, and a second when he gets out of the shower, so he picks Wayne's brain and towel dries his hair. 

"How do we stop June from getting into the bathroom?" he asks, hanging his head upside down and scrubbing at his stringy curls. 

"Lock it." 

"If we don't have a lock?" he asks, looking through his curtain of hair. 

"Buy one." Wayne shrugs. 

Eddie drops the towel onto the floor by his feet. "I'm going to. But for tonight?" 

"Put a chair under the door of your room so she can't leave when you're asleep." 

"Not my room," Eddie says. A flush colours his cheeks. 

"Are you going to move in with her? You could get a new place, rent one of those houses by the elementary school. They're nice enough." 

"Woah, woah, who says I'm moving out?" Eddie asks, laughing nervously. 

Wayne takes a big bite of sandwich and Eddie suffers without an answer until he's done. "'We,'" Wayne says, "you keep saying 'we'. Sounds serious."  

"I think it's a little soon to move in," Eddie says. 

"Me too. But if you're thinking about it, it doesn't hurt to start saving. I'll help." 

Eddie wants to say no, you definitely won't. "Yeah," he says instead, coughing to cover the tickle in his throat. "Alright. Thanks, Wayne." 

"Moving is expensive, but she can't stay in that place forever. Junie'll outgrow it in a year." 

"We live in almost the exact same trailer," Eddie says with a laugh. 

"Exactly. And we're comfortable." Wayne swigs his coke. "But if I could've, we would've moved." 

"You still could." 

"Are you kidding me? This is my home. When you move out I think I'll stay in the front room, I like it in there. TV in bed, big windows." 

"I bet you'll like it more when I'm not around keeping you up at night." 

Wayne shrugs. "Most people live with their kids until they're eighteen, right? We had a late start. You're entitled to a couple more if you want them… but something tells me you'll be flying the coop soon enough." 

"Not that soon." 

Wayne sniffs like this is upsetting for him, "Well, whenever you're ready, kid." 

—

Eddie comes back a little later to tell you to trap the baby in your room tonight and he'll get you a lock first thing in the morning, promise. You love him because he calls her 'the baby', and because he could've called rather than park up his van and tell you in person. He gives you another kiss, you can't count how many that makes it, saying he'll see you tomorrow, and that's that. 

Junie wakes up from her nap not long after. She's startlingly grumpy considering, and she demonstrates the horror of motherhood concisely —she screams, she cries, she pushes your glass of juice off of the table. It smashes it into a hundred different pieces. 

She screams louder when you pick her up to stop her from cutting her feet. 

You love her, but it's been a long day. You're exhausted, your head hurts, and it's difficult to clean up smashed glass with a kid. You don't wanna leave her unattended when she's wound up in case she has a tantrum. She's given herself bruises before, and you don't want or need that to happen again. 

If you put her down she might try to touch the glass. You clutch her to your chest and sweep the glass up one-handed. It takes a long time, and she only grows more irate as it passes, wiggling in your arms to be put down. 

She squirms and pulls her arms from under yours, hitting you square in the face by mistake. You're lucky it hadn't happened earlier. They don't mean to, but babies in tantrums tend to flail around, and June's great at chinning you. 

It's an accident, you know it is, but you flinch and almost drop her. 

"Juniper," you say firmly, desperate for an intermission. 

She quietens a touch. You take a very deep breath, abandon the almost full dustpan, and walk as quickly as you can to your room. You put Junie down on her toddler bed, put Mr. Bear in her lap, and crawl into bed with a pillow over your head. 

You don't scream or anything, but you could. One sharp moment. You could really scream. You would if you thought it wouldn't scare her. 

It's not Junie's fault. You have a shorter fuse than usual and it's incredibly frustrating when she gets in one of these moods, but she's your baby, you made her, and she's growing up. It must be frustrating for her, too. 

She cries quietly in bed, the sound turning your heart. You try to stop your own tears and give yourself a minute in hiding. You nibble your lip. Why are you so stressed? You can't work it out. 

You know she's hardwork sometimes, but it's not her fault. It's not your fault, either. You're both doing the best you can. 

You take a breath, another, and peel the pillow from your head.

She has snot on her face, wide-eyed and hugging Mr. Bear to her cheek.

Your nose stings. 

"You wanna come and lie in bed with me?" you ask, begging whoever it is that's watching over you to have her give in. 

With Mr. Bear's ear in her fist, Junie slides off of the bed and crosses the small space of the room to yours. You pull her up onto your mattress and smile at her. Guilt is a leaden weight in your stomach. It aches, seeing her all covered in tears, worse because she looks properly scolded. You don't often tell her off. 

"Your nose?" she says. 

"It's okay." You clear your throat. "It's okay, lovely girl." 

She blinks at you and raises her hand to your nose. You let her feel it, even though it hurts. 

"Does it look like it's hurting?" you ask. 

She doesn't usually connect her actions like this. A month ago she bit your index finger and couldn't figure out why you pulled your hand away. You're surprised that this is different. 

"No…" She sniffles. 

"I'm okay. Don't be worried, baby, mom's alright. It doesn't hurt. But you can give it a little kiss, if you want. That'll be good." 

You bend down for her. 

"Kiss?" you ask. 

She leans up and kisses the tip of your nose. It's not a clean kiss. You don't mind. 

"Thank you." 

"You'w welcome," she mumbles. 

You sigh, pulling your shirt sleeve over your hand so you can wipe her messy face. "Let me clean you up, you're all snotty. Make you feel better. There we go, there's my girl. I couldn't see you under all the tears." You stroke her cheek with your knuckle. "I'm sorry, baby. Everything was very overwhelming. Should we try again?" 

She looks like she might grizzle. 

"Let's have dinner, yeah? You can pick something from the freezer. Any dinner you want." 

Dinner works for a time, but afterward she has more sulking to do. You keep her on her toes, playing games and watching TV. She's clean but you're pulling out all the stops, filling the baby bath for her and letting her play until the water's cold and you're soaked from her rubber ducks. 

She still doesn't sleep. In a last ditch effort, you give her a bottle of warm milk, though she's aged out of formula now, and it works. 

She falls asleep hours later than she should. It's nearly 11PM. 

You look down at her asleep on your chest. Her eyes are swollen from crying buckets. Your own prickle, until tears swim and your vision blurs.

You press the back of your hand to your mouth, eyes scrunched closed, and try to make as little noise as possible. It's awful timing, you'll wake her before she's properly sleeping, but you've felt so tired today, and even when Eddie's friends came for a couple of hours you were already rubbed raw. You're tired all the time.  

In compliance with the nature of being upset, the things that are upsetting you grow in size. They double, quadruple, until they're heavy enough to knock you down for the count, have you crying like a kid out of pure defeat. You cry so hard it pulls every bit of energy you have and kills it, so hard you couldn't make noise if you wanted to, about everything and nothing. You're at the end of your rope. 

You rub Junie's back and wish someone was rubbing your own. It's an odd distress. 

It's lucky you hear his footsteps on the steps outside. 

If Eddie walked in on you like this, you'd never forgive yourself. You can't imagine it. He's seen you hungry, greasy. He's watched you put things back at the store, he knows you lived off of leftovers and saltiness for months. And you'd do it all again for your girl, but it still hurts thinking he's seen you that low. 

You shudder, sucking in two big breaths that won't work. 

You drag a rumpled sleeve over your cheeks and try not to move. 

The knock is very gentle. You can picture him on the other side, stooped and waiting for you to let him in. If he thinks you're asleep he won't knock again, and it's late. If you can stay quiet for long enough, he'll go home. 

He tries the handle. 

"Oh, my god," he says when it opens, "I'm gonna fight her." 

The her in question sniffs and wipes her eyes again. Eddie flinches at the sound, his head whipping to the side to find you where you're balled up on the couch. 

"Holy shit, what's wrong?" he asks. 

You shake your head. "N-nothing," you stammer quietly. 

"What?" he asks, like this is preposterous, and you guess it is. Something seems very wrong. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door as he closes it and doesn't waste any time, though he's quiet and careful as he crosses the room and sits down next to you. 

His hand cups your cheek, feeling the tacky damp there for himself. 

"What's wrong? Tell me… tell me,” he says. 

"It's nothing," you say. 

You'd wanted a hand to rub your back, but it's sudden. He's here, and he's seen you crying, and you have no control over it. You never really do. 

"It looks like something," he whispers. 

You cover Junie's head with your hand. Your smile is somehow more concerning than your frown, if Eddie's reaction is anything to go off of. 

"I'm fine." 

"How long has she been sleeping?" he asks. 

"I don't know.” You sniffle.

For some reason, Eddie's question starts you off again, tears welling in your eyes like fat drops of dew and falling just as fast. One squeezes under his hand. 

"Is something hurting?" he asks, his brow pinched now, nothing but patience in his tone. 

"No." 

"How about I put her to bed for you?" he asks. 

"Yes, please." 

His frown deepens as the tears build. You're horrified to notice his wince at your shuddering, but breath won't come right. His hands needle under Junie's front, tense as a taut string, and Eddie lifts her into his arms, not quite practised. He shushes her when she mumbles. 

"I'll be right back," he mouths.

You nod at his promise. As soon as he's cleared the living room you curl forward, face in your hands, shoulders shaking hard as you wipe your cheeks, catching tears before they race the hill of your cheek. 

Things must go well. Eddie's back thirty seconds later, and he's worried. 

"Hey, hey. Tell me what happened," he murmurs, perching on the couch next to you.

You try. You're not sure what's upset you, and when you open your mouth nothing wants to come out. Eddie's never, ever seen you cry like this, and it's clear that it's freaking him out. 

He curves his arm behind your shoulders and pulls you to his side, voice a pleading murmur as he says, "What's wrong? Please, sweetheart, tell me." 

"I'm tired," you force out. The main issue. 

"I know." 

"Sorry, I don't– know why I'm crying so much," you say, words staggered.

Eddie encourages your head under his chin. There's nothing specific beyond that, no more talking from either of you. He hugs your shoulders tightly, likely tighter than he means to, as though he's worried you'll come apart if he doesn't. The strange feeling of helplessness abates slowly, like an ebbing tide guided away from the shore. 

Your sobs turn to smaller, spluttering tears, until the panic fades completely, and the waterworks eventually stop. 

"I'm sorry," you mumble, fighting the sore lump in your throat.  

"It's okay." You can feel him swallow. "You scared me. You– Do you need something? Some water?"

"No…" You feel like a little kid and like you're too old at the same time. You haven't cried that hard in a long time, and you hadn't had Eddie there to sit with you through it. You're grateful for that, if nothing else. "Can you just–" You turn toward him. "Can I have a hug?" 

He steel arms you into his chest, dropping a kiss against your hot forehead.  

"Yes," he says, punctuating with more kisses. "No question about it. You can have anything you want from me. Would it make you feel better if I cried, too? I can do that, sweetheart, I could really go for it. In sixth grade, I made myself cry so hard I threw up 'cos I wanted to get out of gym." 

You choke on a laugh. 

He doubles down. 

"I was dry heaving on the bleachers for an hour," he says, his hand behind your head and vying for your clammy neck, stroking a line when he finds it. "They wouldn't send me to the nurse." 

"I don't need you to cry. It's… Junie's been wound up like a top all day, and she woke up and just screamed for hours, Eds, screamed. She couldn't have been asleep ten minutes when you got here." 

"I'm sorry. That must have been overwhelming." 

You peer up into his face to gauge his expression. Not that you think he's ingenuine, but you're worried he's humouring you. 

"I got mad at her." 

He hums. "Yeah?" 

"I didn't mean to, but she hit me." 

"What?" 

"By accident." 

"No, I figured. Where'd she get you?" 

"My nose," you admit. 

Eddie leans out of the circle of your arms to see your face, bringing a hand to your cheek. He assesses your nose. You want to tell him there's nothing to find, but it's nice to be checked over. His palm is warm. 

"If you're crying because you got angry, I promise it's alright. Everybody has a breaking point." 

"I know." You hadn't been cruel. You took what you could, and when it got too much you set her down and had a breather. 

"Wayne got so mad at me one time he asked me to go get him rosemary toothpaste just so he could have an hour away from me." 

"Rosemary toothpaste?" 

He turns your head slightly to the side. "Doesn't exist." 

"What did you do to make him mad?" 

"Cut all the sleeves off of my t-shirts." 

"All of them?" 

"Every single shirt I owned. It was a cold winter." 

He smiles, his pale cheeks appled, his big brown eyes reflecting your own. 

"Did you get really mad?" he asks softly. 

"No,” you say, cutting yourself some slack. “I didn’t.”

“You know you're allowed though?”

“I don't want to get mad at her. She can't help it.”

“Neither can you. I'm not saying you should yell at her, but don't beat yourself up for not enjoying a sucker punch.”

“It wasn’t that. I’m not upset about it, I mean, I’m not very happy but it’s not the first time I felt overwhelmed by her. I don’t care if she drives me up the wall sometimes, I don’t even care about the impromptu nose job,” —Eddie whoops, before covering his mouth apologetically— “or that she took awhile to go down. I really don't know why…”

“I'm going to say something.”

“Oh no.”

“Not trying to be a freak here, but maybe you're visiting with the devil.”

You sit back. His hands fall to your hips. 

“Sorry?” you ask. 

Eddie smiles ruefully. “You know. Riding the crimson wave.” He grimaces at your continued confusion. “Time of month?”

You’re embarrassed thinking he’s embarrassed by it, but luckily he furthers, “Sorry if that’s weird to say, I don’t know if that’s weird. I’d, like, crawl across hot coals for you, I really don’t care if that’s what it is, just girls get kind of intense. Emotionally. At that time.”

“Oh really?” you ask. 

His skin turns ashen. “Um–”

“I'm kidding,” you say.

Your hand drifts to your stomach. It would make sense as to why you’re feeling very tired and confused about your emotions, and it might be nearing that time. You’re so busy you haven't been keeping track. “Maybe it is,” you say, mumbling still.

“I’m not saying you can't have a breakdown if you need one,” he says. 

“No, I know. Maybe you’re right. I kind of hope you're right.”

“Is this awkward?” 

“You sleep in my bed nearly every night, Eds. I dont think it's awkward unless you do.”

“Again, I’d crawl across hot coals for you, so… this is the most minor thing ever. Not for you, for me. For you, it sucks. For me?” He pinches your cheek gently. “I worship the ground you walk on, you loser, I don't care if it’s shark week. We’re not in middle school.

“But if it isn’t hormones making you unhappy, if you really feel this awful, you can tell me.”

“I don't know what it is," you say, embarrassed, a headache pounding in your temple. 

“That’s okay though, right? Or is it too much?”

“I feel better,” you say. It's true and not true. 

Fuck, he’s sweet. His lips pout ever so slightly in concern for you, his brows pinching down. His hands remain steadfast on your hips. 

“Well, if it gets too much you gotta let me know. Legally. That’s the whole point of having a boyfriend, I think. You gotta let me take care of you… You're sure you feel better?”

“Yeah. I really am sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being a loser.” You laugh wetly. 

“Ah, but you're my loser,” he says, arms curling behind your back again. “I don't want you to cry, but if you are going to then I’m glad it’s when you’re with me, yeah? I don’t like that you were crying alone. Think of all the amazing support you missed out on. I could’ve been rubbing your back that whole time.” He rubs your back in emphasis. 

“That feels nice.”

“Do you have any aches?”

“I always have aches, I’m a waitress.”

“Me too.” He presses his lips to your skin. “Let me make you something to drink, and I’ll stay the night, if that’s cool? I can rub your back for hours without getting tired.” 

“‘Cos you have such big muscles,” you agree indulgently. He has amazingly shaped biceps, but that’s besides the point. 

“That is exactly why.”

He blows a breath out against your cheek and sits back into the couch. “Do me a favour? Next time I ask you what’s wrong, don't say nothing. Don’t hide when you’re feeling like shit, I need to know.”

"Okay. Yeah, I will. Just… you always see me at my worst." 

Eddie chucks under your chin and begins to stand. "I get to see you at your best, too. It's a good deal." 

It’s a good deal, you mouth to yourself.

“Get up,” he says from the front door, mock-cross when you don't immediately follow, “I can't go to bed by myself.” He locks the front door, sliding the deadbolt home. “You didn’t kiss my dice, you know? That’s why I came tonight, to harp at you.”

“And that couldn't wait until tomorrow?”

Eddie glares at you, “No?”

You hold your hands up, your voice still thick from tears but inarguably in love. “Alright. Harp at me. But carry me to bed first.”

It’s not long before he’s pushing his head against your side, arms at your waist in an attempt to lift you over his shoulder like a fireman, whisper-yelling, “What are you saying? You asked me to carry you! I can’t hear you, babe, just brace yourself.”

—

Junie has the sense that you're being weird. She’s three, or one day away from it, and she won’t remember anything you’re saying right now but she’ll remember how she felt, the warmth of your loving hand in her hair, stroking it from her face as you and Eddie titter at one another. Eddie’s like you, in a way, a mom but not around as much. Almost as much recently, though, which is great news. 

“I saw one in the department store by the bus station,” Eddie says, strumming his guitar. It plinks. 

Junie sniffs, her nose a little runny, and dips her head back against your chest. You smell like home, the sweet and soft swirl of lavender and jasmine laundry powder, a burning smell she doesn’t really care for that comes after you sit on the floor and press the clothes —hot hot hot, junebug— every other night, and the treats you’re sharing. 

“Sounds expensive,” you say gently. 

“So?”

“So,” you say, and Junie bristles at the mild annoyance in your tone, because you are incredibly soft-handed and have been since she was born, “I won’t be able to afford it, Eds.” Your annoyance fades as soon as it comes, and you say ‘Eds’ so nicely that Junie turns her face and rubs her cheek into your t-shirt. 

“You okay, baby?” you ask her. 

Junie huffs, pleased. She is very okay. Even better when you offer her another chocolatey cookie. 

“It’s her birthday, she only gets one a year. And I’d be happy to pay for it, anyways.”

“Yeah, you’re always happy to pay for things, you have a screw loose.”

Eddie laughs. Junie laughs at his laughing; whenever he’s laughing there’s happiness afoot. He loves to swing her around in his arms, tickle her, play with her small army of teddies and make them speak. He beams at her from his seat on the floor in front of the TV, the guitar that she’s grown to revere twanging as he puts it down on the floor. 

“Hearing that, bug? Your mommy can’t leave me alone today.” 

Junie, for all her brilliant smarts, her growing mind, doesn’t really get what he means. She knows that she’s the bug he’s talking to, and that he’s doing something fun from the lilting cadence of his teasing, but beyond that it’s nonsense. 

She loses interest quickly and returns to her melting cookie, unperturbed by the mess that it makes of her small hands and once-pristine sleeves. You never shout about stains, so Junie doesn’t see a problem, not until you laugh, the breath of it warm against her ear, and push the sleeves of her shirt up the lengths of her arms. She’s wearing her very favourite strawberry pyjamas today, though they make her agitated every now and then because they don’t feel quite right. She doesn’t see why. They’ve always been the best.

“Don’t listen to stinky,” you say. 

Junie nods. Mom always knows best, she knows, in an abstract way. Except for when you say that the one-eyed stray that slinks around doesn’t like pets. He loves them when you’re not looking. 

“We have a chance to make it a really special day, so why don’t we? It’ll pay for itself. The sun’ll be out morning, noon, and night soon, and she can use it every day.”

“Morning, noon, and night,” you repeat. “Very Tolkien of you.”

Eddie makes a pleased sound as he stands up. Junie thinks he is the tallest person in the world. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

He squeezes Junie’s toes as he passes, and despite how weird it feels she kind of likes it. She loves Eddie, astronomically, gargantuanly, though these are big words to her. 

Love can't be described in the words that she knows, but it can be acted out. She drops her cookie like it’s aflame and slips out of your comfortable lap: you are the very best seat, even better than being in bed. Still, she abandons you and your cookies and follows Eddie in a run to the kitchen where he’s opening the fridge. 

“Drink, pretty girl?” he asks her, voice saccharine sweet. 

She makes a sound of delight. “Up!”

“Say please,” he directs, already squatting down to grab her. 

“Please up!” she demands, walking into his waiting arms. 

Again, Eddie’s like you. As mom, you feel not too different from Junie herself. She doesn’t know that she misses you, but she does miss you heartily when you leave her at the daycare for the day, or sometimes when she wakes up first in the mornings and can’t climb into bed with you. She doesn’t understand missing you, only wanting you, and she wants Eddie in the same capacity. When he picks her up she feels better, and happy, and loved when his hand stretches palm-flat over her back and pats a turbulent rhythm. 

He sings too fast to understand, one of his loud songs. Your music is quieter, because you’re a quiet mom. You whisper when she falls asleep on your chest, singing love songs under your breath as the night creeps in, and your footfall is carefully measured. But you laugh loudly, one of Junie’s favourite sounds in the whole world —up there with the Muppet Babies’ theme song and the squeak your tennis shoes make when you half-run to the baby gate at pick up. 

Eddie laughs much, much louder, usually in tandem with you, or if not then only a few seconds before. He also growls, raspberries, and chortles. He does the best Animal impression ever, like the muppet himself is hiding around the corner. 

“Here, June, you have your sippy cup, there's a good girl. You’re not drinking much today, what’s the matter? Is your juice not yummy enough?” 

Junie takes the offered sippy cup and tries to formulate a response. It’s hard, because Eddie said lot’s of things all at once, and there were two different questions in the mix. She catches onto the very last, giving her sippy cup a good shake as she answers, “It’s yummy.”

You and Eddie love when Junie speaks. Your faces glow. It’s the best. 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. 

“Yes,” she tries. “Juice.” She changes her mind. “Cookies?”

“One track mind,” Eddie says. 

Junie takes it for an I love you, of sorts. The way he says it suggests affection, she can’t pinpoint exactly what, but it’s how you sound when you tell her every day. She pushes her hands into his hair and then around his neck to give him a deliberate hug. He does the humming thing he tends to do when he’s picked her up, pat-pat-patting her back even as she pulls away. 

“Is the cuddle over?” he asks, pouting at her, his eyes widening. “Mom wasn’t even jealous yet.”

“Shut up,” you say happily. 

“Have a drink,” Eddie insists to Junie, encouraging the mouth of her sippy cup to her chin. “It’s a warm day today, me and you and mommy have to drink lots and lots to stay healthy. Did you want another drink?”

Junie has a drink, but she doesn't bother correcting him. 

“Please, handsome, if you don’t mind," you say.

Handsome is kind of like junebug, only you never call Junie handsome, so it must be Eddie’s alone. Junie doesn’t mind: she gets called baby and babe and bub and sweetheart and even little lady when she’s being really good. 

It goes without saying that she feels very, very loved. Even her name feels like a pet name when you say it most the time. 

"Junie doesn't need a super big one, she's just one girl. She'd be happy with a kiddie–" You cough. "Whatever size."

"I know she'd be happy," Eddie says, Junie still in his arms and confused. 

He's multi-tasking, filling up your prettiest cup until the enamel flowers are starkly backgrounded by juice and ice. Eddie pulls Junie up higher on his side and kisses her forehead. "You've been a happy gal lately. Which is good, good for mom, and good for you." He smiles until she smiles back.  

"What I'm saying," Eddie starts over Junie's head, carrying her and your cup back to the living room, "is that I want to get it for her, please. I'll go now while it's still open, and I'll have to get a hose and an air pump or something from somewhere so that'll take time, and filling it up might take an hour or two. 'Cos, listen, I'll pay for it and if the water bill is ridiculous I'll pay for that, too–" 

"I don't want you to pay for it, Eds, you don't work ten hour shifts six days a week to spend it all on us." 

"No," he says agreeably, sitting down beside you, Junie in his lap. She spots the cookies she'd been missing and reaches across to your lap. You take her on instinct, and boom, cookies achieved. "I barely ever work six days a week anymore, and you're right that I don't work to spend it all on you guys. I spend too much of on nerd crap, another too much on groceries, and some of it goes into savings–"

"What savings?" you say, laughing like this is a funny joke. 

"–but really, I don't think of it as spending money on you, babe, and I bet you don't think of it like that either. We're not keeping a tally chart." 

"Of course not," you say softly, putting your hand on Eddie's shoulder, "I didn't mean to imply that." 

"You didn't," Eddie says, just as soft. "I'm just saying, it's not about money. You know it yourself, the less you have the more you want to give, and I have enough to blow her mind, so I think we should do it. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable or uneasy," —he says uneasy like it's a slimy word, making Junie giggle— "so if you don't want me to, I won't. We'll find something else, it really doesn't matter. Don't get stressed." 

"I think I'm always stressed," you murmur, sinking down into your seat. Junie twists to look at you, startled at your sudden change in attitude. You've moved from happy to sad. It's odd. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be a nag." 

Eddie laughs, the sound as startled as Junie's feeling. "You're not a nag! Do I make you feel like a nag?" 

"No, I just know I am…" 

"You are not a nag. You have a lot on your plate all the time, and you worry about money because you need to. I'm not blaming you for something that's not your fault," Eddie says. 

Junie likes this part. Eddie slides an arm behind your shoulders, kisses your cheek, and speaks in murmurs as you relax under his touch, "You're allowed to be stressed, don't feel guilty. Just let me have some of the stress too, alright? Don't be greedy." 

"This sucks." 

"It doesn't suck." Eddie lowers his voice to a whisper, Junie can't hear what he says next. "Let me buy the pool, babe. She'll love it. It has a built-in slide." 

"I know what one you're talking about, and it was one hundred and fifty dollars." 

"I have it. If she uses it every day for the summer, that's like two dollars a day." 

"She won't, though." 

"Well, we waste money all the time. We bought that box of apples from that guy on the side of the road the other day for ten dollars and we didn't eat a single one." 

"That's different, we forgot they were in the trunk. We probably would've died if we ate one, they got all squishy." 

"If we all use the pool it's worth it. Me, you and June use it every day, it works out cheaper than a movie ticket." 

"I'm gonna make you go in the pool every single day," you threaten without malice. 

You obviously won't be doing that, you aren't that bitter, and Eddie says, "Yes," under his breath because it's practically permission. 

"I will happily go in the pool every single day," he says.

"Pool?" Junie asks. 

Junie already has a pool, and she loves it, and now she's heard the word, she wants it bad. 

"Oh…" You kiss Eddie's jaw chastely. "Your fault." 

"Shit," he says. 

Junie takes a breath and repeats it, puzzled at your horror. You usually love it when she says new words. 

—

The trailer is something out of a movie today. It's a warm and sunny day with enough cloud cover to defeat the brutal summer glare that sometimes smothers Hawkins. The breeze cools the sweat on the back of Eddie's neck, a blessed reprieve. 

He couldn't ditch you yesterday after his 'pool' related slip up —you are, in fact, 'visiting with the devil', and it's making you miserable and stressed despite all your best intentions, so leaving you alone to get out and fill the pool, a sometimes stressful situation, was not on his agenda— resulting in a very early morning for him. He woke up at 6AM to drive to the department store by the Indianapolis bus station, had to hang around for half an hour before it even opened because he didn't time it right, and then had to drive back with the new pool hoping he could get it done before Junie was awake. 

Juniper was, in fact, already awake and bounding around the trailer like a girl on fire, the decorations, banners and balloons and tablecloths, working her into a frenzy. Apparently she took a while to understand that the day was about her, but once she did she couldn't stop smiling. 

"You should've seen it," you'd said, stretching the elastic string of a cardboard party hat over the head of Mr. Bear. "She went ballistic, Munson, absolutely crazy when she saw the cake, I don't think I've ever felt that happy in my life." 

"Sorry I missed it," he'd said, in agony. 

Eddie’s hoping the pool will get her to a similar level of excitement. He looks out over the grass behind your home and feels very, very smug. The pool has been successfully blown up with air and filled, and it looks like it was worth every penny with the hose running down the slide, the attached palm trees standing tall. Your favourite The Beat record is playing from the open window, and he can hear you and June singing along to Save It For Later, aceing the long na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na's. It makes him ridiculously happy. 

"Looking good," Wayne says. 

Eddie turns to his uncle where he's approaching from the left, a Teddy bear wrapped in purple-pink cellophane in hand. 

"You think so?" 

"Tyke's gonna love it. When's the grand reveal?" 

"I'm all done, so right now," Eddie says. "Holy shit, this is sick, right?" 

Wayne, in his most deluxe outfit, a light brown button down and a pair of unripped, unsullied jeans, gives Eddie what can only be described as his fond dad look. "It looks good, Eddie." 

It should. There's the pool, the picnic blanket covered in cupcakes and finger sandwiches shielded by a big beach umbrella, and a sheet of green grass behind it. 

"How are you gonna stop the strays getting at it?" Wayne asks. 

"Who knows. I got a tarp in the van, that'll have to do it." 

"You could, you know, pack it away."

"That is not how we do things," Eddie jokes. 

"Didn't we just have a conversation about saving money?" Wayne asks. 

"We did, yeah…" Eddie crosses his arms across his chest. "This honest living thing is tough." 

"You love it," Wayne says. "You're a good kid." 

Eddie sits on the foldout picnic bench he'd borrowed from Gareth and Wayne sits next to him, the two of them looking out at the pool, the sound of the hose and the crickets in the tall grass bordering the park a steadying company. 

"Y/N invited the daycare kids. She didn't want me to get the pool, even though she kind of did, 'cos it wasn't cheap, but as soon as I brought it home she just–" Sparkled, Eddie wants to say, but he certainly won't be saying that to Wayne's face. Wayne would never let him live it down. "She called every mom she had the number for and invited the rest of the kids from daycare to come over. I don't even think she wants to brag, and shit, I want to. She just wants the kids to have a good time." 

"Well, you picked a good one," Wayne says easily. 

"I know you weren't sure. At first." 

"That didn't have anything to do with her." Wayne rubs a hand over his chin. "It's hard, having kids. I feel for her doing it all by herself like that. I'm glad she has you now, but dating a woman with a kid isn't easy, and it isn't something you can do and move on from like nothing happened. I'm not saying you're that little girl's dad now, but you're doing the things a dad does, understand? You're not just a boyfriend." 

Boyfriend is funny from Wayne's mouth. Juvenile. He doesn't think Eddie should call you his 'old lady' but he always laughs at 'girlfriend'. Wayne's a complicated dude. A little rough around the edges, and absolutely brimming to the neck with love. 

"I get it," Eddie says, and he does. 

He isn't Junie's dad, but he loves her like his own, he's sure of it. He's never had his own so he doesn't have a comparison, but still. And he gets that this is a layer to the relationship he shares with you. How it might complicate things. How it could go wrong. 

"But you'd do anything for those girls, and I know that," Wayne says. 

Eddie wishes Wayne would say a little more, explain it to him, because Eddie feels out of his element sometimes and needs a hand. He doesn't question if what he's doing is the right thing because it hasn't ever felt wrong. He doesn't worry about the future because the only thing he can see ahead are good times. But there's still an underlying anxiety, and he wishes his uncle would give him some relief. He also understands why Wayne doesn't. 

"I would do anything for them," he agrees. "Which, I've been meaning to ask you something, a favour." 

Wayne raises his eyebrows, looking tired. Eddie knows it's half charade. 

"How do you feel about babysitting?" 

"Now that's why I didn't want you hanging around her," Wayne says, deadpan. 

Eddie laughs sharply, so suddenly he can't breathe and ends up hacking coughing into his hands. 

Wayne laughs and pats Eddie on the back. "I can babysit. For an hour." 

"Two? I'm trying to take her to dinner, you know. A real date, like a gentleman." 

"We'll see. What's she think about it?"

"She's extremely protective, and you know she doesn't think you're a bad guy, or anything, but she's apprehensive." 

"She'd be silly not to be. Some people are evil." 

Eddie grimaces. "Exactly. But she trusts me and I trust you, so." 

"I'd think you do. Only broke my back–" 

"For the last ten years," Eddie finishes. 

Wayne throws his arm around Eddie's shoulders. "Looking after you, son. God knows I'd do it again… As long as it's alright with Y/N, I'll babysit. But you know there's a ton of kids trying to make a buck around here who'd just love to help out," Wayne says. Eddie must have rubbed off on him or maybe Wayne's the source of all his theatrics; he puts on a hopeful, almost wistful sort of voice as he says it that has Eddie laughing all over again. 

"We'll see. There's no hurry. Just wanna take her out sometimes, she deserves it." 

"She sounds like she's having plenty of fun to me," Wayne says reassuringly. 

You're singing and laughing through the words from the kitchen. You'd told Eddie you're going to give Junie a very intricate hairstyle so she can swim without worrying about washing it, and it's taken you the better part of the hour, yet neither your good mood nor June's has faded. He can see it, you feeding Junie cold cut-up fruit dipped in condensed milk, kissing her cheeks and massaging her scalp as you go. Junie on the counter, as happy as she's ever been. 

"You almost done?" Eddie calls. 

You turn down the music. 

"What?" you ask, pushing the kitchen window open a little further, careful to push aside the shutters just enough to see him, but not let Junie see the backyard. "Oh, hi Mr. Munson, how are you? Can I get you something to drink?" 

"Just here to give some birthday wishes," Wayne says, lifting the bear up. "How are you doing?" 

"I'm awesome," you say brightly.

"You look good." 

Wayne had pulled Eddie aside once, when you'd been dating for two weeks and bumped into him outside of Bradley's, as the fates should have it. He'd looked stern, hand on Eddie's shoulder, and said, "I'm not blaming you, son, but you gotta help her get some rest. Poor girl looks ready to fall over."

Eddie thinks you're pretty even when you're exhausted. In the fullest sense of the word, you meet every definition in his dictionary. You have these eyes that might not pull everyone in but more than hook him, and when you look at him sometimes it's with so much love you're basically an angel. Your smile is beautiful because it's yours. Your voice is lovely because of the words you choose to say, that endless sweetness and softness. He knows you well enough now to realise that there is an end to it in reality. When you're tired or fed up, you can be snappy and blunt and occasionally argumentative, but he likes that. He doesn't want you any other way, 'cos perfect doesn't exist and if it did he'd still end up on your doorstep with a plastic bag in the crook of his elbow, begging for one of those shitty mini pizzas you make and a place at your table. 

You do look well, admittedly and despite your recent bout of restless upset. You had a good night's sleep, and Junie being happy makes you happier. You beam down at them from the window, your eyes sliding to the blown up pool and the mini picnic Eddie's set up.

"Thanks, Mr. Munson. Can I bring her down?" you ask. 

"Absolutely," Eddie says, hand in the air and pulling toward his face, ushering you down, "right now." 

The back door opens and you guide Junie out first. Eddie popped in to give a birthday cuddle and the card he'd picked out, but he hasn't seen Junie since you did her hair, and it looks so nice it melts his heart. She stands in the doorway in her swimming costume, pink and purple and green ombre with frills everywhere, her face slack. 

"Happy birthday!" Eddie says, standing so he can hold out his hand and help her down the stairs. She takes it but doesn't move. "Me and mom know you like your pool so much we wanted to get you another one, do you like it?" 

She starts wiggling, jumping without her feet leaving the floor. She looks at Eddie, at Wayne, at you, at the pool, and a noise starts to brew like the whistle of a saucepan boiling water, the lid skewiff. Eddie grins and waves her hand. 

"It's for you, babe, do you want to get in?" he encourages. 

"With you?" she asks, still wiggling. 

"Maybe later. Do you need help?" 

Junie runs to the edge of the pool, looking over the side that's almost as tall as her and into the water. You already gave him a strict talk about water safety as though for a moment you might not be supervising, loving but resolute that she can't for one single second be unattended or without eyes on her. 

He hadn't been offended, though he did kiss the top of your head and say sarcastically, "Thanks, major, I didn't know that." 

"Jerk," you'd said, earning another kiss. 

Eddie puts his hands under her arms and lifts her up carefully. Her legs curl in toward her stomach like a pill bug. "It might be cold, June, but it's in the sun, so it won't stay cold. Ready?" 

"Yes!" she says. 

Eddie eases her down into the water. She shrieks happily as water covers her toes, her legs, up past her belly button. 

Eddie lets her go and she sits in the water rather than stands. The water reaches her shoulders. She lifts her hands and does a little splash. "It's so big!" she cheers. 

You ease down into a kneel poolside and reach your hand into the water. "And so cold!" you say, looking up at the sky for a moment. "It'll be warmer in no time. Oh, wow, June, there's so much water, you're up to your chin!" 

Junie stands up and runs to the palm tree, giggling. Her attention snags on the slide, and Eddie knows everyone present smiles when she gasps and spins on her heel to you, almost slipping onto her butt. She scrambles up again. "Mommy, it's a slide!" 

"I know! Are you gonna go down? Come here, you have to let me help you up over the side and you can climb up the slide." 

Just when Eddie's starting to think he couldn't like you more, you pull her up against your chest and out of the pool. You don't care that she's soaked. 

"Let's go down the slide!" you say, sounding genuinely excited. 

"Starting to think you should've got a bigger one, kid," Wayne says. 

Eddie snorts and peels off his shirt. "Maybe," he says, shooting Wayne a secret, pleased smile, before rounding the pool. "Babe, you're getting wet, let me have her," he says to you. The daycare kids and their parents should be coming soon. He knows you'll want to look your best. 

"Woah, put your shirt on, Munson, what do you think this is? A GQ shoot?" 

"Like I'm some piece of meat," he murmurs with a smile, failing to help Junie navigate the inflatable steps of the slide. 

You whistle playfully. Wayne howls with laughter. Eddie turns three shades of pink. He blames the sun.

Your teasing ends as soon as it's started. When Junie gets the hang of the slide he dries off and puts his shirt back on, and soon the daycare parents arrive with their tiny charges. They're quick to climb into the pool. Junie is ecstatic beyond words, laughing and giving out dripping hugs to her very favourite friends Adrien and Lucy. Adrien is a sweet, smart toddler. He manages to say, "Happy birthday, Junie!" with a small reminder. 

Junie smiles until her eyes close. "Thanks," she says gleefully. 

You shuffle over to Eddie. "Can you please watch all the babies so I can go get the drinks, please? And say thanks for the gifts?" 

"Please please," he says, squeezing your wrist. "I think there's about seven pairs of eyes on them, but yeah, absolutely. They don't call me Eddie Water Safety Munson for nothing."

You elbow him mildly. 

The only danger Eddie can see is that the kids look like they might have a fight over who gets to use the slide first. There's an impatient four year old called John who feels desperately that he should get to go first, and Lucy, Junie's favourite, does not agree. The birthday girl doesn't seem super interested in the conflict and instead plays with Adrien and a little girl named Matildhe with her rubber duckies, away from the slide. 

"You don't have to stay," Eddie says to Wayne, eyes on Junie's excited chattering. 

"And leave you to entertain the parents? I'm not that cruel." 

Eddie doesn't know most of the parents, having only met Adrien's mom when Junie was having her hugging phase and Eddie went in for emotional support, and John's dad outside of the mechanic where Wayne works, you in the car, Junie on his hip as he dipped in to bring Wayne his forgotten lunch for a late night doing overtime. Junie had recognised John, and so Eddie had been forced to introduce himself. It had been fine, but Eddie would prefer you with him for any future clumsy introductions. 

You come back down with drinks and make parental rounds, thanking each one for the small gifts they've brought. You ask about allergies and nod seriously when one parent says their boy is sensitive to aspartame, before sneaking back to Eddie's side. 

"What's aspartame, handsome? Do you know? I might poison that poor baby from stupidity." 

"It's a sweetener,” he says, "they put it in Jolt Cola. I think they're saying he's hyperactive." 

"Oh, right… is there aspartame in the strawberry juice?" 

"I'd have to check. Want me to take a look?" 

"No, it's okay… I'll just… hold off on it for a minute," you say. You let your weight rest against his side. "This looks amazing. It's amazing. Thank you, Eddie." 

He turns to you and pouts for a kiss. You lean up and give it to him immediately. Eddie doesn't care that there's a crowd of people to watch, he can't not give you a hug. His head locks over your shoulder, and he squeezes you tightly. 

"Don't worry, I'm still watching her," he says before you can wriggle out of his arms. 

"Okay," you say, your face flopped into the juncture of his neck. "Thank you double. I don't deserve you." 

"Yes you do. You deserve a whole lot more," Eddie says, thinking about the houses by the elementary school, and how lonely you can get, and the feeling of your hands as you wash soap suds out of his hair. He hugs you hard and pulls you toward him, your heels lifting off of the ground just slightly. "But this is a start, right?" 

"I wouldn't call this a start," you say, pulling away from him. Your face is lined with affection. “This is better.”

You turn around, sliding firmly under his arm, and scan the pool for your girl. Junie's standing now, offering handfuls of water to Lucy, who takes them and tips them over her head. Every time water runs down her face she laughs, and Junie hurries to get her another handful. 

"I think Steve said he was gonna come by," Eddie says. "That cool?" 

"Sure, the more the merrier. What about Robin?" 

"She can't, she's training the new video store recruit. She said Steve has her gift, though." 

You shake your head and click your tongue, "Tsk, they didn't have to get her anything." 

"They wanted to. Steve actually enjoyed it, I think. He's kind of desperate to be a dad, you know? He's dating this girl from Anderson but she's in college and they're not settling down yet. You know, I never thought that I'd– that I would end up settling down before him." 

"Are you?" you ask softly. 

He's quiet for longer than he means to be, watching as Junie gets her go on the slide. She barrels down into the water and screeches, overjoyed. 

"I'm not asking you to," you say, "I wouldn't ever ask you to, I mean, you don't–" 

"Hey, hey, wait. Wait a second." He tears his gaze from the pool to meet your eyes. "I'm settling down. I am. I want to. I want to be with you, and I want to look after you. I love doing it. This," —he gestures around your backyard— "is what I want. I want a ton of other things and I'm not giving up on them, I wanna make music, and get a job that pays better, but I want to do those things with you. You and Juniper." 

"I'll look after you, too," you say. 

He kisses the skin before your ear. "You already do," he says quietly. 

There's a small gap in your conversation. Eddie takes a sweep of the yard. Wayne looks content if a little bored in the sun, arms crossed across his chest and Teddy bear sat beside him. Junie's talking animatedly from inside of the pool to one of the parents as they rub sun cream into their own child's arms. The stray cat who sometimes sleeps under the porch noses at a half sandwich on the picnic blanket. Eddie's sweating in the heat, and it is so, so loud, but he reckons it's a damn good party. 

You stroke a big wad of curls behind his shoulder, a smaller strand behind his ear. 

"I love you," you say tentatively.

Eddie laughs but closes his mouth, the sound more of a hum, and leans back so you can cup his cheek. "I love you, too," he says, "you know that." He confessed it plainly enough only a week ago, lying in the grass with you, your cheek over his heart.

"Good," you say, looking like you might keel over. "I was really scared to tell you." 

"I was scared to tell you too. That's the fun part, for sure. This is terrifying." 

"Terrifying," you second. 

"And awesome." 

"So awesome," you murmur. 

Eddie peels your hand from his cheek and spins you around. You move slowly but let him do as he pleases. Your lashes kiss in the corners as you smile, as you pause in your spin to squeeze his fingers tenderly. 

"Munson!" Steve calls, though he blinks when he sees the crowd of people he technically works for amassed poolside. He's only been with Cork Kids for a few days. "Oh, hello." 

"Steve!" Junie cries, throwing herself at the wall of the pool. "Hello! Good morning!" 

"Hiya, Junie," he says.

"Good to see you, son," Wayne says, extremely amused. 

"Come swim, Mr. Steve!" one of the kids calls. 

"Gonna save him?" you ask Eddie. 

"Not a chance." 

"Steve!" Junie yells again, "Hello!" 

Steve understands that he's not going to get out of it, clearly, because he crosses the yard and kneels down in the wet grass by the pool. "Hi guys. Are you having fun?" 

The kids all cheer. Steve gets splashed in the process.

— 

Children's birthday parties are much shorter than you thought they'd be. The children, in different states of tiredness, are wrangled into towel ponchos and shepherded into cars, each with a slice of cake wrapped in a paper towel and a heartfelt, "Thank you so much for coming." 

Steve, exhausted, is slumped on the couch in your trailer with a cold can of coke pressed to his forehead and a borrowed pair of Eddie's sweatpants as well as a black and red Metallica shirt that wildy changes the young man's appearance. Junie giggles, sitting with Mr. Munson —call me Wayne, kid, I'm begging you— at the kitchen table. 

"Not like that, Way!" Junie says, trying to coach him through eating a powdered sugar donut. 

"I don't know how else I'm supposed to be eating it." He sounds as adoring of her as you often feel, forgiving her mispronunciation. 

"Babe, where do you want these?" 

You finish the cup you'd been washing and sidle to the back door. Eddie's holding the towels you'd brought out for the parents to sit on. Most are wet from the kids climbing in and out of the pool, and all of them are plastered in grass. 

"Leave them there, I'll put them straight in the washing machine." 

Eddie climbs up the steps, arms full to bursting. "Open the door for me." 

You open the washing machine and Eddie tucks them all inside. Every clean towel you had has been muddied and you wouldn't care, but Eddie looks like he needs a shower, and you probably look similar. You stop him before he can go back outside. 

"What?" he asks.

You twist your hand into his shirt and pull him in. "Two seconds, you have–" You tilt his head to the side and rub at a funny splotch on his cheek. It spreads but doesn't budge. 

"If you lick your thumb, we're breaking up." 

You go on tiptoes. "We can't break up, 'cos you love me," you whisper, not even smug. "And I love you." 

"That's pretty good logic," he says, smirking, "but it won't stop me." 

"Ew," Steve sing-songs, pulling out a chair next to Junie as he cracks open his coke. "That's super gross. And in front of your family. Yuck." 

"We didn't so much as kiss," Eddie says. 

"No, you're just in love. Much worse." 

Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls out the last chair. You assume he'll sit, but he backtracks, grabbing you by the shoulders and sitting you down. "Sit," he commands. 

"I don't think I have much choice." 

Junie smiles at you from across the table, changed into dry fleece pyjamas to fight any possible chill. You smile back, propping your chin on your hand. 

Powdered sugar coats her cheeks. "Donut, mommy?" 

"Oh, yes please," you say, holding out your hand.  

She gives you a donut like she's worried you're about to collapse from hunger, nearly catapulting it across the table. You pick it up and take an indulgent bite. 

"Did you want one?" you ask Steve, hand in front of your mouth. 

"I think I've had enough," he says, queasy.

Junie must have force fed him half the cupcake platter. Her viewing him as a nemesis was short-lived. 

"Eddie?" Junie asks. "Donuts." She babbles something indistinguishable. 

"No thanks, junebug." 

Junie hugs the bag of donuts close to her chest, then, seemingly glad that everyone is done sharing. 

"Did you cover the pool?" Wayne asks. 

"Yes sir, no cat claws will be getting at that one." 

"You'd be surprised what you can fix with duct tape," Steve says. 

"Does that really work?" Eddie asks. 

It's sweet seeing Eddie around his friend. You resolve to ask if it can happen more often —even if you're not there to see it, knowing he's having a good time would make you happy. You've been selfish with him since you met him, and you can't say you're too sorry because of how it ended up, but you can try to make up for it now. 

He and Steve get along in a very specific way, wherein Eddie says suggestive things and Steve pretends to hate his guts, and then one or both of them forgets the facade and they talk like normal friends. 

"I got from St. Louis to Evansville with duct tape over a puncture." 

"That sounds amazingly dangerous." 

"I survived, didn't I?" Steve asks. 

"By the skin of your teeth." 

"You weren't even there!" 

You finish your sugary donut and try to earn Junie's attention. She's pulling apart a donut of her own in her hands and licking the jelly off of her fingers, looking confused and delighted at once. She's going to be thrilled when she realises there are chocolate filled ones after that. 

"Is that nice, my love?" you ask. 

"Mom, it's strawby jelly," she says. "Strawby strawby strawby." 

She's been chatty today. "Strawberry, huh? Do you like that? It looks yummy." 

Junie offers you a squashed square. Some people would be disgusted at the mauled goods. You take it and eat it, 'cos her hands should be clean, you washed them yourself a half hour ago before she started on the treats. The strawberry jam is as fake as they can make it, which is probably great for Junie but sucks for you. 

You're starting to stand when a big cup of water gets placed in front of you, held by a familiar hand. You love his stupid hands, his knuckles and his short nails and the tiny white hairs, everything about them. More now as they deliver your saving grace. 

"How'd you know?" you ask Eddie, turning in your seat as you pick up the glass.

"I tried one earlier, I knew you wouldn't like it." 

"How could you possibly know that?" 

He taps the tip of his nose. 

"I should be heading home," Wayne says. 

"You don't want to stay for dinner?" you ask, sitting up properly. 

"No, kid, I'm alright." 

"He's meeting his friends at the bar," Eddie says, "don't let him fool you." 

"We haven't kept you, have we? I'm sorry," you say. 

"No, you didn't keep me. I had a great time, best kids party ever," Wayne says, standing up. He leans down to meet Junie's eyes. "Happy birthday, little miss. Make sure you plant one on your mom, huh? It's been a long day." 

You don't think she gets his drift but she nods at his solid eye contact, and that's good enough for him. Wayne claps Eddie on the shoulder and they walk off to the front door. Eddie follows him down the steps as they trade goodbyes. 

"I should get going too," Steve says. 

"Are you sure?" you ask, frowning. "If you want to stay for dinner, that's no problem. I don't know what Eddie's told you but I'm a good cook, I promise. We're gonna have Junie's favourite, it's fresh chicken noodle with stelline, the little stars." 

Steve wavers, "I-" 

"If you don't have anywhere to be tonight, it's really no trouble. I'd love to have you, I'm sure Eddie would too." 

"Yeah, okay. If you're sure," he says, scratching a hand through his hair. 

Junie jumps down off of her chair with impressive gusto and crawls under the table to your thighs. She leaves sugary fingerprints behind as she emerges, patting your legs until you're forced to help her up. She's mumbling something. Junie talks all the time, but what counts for actual words is another story. 

"What are you saying?" you ask, pulling her legs out from under her so she doesn't hurt her knees. 

She babbles. Her face has all the intent of someone speaking understandable language, to the point where you feel bad for not getting it. 

"Baby talk doesn't get easier?" Steve asks. 

"I mean… she's mine. I understand her a lot more than Eddie does, but half the time she might as well be speaking Sindarin." 

You pause, mouth open. Steve licks his lips. 

"Is that–" 

"From Lord of the Rings, yeah. We've been reading it together." 

"It's worse than I thought. You should really come out with us sometime, have conversations with people who aren't trying to brainwash you," Steve jokes. 

Junie hums, pleased at something invisible, and starts pulling your sleeve down over your hand. You nod toward her. "I can't, really. I always have her." 

"You could bring her with you. I wouldn't care, and Robin wouldn't either. We have a couple other friends who'd love you; Jonathan, he's a photograph developer for the post, and he's kind of quiet but he's one of those undercover nerds, like you." 

"Stop flirting with my girl," Eddie says, closing the door behind him. 

"She's actually talking like you and the idiots." Steve looks at you from the corner of his eyes. "No offence." 

"Full offence," you say sweetly, leaning down to give Junie a kiss. "We're offended, aren't we? Mister Steve's name-calling." 

Junie looks up, smiles at Steve like a traitor, and then spots Eddie's return. "Up," she says, "up, please." 

Eddie takes her. She gives him a gross sticky kiss on the cheek and he eats it up. "What do you want, then, birthday girl?" 

She pops her lips but doesn't say. Eddie carries her to the fridge and opens the freezer, sorting through the amassed collection of frozen treats. There's a range of popsicles and ice cream sandwiches hiding between mini pizzas and a bunch of ready-made pasta you got on sale. 

She accepts a popsicle and then insists on a second. Eddie glances at you.

"It's her birthday," you say. 

"What happens tomorrow? When she expects another round of treats?" Steve asks. 

"I pop a double dose of Tylenol–" 

"She won't be doing that," Eddie says. 

"I take two Tylenol," you amend, "and we try to explain. It's worth it even if she is a demon tomorrow. You've had a good day, right?" You smile at June and her two popsicles, one fist cherry pink and the other lime green. 

"She's had the best day ever," Eddie says, and then, a reflection of yourself if you've ever seen it, he kisses her forehead five times in a row. 

"Oh, god save her," Steve says. 

You stand up to make dinner. Steve helps, and Eddie promises to join you in a moment but never gets around to it, preoccupied by Junie's turbulent popsicle eating and the subsequent rainbow stains on your couch cushions. He scrubs at them with a washcloth and Steve, helpful but unnecessary, stands at your side having chopped all there was to be chopped. 

"You can come around whenever," you say, wondering if that's too far. 

"That's generous. You don't really want me here that often," he says, chuckling. 

You dip your pinky finger in the saucepan to gauge the heat. It's not hot enough to add the pasta stars yet  

"Steve, this might shock you, but I actually like having company. It was just me and Junie for so, so long, and I love her, but–" You stir the soup with a wooden spoon rather than continue whatever embarrassing thing your heart had compelled you to verbalise. "I missed having real conversations." You laugh. "I've never been as lucky as when Eddie decided he didn't mind being around me." 

"It's worse than that. He minds not being around you. We had him over for dinner, yeah? Two weeks ago? He started rubbing it in my face that he met you first." Steve crosses his arms. "You're pretty, but I have a girlfriend, and he knows that." 

"What's she like?" you ask. 

"She's amazing. I keep worrying she'll realise that I'm a total loser." He clears his throat. "I mean, I'm a catch, obviously. But no, you'd like her. She'd like you." 

"Think so?" 

"One hundred percent." 

"Maybe we should go on a double date like in the movies." 

"Stevie'd like that," Eddie calls. "He's been trying to get me on a date with him for years." 

"You wish, Munson."  

"Yes I do," he sing-songs. 

Junie throws a teddy at him and he drops to the floor like he's passed out. She giggles and climbs on top of him. He oofs but doesn't throw her off, maintaining his act until she sits on top of his chest and starts poking his cheeks. His tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

"Well, you can't have my boyfriend, but you can have the best chicken soup ever if you pass me the stelline from the cabinet." 

You think Steve might be a great friend. He's funny, he's quick-witted, and he's bitchy but not mean. He and Eddie get physically aggressive with each other when he asks for a second serving, because She's not your servant, Harrington and I was asking permission, you idiot, but it's definitely more friendly than nasty.

When Steve does get going it's later than any of you realised. He says goodbye with varying levels of niceness. You get a heartfelt thank you for the meal and compliments on the party, Eddie gets a hug with a shoulder pat and then an insult that actually worries you until you hear him laughing, and Junie gets a hesitant hug. Junie wants the hug desperately, and Steve isn't used to her yet, but when she gets her arms around his neck he rubs her little shoulders like a pro. 

"How did you ever land him?" you ask after his car has pulled away. 

Eddie giggles like a kid, "That's so offensive." 

"He's a sweetheart…" You turn to him. "You're a sweetheart, what am I saying?" 

"What are you saying?" 

You lean against his chest. Eddie looks at you warmly enough that it makes you feel you're gorgeous —something in his smile, maybe, that says he's thinking a nice thought. When you lean on him it grows more obvious. His lips part, his eyes on yours.

"You're so fucking pretty.” Your smile is too much like a smirk and yet it doesn't put him off. "I'm serious," he says, hands clasped at the small of your back. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He steals a soft kiss. "Very welcome." He steals another. 

You're putty, melting, and you'd care but his hands are loving. He slides one hand under the hem of your shirt and presses his rough palm to your back. You rub your cheek against his chest and feel it like a siren in your head: I'm lucky. How'd I get so lucky? 

"Yeah!" Junie shouts, jumping on the couch and almost falling flat on her face. "Kiss kiss," she says, "Mommy!" 

"Demanding, insatiable pest," Eddie says. 

"Don't you dare talk about my love like that," you scold. 

"I meant you," he says, grinning at a well-landed joke. "C'mere, let's have a good birthday cuddle before mommy's shower."

"You're showering first," you say. 

"I thought you liked it when I smell gross?" 

"You smell like wet grass, but that's not why. You should go first 'cos the water won't be hot by the second one." 

Eddie gets gooey. "I'm weird about you. Keep being like this and I'll get weirder. You couldn't cope with that and neither could I." 

"Not even," you say. 

"Kiss please," Junie insists, still jumping. 

You and Eddie turn to her at the same time. Her eyes widen as though she knows what's about to happen, but she doesn't care. She's had the best day ever. Woke up with tickles, praised and petted and cuddled, she's bounced from a birthday breakfast of waffles and more syrup than her baby teeth should be able to withstand to TV with stovetop popcorn and her favourite movie. She sang, she preened under your fingers in her hair, and played in the pool until her legs turned to jelly. She blew out all her candles in one breath (aided, secretly, by Eddie behind her as you held the cake). She ate enough donuts to down a horse. And now, to end it all, she's gonna get the world's best hug. 

"Ready?" Eddie asks dramatically. "Three, two…" 

You reach for her at the same time, laughing before you've so much as set a hand on her fleece-covered shoulders. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you soooo much for reading! I hope that you enjoyed. Writing is a labour of love but sharing it is terrifying so if you enjoyed this, please let me know, or consider reblogging. It makes a big difference! ♡ I really missed writing for them! Please forgive sometimes the formatting of my paragraphs being odd, I had to cut this down to fit it all into one post!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #mom!reader

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter 6

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 5.2k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Praise kink. Darling is her own tag/warning. Angst, anxiety, relationship issues, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff. Lots of feelings. Established throuple. Pov switch. The guys propose a field trip.

The rain tonight is fitting. 

It’s dreary, and sad, and if it was the middle of the day, the sky would be a soggy grey color, clouds full and punchy, waiting to burst open with their weight. 

The drops against the window are the only sound outside of Simon’s voice in the flat, his affirms and negatives bouncing around the room wildly, looking for somewhere, anywhere to land. 

He stares at his feet while he listens to his captain, counting the number of speckled flecks of dark wood in the floor. You won’t look at him, your eyes staring dully out the window, watching the rain drops. Holding your breath. 

Johnny watches him like a hawk though, those sharp, too keen eyes honing in on every syllable, every variance of inflection. He keeps one arm around you, tethering you to his body, like a leash, a landline, a connection unbreakable. 

“-not exactly sure yet, wanted to talk to ya first.” Simon nods. This may, quite possibly, be the absolute worst timing of their lives right now, but he’s unsure how to communicate that to the captain so he’ll understand. Price may not be entirely aware of their current predicament, but he does know about you, and he knows what it’s like to have someone at home, waiting. Wondering. Watching. 

“We’re moving this comin’ week.” He grits out, teeth gnashed so tightly he thinks they might break. Johnny’s hand moves up and down your arm, his pace anxious, and quick, instead of something slow and soothing that may be more appropriate, or helpful, in this moment. He’s panicking. He’s panicking, and you’re staring out the window like you can see the future through the glass. Price says something, a remark about them getting a new place and Simon nods robotically. “Can I call you back, sir?” 

“In the morning.” He answers, and Simon flexes his wrist before giving him another affirm and hanging up. 

He folds himself next to you on the couch, one hand reaching for Johnny’s, the other pulling your focus by lightly tracing a line down your jaw. 

“Darling.” He says and you face him fully, fresh tears in your eyes. 

“So.” You rub your cheek, and inhale deeply. “When do you leave?” 

“Yer thinkin’ about her.” Johnny grins, teeth split to reveal the flashes of pink and red inside his mouth. A delectable, delicious mouth that Simon wants nothing more to feel on him right now. On his own. On his skin. On his cock. “You been thinkin’ about ‘er?” He’s not wrong. Simon is thinking about you. He’s thinking about how he does wish you were here right now, in their bed, with them. He’s thinking about how you’re doing, if you’re feeling okay, if you’re thinking about them too. He’s thinking about how it would be, if he had both you and Johnny naked beneath him in this moment, your body wet and ready for them, your eyes wide with anticipation. But he’s not only thinking about you, too. He’s thinking about Johnny. He’s thinking about the way Johnny collapsed into bed this morning after they got home, but still couldn’t fall asleep until Simon was wrapped around him, pinning his body beneath his weight, safe. Secure. He’s thinking about Johnny earlier in the shower, his fingernails in Simon’s scalp, the warmth and shelter of his touch. He’s thinking about Johnny in the kitchen afterwards, naked save for a towel, water droplets streaking a course down his stomach that Simon followed with his tongue. 

“I’m thinkin’ about you, MacTavish.” He paws at Johnny on the bed, rotating him by his hips so he lays belly down. “And I’m thinking about her.” 

“We could call her.” He says dreamily, and Simon presses a thumb behind his knee, knocking his one leg out and to the side. 

“We could.” He doesn’t say he wants to. He doesn’t know if he wants to. He doesn’t know how to handle this… thing, that has happened. To both of them. Doesn’t know what to do with you, the girl that suddenly appeared in their lives so easily, like you’ve always fit there. 

It’s not like this would be easy. It’s not like it’s something they have experience with, either. Sure, they’ve brought additional partners to their bed in the past, but usually in passing, almost always to never be seen again. 

Until you. Until you became a “second time thing” and then a third, and then a fourth. Until they were calling you last month, home from an op and wondering about you, thinking about you, talking about you, like they are now. 

You… you would be, you are, different. Something new. Something fragile. Something theirs. 

Simon shoves it all down, packs it away for another time. 

They could get hurt. You could get hurt. Everything could go wrong. 

Johnny wiggles in front of him, rising up on his knees, back arched while he watches over his shoulder. The curve of his spine, swell of his ass sitting just so, right and perfect, ready for the taking. Ready for Simon. He ghosts his touch across his skin, smirking when Johnny draws a hot, sharp breath. His cock swells, already heavy with desire, desperate for Johnny. 

He presses a finger against his already slick rim, prepped with lube moments ago, and feels how Johnny twitches for him before pushing through, crooking it just so, just right that Johnny sputters, all logical thoughts emptying from his brain. 

“There it is.” Simon’s voice is low, dangerous, and it drives Johnny farther into a different headspace, the one that he desperately needs every now and then, the one that only Simon can give him. He strokes along the spot, and Johnny pulses with electricity, fully trembling beneath him. It’s a lovely sight for Simon, truly one of the sweetest things he’s seen, and he runs a thumbnail down the center of Johnny’s cock, just to tease him that much more. 

“Simon.” He whines, voice breathy and full of need, sitting on the cusp of shattering. 

“Hush. Need you ta be a good boy for me.” He admonishes, but reassures him with his touch, rubbing a hand up and down his spine before tracing a finger back down to his arse, where the tight ring of muscle waits. His Johnny, smart, gorgeous, deadly, perfect Johnny. His sweet, good boy. He strokes his cock languidly, watching his Sergeant squirm before he presses the crown of his cock to where he waits, his body worked open in the last hour while Johnny drooled on his cock, and Simon stretched him around his fingers. 

Johnny chokes when he pushes into him, his chest heaving for air and Simon smiles, taking his time, enjoying the thrum of Johnny’s muscles around his cock, grinding deep once he’s fully seated. 

“Fuck!” he yelps, and Simon folds himself forward, hand knotting into the mohawk, mouth kissing along the skin of his shoulder. 

“That’s it.” He croons, flexing his hips, thrusting in tiny, micro movements that makes Johnny’s skin slick with sweat. “That’s good, Johnny, so, so good. Openin’ up so nice for me.” His cock throbs, an involuntary shiver working its way up and down his spine while Johnny moans into the pillow. He’s beautiful, and Simon can’t not stare him, the flush of his skin, the color of his eyes, the way his tongue darts forward to lick his lips. So, so beautiful. And so, so utterly Simon’s. He thrusts harder, faster, skin slapping against skin until Johnny is crying so beautifully, groans falling from his lips while Simon splits him open on his cock. "My sweet, good boy. Takin' me like you were made for it." He grunts between thrusts, and Johnny keens.

Johnny’s hand flails wildly at his side, seeking purchase across the sheets, and Simon grabs it, snaking his own under his chest and pulling him upwards until his back is nearly pressed against his chest, spine curved and jaw slack. 

“I love you.” Simon murmurs in his ear, holding both of them completely still. “I love you, MacTavish. You’re mine.” He finds Johnny’s cock and strokes, hand already slick, and Johnny practically purrs in response, clenching around Simon, his body trying to draw Simon’s orgasm from him while Simon pulls Johnny towards his. 

“Yours.” He gasps in response. “All- shite- you, Si. You.” 

“Come for me, Johnny. Come on.” The encouragement is all it takes before Johnny’s tensing and then spilling all over Simon’s fist, his voice pitching deeper when he shouts his name. 

Simon pushes him back down onto the bed, arcing up over his body, fucking into him wildly, chasing his own end, his burning desire to fill him up with his come, mark him with everything he has, drowning him in his own orgasm. His Johnny. His, his, his- it’s all he thinks about when he pushes deep, the angle causing Johnny to cry out, and then he comes, sealing his hips to the swell of Johnny’s while he lets his cock leak every drop into his body. 

He cuddles Johnny close, breath fawning over his ear, one hand intertwined with his while he strokes his hair from his face, palm smoothing over his forehead and back in a repeated motion. He’s sweet, and sated, and limp in Simon’s arms, mouth gapped open while he slips in and out of twilight sleep. Simon’s nearly there too, brain carefully shutting down piece by piece until Johnny tenses, the muscles in his arms and back going rigid, signaling that he’s awake, and he’s thinking. Or worrying.

“What is it?” He whispers, eyes still closed.

“What if she misses us too?” Johnny whispers. “What if she needs us?” Simon sighs. 

“I don’t know, love.” He kisses his shoulder and holds him tight. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s not think about it until the morning.” You mumble, voice fatigued with exhaustion. “I don’t want to think about it… right now.” He can feel Johnny’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t return his gaze, instead keeping his own on you in this moment. You’re too aware, too observant, and you’d pick up on it. You always know when they’re exchanging glances, glances that communicate so much, and it never surprises, or frustrates him, when you grow exasperated with it, with them. They should be better about it, for you. He should be better. 

“You sure?” Johnny hums, his fingertips lightly caressing your belly before stroking across your ribs and up to cradle your face. His eyes catalogue you, noticing and tallying the same things Simon has. Your exhaustion. Your anxiety. The toll the past few weeks have taken on you. Their fault, the toll that this relationship has taken on you is completely their fault. He suddenly feels like he’s swallowed a stone’s worth of hot rocks. “You’re so tired, darling girl.”  Johnny fusses, and you nod sleepily, turning onto your side, waggling your fingers behind your back, the signal that you want your preferred sleeping position; Johnny curled behind you, his chest pressed to your back, and Simon partially underneath you, your ear pressed to his heart. You always hold Johnny’s hand, resting it across Simon’s abdomen, where he folds his own atop the two of yours. Your legs tangle together, and Johnny normally scratches Simon’s head before he falls asleep, something he’s carried home from ops, a self-soothing mechanism for both of them. It works differently, in the field, because they don’t normally sleep together and they’re always missing you, the lost puzzle piece in their mess of a life, but Johnny always somehow finds the time to sit or stand or lay near Simon at night, sneakily running his hands through his hair for a few moments before disappearing off to bed. 

They always have each other, even when they’re across the world. 

And you’re always the one left behind. 

Every time. You’re left here alone. It’s not like they call, or text, or even email. It’s not like you even know when to expect them back half the time. 

His chest feels tight. His body feels cold. You never asked for this. How is this fair to you?

A chilling thought creeps into his mind. Would you have been better off, if they had left you alone? Would you be happier? 

“Simon?” you whisper, and he shifts, tilting his chin downwards to where you’re peering up at him. “You… okay? Your heart is beating really fast.” Johnny moves, just slightly so he can look over, and Simon swallows. It’s dry, but he does it anyway. Doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I’m alright, knackered though.” You sigh, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above the jagged line of a scar, and he pulls you in tighter, shifting so that his body cages you in against Johnny’s. 

“Goodnight… I love you.” You mumble sleepily, the words meant for both of them, and Johnny kisses you tenderly behind the ear, while Simon leans down to brush his lips across the top of your head. 

“Love you.” Johnny whispers, eyes slipping shut. 

“Love you.” Simon is the last, as always, selfishly collecting both admissions and holding them close to his heart, where he replays them over and over, hands flexing against both of your bodies until he’s falling asleep, the two of you safe in his arms. 

“We’ll be fine.”  “Ah know, but...” Johnny trails off, eyes tracking to the closed bathroom door where the shower is running. “You’re recovering, and she’s… something’s goin on, Si.” He shifts his weight onto the crutch and leans forward, wrapping Johnny up with his free arm as well as he can before pressing their foreheads together. 

“I’m fine. Price needs ya.” 

“Dinnae like leaving either of you.” He snaps, pulling away, while Simon rubs an exasperated hand over his face. “I’ll miss ya two, too bloody much.”  He’s being reluctantly pulled away while Simon’s on medical leave, still healing from his last brutal bout of injuries that landed him on a med-evac and emergency surgery nearly a month ago, and he’s less than pleased.

But when the 141 calls, they answer. And since Simon can’t, Johnny must.

“We’ll miss you too.” 

“And ah am worried, ‘bout her.”  

“I know.” Simon doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t need too, but he’s worried too. You’ve been off kilter since he came home, quiet and more to yourself than usual. You spend a lot of time fussing over him, making sure he’s comfortable, asking if he needs pain meds, worrying about how he’s feeling, but he’s fairly sure you’re using it to cover up something else that’s going on with you, something murky that’s brewing in your mind. 

Johnny frowns, like he’s had a thought, and then motions to the bathroom. Simon counts the minutes in his head. 

It's been a bit too long. 

They push the door open, expecting to find it full of steam, the room usually too warm and fogged over from your showers, the scalding temperature that you prefer your water to be enough to peel the skin from their bones if they stood beneath it too long. 

Instead, the bathroom is cold. Clinical. Unwelcoming. 

They can see you, beyond the blur of the glass shower door, sitting on the ground, knees to your chin. Your hair is wet, even though it’s not close to being a wash day, that fact alone sending unease prickling up his spine, and he rips the shower door open as soon as he crosses, hobbles, across the room on the crutch. 

“Darling?” He calls, looking down at where you sit against the tile. 

You sigh. Long, loud. Heavy. 

“Yeah.” You whisper and Johnny reaches inside, hand under the water as he chokes on his breath, the temperature cold enough to startle him.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He hisses and reaches past Simon to twist the knobs to off. When you don’t move, don’t look up at them, Simon feels his heart crack. What is going on with you? 

“Get a towel.” He instructs, while leaning over, still supporting his weight on the crutch, and grabbing you by your upper arm. “Come on darling, up you get.” You don’t fight, your body near lifeless as he pulls you to stand, and then drags you closer, nestling you against his chest. 

“Your stitches.” You mumble a protest into his skin, while Johnny drapes a towel around your shoulders. “We’re not worried about my stitches right now, love.” He strokes your cheek, smoothing a thumb under your eye while you avoid looking at either of them. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing.” You mutter. 

“You were sitting in an ice-cold shower.” Johnny counters, and you shrug. 

Avoidance. Nerves tighten in Simon’s gut. 

“And yer hair is wet.” He murmurs, rubbing behind your neck, soft little circles meant to relax you, while Johnny works another towel on your ends, before drying you off below the waist. When you don’t say anything, he feels his composure start to fall apart. “Darling, please, tell us what’s going on. You’ve been like this for over a week. We’re worried, we’re-“ 

“Married?” you cut him off and he jerks back in surprise. 

“Who told you that?” He keeps his voice very even, very calm. No wonder you’ve been so shut down. He’s going to kill Price. He’s going to kill Gaz. 

He’s momentarily distracted by his anger, it’s gnawing rage building in the back of his throat, that he almost doesn’t recognize Johnny’s voice when he croaks; 

“I did.”

“Should ‘ave told me, darling.” They’ve finally convinced you to lay down with them, mid conversation, so they can hold you while they talk. It helps quiet some of the shrieking in Simon’s head, some of the panic and fear that’s running under the surface of the river that rips through him in this moment. 

“It felt… wrong. To be so worried about it, when Simon was in the hospital.” You sniffle, and Johnny shushes you, trying to soothe the frazzled tears that leak from your eyes. Simon watches warily from the opposite side. 

“We’re not married.” He tells you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, where it certainly will not stay. “But the 141, and it’s bosses, thinks we are. We don’t correct them.” Your face twists up in confusion, and he sighs. “The base, that we fly in and out of… we have a room there. Sometimes we have to stay a day, or two, for after action reports. We don’t like to be separated so Price has worked it out so we can share.” 

“The only way that can happen is if we’re married…” Johnny supplies, trying to be helpful, but Simon can see how your face clouds. How it darkens, and the anxiety, the confusion mars it. 

“Which we’re not. But Price helps us, has made it so his boss, and others, think we’re married, so we can stay together.” 

“We’re next of kin, on each other’s papers as well. It all allows us privileges, like at hospital.” Johnny tries to explain, bringing it back to the earlier admission, when he explained how he had told the surgeon they were married, and he was next of kin if any decisions needed to be made. 

“So, pretty much you are married. Just without the certificate.” Simon winces. 

“No, love. It’s not like that, it’s-“ 

“Everyone thinks you’re married. Their perception is reality when you’re at work. Or anywhere else... and you’re each other’s next of kin.” 

“No.” Simon vows, but it doesn’t matter, you’re already pushing away, working yourself free from the tangle of them, shimmying off the bed. “Wait, listen-“ 

“No.” you repeat his denial back to him, and they both watch wordlessly as you yank a t shirt over your head, before sliding on a pair of leggings and slipping into sandals. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know. Out. For a walk… I can’t be here right now.” 

“Stop.” Johnny pleads. “Stop, please. Just let us explain.” 

“I think you have.” You quip over your shoulder. Simon’s out of bed now too, hot on your heels but you’re too fast for him on the crutch, and you’re already at the front door by the time he’s reaching for you. 

“Darling.” He breathes, and when you turn, he sees the pain in your eyes, the fractured sense of security, the shattering of your heart, that one thing that they were supposed to keep whole. The thing they were supposed to protect.

Johnny calls your name from a few meters behind him, pleading. "Darling, please, don't run from us."

“I need some air.” You whisper it to your feet, and then before either of them can say anything else, the front door is slamming in his face. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, at nothing. At the ceiling. At their own stupidity. “Fuck.” 

It’s the twitching, that has Simon’s eyes opening wide in the middle of the night. He can feel your body, restless, rocking against him, your breathing sharp and hurried. He knows what it is within a second, knows what monster has crawled into their bed and invaded your dreams. A nightmare. A symbol of the true state of your mind slipping through the cracks of your subconscious. It’s a barometer, and his heart sinks a little while he shakes his sleepy eyes open.  “Darling.” He whispers, smoothing a hand past your cheek to stroke some of your hair. Johnny sleeps soundly, still cradling you from behind, unmoved by your shuddering. He sleeps like a rock when home, safe and sound, comforted by the knowledge that all three of you are together. Simon usually gets close to that sense of safety, that feeling of security, but the vigilance, the undercurrent of fear, still simmers in his blood. It always will, if you and Johnny are around. It is the price of being in love, he supposes. 

The price of having it all, comes with the fear of losing everything. 

However, it comes in handy, in moments like these, when you’re trapped in your own dreams, trapped inside your own head. 

You whimper, the noise twisted and scared, and he tightens his grip, not firm enough to hurt, but enough to hold you still while you lurch. 

“Wake up, love. C’mon.” He speaks a little louder now, enough to wake Johnny, who flinches in his sleep before blinking his eyes wide. Simon watches how his free arm tenses, like he means to swing, before relaxing his muscles and meeting Simon’s gaze. 

You cry, a dismayed sob reverberating through the two of them, and Johnny wraps his arm around Simon’s back, sandwiching you beneath them tightly. You pant against Simon’s skin, and he uses the hand that’s snug between your spine and Johnny’s chest to rub your back, easing you as gently as possible, while Johnny whispers above your ear. 

“You’re alright, darling. You’re okay. You’re home, with us. Right here.” You’re still crying, still asleep, and Johnny frowns. Usually once you’re pressed between them, your nervous system soothes itself, and you wake easily. A little distressed at times, but not crying or thrashing like you are when the nightmares begin. 

“Shhh.” Simon tries, and he squeezes the nape of your neck, not hard, but firmly, enough to apply pressure at the base of your skull. It’s worked in the past, when you’ve been lost in a night terror, or awake but too deep in your mind, entrenched in your own horrors, stuck in the dark cycles of your own brain. The pressure is effective, and he’s not sure why, but it settles you easily in most moments, grounding you, bringing you back to them. Where you belong.

It does the trick. You’re blinking awake in the next moment, face foggy with sleep, eyes heavy and confused.  

“There she is.” Johnny hums, and you take a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much air as possible. “That’s it. Just breathe.” 

“S-sorry.” You weep, voice wet and syrupy, sticky with your pain, with whatever hell was filling your dreams. 

“It’s alright.” Simon assures you Johnny shifts, moving to sit up, and your hand grasps for him wildly, seeking his touch. When he grabs it, you settle, and he rubs a thumb across your knuckles.

“Chamomile?” He asks you gently, and you nod into Simon. “Be right back.” He brushes a sweet kiss across your cheek, and then onto Simon’s before sliding out of the bed while you sigh forcefully. 

“Want to tell me?” Simon tries to probe, without pushing you too hard. You’re still half asleep, so when you give him a wispy no, he doesn’t push. There’ll be plenty of time later. “Okay darling, that’s alright.” He assures, and your eyes slowly slip closed while he lays there, not moving a single muscle. 

The kitchen light flicks on, and Simon blinks to adjust before the dimmer switch is lowered, the light echo of your tip toes sliding across the floor to where he sits at the counter, hunched over a lukewarm cup of tea. 

“Can’t sleep?” you hoist yourself onto the stool next to him, Johnny’s t shirt just coving your hips, hair twirled up like you’ve been in a wind tunnel. “Or bad dream?” 

“Can’t sleep.” He answers, and you make a sympathetic noise in your throat while you touch his mug. 

“Want me to make you a fresh one?” 

“No, that’s alright darling. You can go back to bed.” He knows you must be bone tired, between the last few days since they’ve been home and the two weeks before that, when they were gone, you haven’t been getting much sleep. 

“Can’t sleep either.” You whisper in the dark, words glum. He glances at the clock. 0207. 

“You need your rest.” He tries to encourage, and can make out the squint of glare on your face. 

“So do you.” 

“Aye, the two of ‘e need your rest.” Johnny quips from the hall, and you turn to see him padding towards the kitchen, pajama pants slung low on his hips. He settles between your bodies, pressing against each outward thigh, before sighing, and resting his head on Simon’s shoulder. “Just leaving me in bed all alone then?” He pulls your hand into his, brushing his lips across your skin and clucking his tongue with sympathy. “How about we all lay on the couch?” Simon perks up a bit at that, knowing that having something on the television will ultimately lull him back to sleep, and probably you as well. 

“Okay.” You agree, hopping off the stool and practically into Johnny before dragging him towards the living room. “But, I pick.” 

“You picked earlier.” Johnny huffs and Simon rolls his eyes. 

“’s true love, you did pick earlier.” You grumble something under your breath while you get situated on the couch, flexing yourself between him and Johnny, bending and stretching until you’re comfortable, and sandwiched, against them as always. Your face nestles in Johnny’s neck while he flick through the options, and Simon strokes a hand lovingly over your hip. 

“This is nice.” You whisper, and he’s not sure if you’re speaking to him, or Johnny, or just yourself. He’s not sure if you’re talking about being together on the couch, or being together after they’ve returned home, or just being together as the three of you are, in life. In everything. 

He agrees anyway. 

“Yes, darling. It is.” 

It’s still raining, when the morning comes. It’s something you note, miserably, when your eyes blink open and you realize the bed is empty, nearly cold on both sides. 

It’s still raining, and the bed is empty.

 Your head feels heavy, tired, from your restless sleep, exasperated from the nightmare, a small headache beginning to bloom and spread behind your eyes. Great.

You roll, burrowing into a pillow, breathing the scent left on the sheets as deeply as possible before the smell of coffee hits your nose, it's caramel, roasted flavor wafting under the door from the kitchen, and your toes practically curl against the sheets. 

When the door swings open, you prop yourself up on your elbows to see them both, standing hesitantly near the end of the bed. 

“Good… morning?” You leave the end with a question, a wondering, while Johnny steps onto the mattress with his knees and snakes an arm around your waist. He pulls you backwards, into his chest, safe and secure, but still sitting up, and Simon perches on the edge, cup of coffee waiting in his outstretched hand. “Thanks.” He presses it into your grip, and you smile at them, a little anxious. “What uh. What’s up?” 

“We wanted to ask you, if you’d be keen on a little field trip.” Johnny nuzzles your neck, mumbling the words into your skin. A field trip?

"We were hoping to bring you on base with us, during this next op.” Simon tries to explain when you frown. Your eyes widen, lips hovering above the coffee. 

“To base?” You take a sip and immediately wince, drawing away from the steaming liquid. Simon takes it from you, depositing it on the bed side table before taking your hands in his. 

“Yes. We’ve spoke to Price this morning, and he’s agreed to allow you to stay on base, in our room, if you'd like to come along.” On base. Go… on base. And stay in their room. A million emotions circle your heart in a quick pattern. But a few thoughts stand out the most.

They want to bring you with them. They don’t want to leave you behind.

“Okay.” You don’t need to think about it, your answer was already known by everyone in the bedroom. This is the first time they’ve ever offered to bring you to base, to include you in this way, and your heart trills in your chest. “Yeah.” You reaffirm, before a small, hopeful smile tugs at your lips. Simon cups a hand around your knee. 

“Unfortunately, this won’t be like a vacation. You’ll have to stay close, and when we’re not with you, you won't be able to leave base.” 

“That’s okay… I have my kindle. And I’m sure I’ll have work to do.” Your boss has been pushing you to take more time off anyway, right? You could totally swing this. 

“And you can wait, for us to get back if you want.” Johnny follows up, gently. You know he doesn’t really want to talk about how they’re leaving again, and you still haven’t gotten the details. 

“Yeah… how long-“ 

“It will be short.” Simon answers tersely. “Three, four days at the most, that’s why you can stay.” Four days? That’s like, more than short. That’s almost nothing. But Johnny nods against you, and you don’t question it. It’s not really your place, and you try not to pry regarding the ops. 

“It’ll be nice, havin’ you in the hangar when we land.” Johnny murmurs and your skin heats, realizing you’ll get to be there to say goodbye and welcome back. 

You’re silent, while you consider it, and the implications, something about this invitation soothing the wildness in your heart, like a balm to the wound that’s been bleeding out inside of you. 

“Darling?” Simon finally rumbles, after you sat in silence for probably too long, and you nod. 

“I’m here.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x soap #simon riley x you #soap x ghost #soap mw2 #ghost soap #john soap mactavish #simon riley #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod mw22 fanfiction #ghoap #💀 🧼

[hey-august]

Word count: Just under 1k Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, mentions of masturbation, sex, and oral.

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Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing.

Buggy who doodles all the time. Ugly little caricatures of people who piss him off. Goofy scribbles of bits that make him laugh. Potential skits. 

Buggy who scrawls on the margins of paper, the corner of napkins, anywhere he can relieve the itch in his hands.

Buggy who designs costumes for his crew. Colored pencils and oil pastels bring the flashy couture to life.

Buggy who carries a small sketchbook in his coat. Deckle edged paper wrapped in leather, perfect for practicing pencil sketches and graphite drawings as he observes the crew.

Buggy who doesn’t share the drawings in his sketchbook, though. Some had to learn the hard way not to look over his shoulder.

Buggy who realizes too late that you are overtaking his personal pages. What started as small forms to study pose and movement grew larger, capturing more of your essence.

Buggy who becomes obsessed with capturing the small details. How your nose crinkles when you laugh. The sneer in your lips when you’re pissed. The way you rake your fingers through your hair when you try to calm yourself.

Buggy who gets curious late one night. Curious and desperate.

Buggy who draws you from memory and fueled by his filthy imagination. The soft sound of pencil scraping along the paper is comforting.

Buggy who fills a page with you in compromising positions. The lewd expressions you might wear. What he thinks you’d look like split on his cock. Or mouth open, begging to have your face fucked. His hands gripping your plush thighs.

Buggy who fucks himself to the hand-drawn porn and cums all over the page.

Buggy who feels guilty and burns the soggy drawings, as best he can. It takes a few frustrating tries and he panics, even though no one is around.

Buggy who tries to ignore those feelings. Trying to draw anything except you. But everything looks like shit now. Proportions are off. He presses too hard when sketching, unable to erase the stark lines. Even his doodles lack life.

Buggy who gives in and scribbles you in the corner of his sketchbook before moving on to something else. And it works. His movements flow better. A weight is lifted off his chest.

Buggy who eventually caves to the nighttime muse once more. Filling another perverted page with the obscene images flooding his mind. This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire.

Buggy who revisits that page frequently. Adds to that page. Convinces himself that it’s okay, it’s not hurting anyone. In fact, it helps him by taking away other urges.

Buggy who eventually manages to misplace his sketchbook. He fucking lost it.

Buggy who doesn’t want to bring attention to his lost treasure. If he says it’s missing, some freaks might find it and look through the pages. They’ll realize what a pathetic loser he is.

Buggy who frantically retraces his footsteps, barking orders to keep everyone away from him. 

Buggy who finally finds it in the hallway just outside his room. The book must have fallen out of his pocket and laid mostly out of sight with the brown leather blending into the wooden floor.

Buggy who is relieved. It doesn’t look like the book had been touched or moved. Even the leather string is still wound around the sketchbook tightly.

Buggy who needs to get back to other duties after sloughing them off most of the day. He’s still on edge, reading into everyone’s interactions. No one acts differently, adding to the relief that no one knows about his perversions.

Buggy who doesn’t open the sketchbook until the end of a very long day. Who waits until he’s alone and in his room.

Buggy whose stomach lurches at the note peeking out of one of the pages. A page devoted to your smile. A note with your handwriting. “This is so impressive! I look so happy”

Buggy who slams the sketchbook shut and starts to pace around the room. Fuck. Did you find it first? Did you look through it? Why? What else did you see? What else did you see?

Buggy who freezes at the thought. Who stares at the awful book, as if it would pipe up and tell him in a fluttery voice.

Buggy who grabs the book and roughly throws it into a drawer, ready to lock up his feelings. Ready to deal with his unhealthy actions with more unhealthy actions.

Buggy who tries to go to bed but can’t sleep. He lays in bed surrounded by a carousel of thoughts. Of fear. And anxiety.

Buggy who sends over a hand to retrieve the damn book. He has to know. He’ll die if he doesn’t find out.

Buggy who can feel his hands shake with each heartbeat as he thumbs through the book, looking for more notes.

Buggy who feels both calmed and excited as he finds your commentary on a few more innocuous pages. Praises for his skill and appreciation for scenes he captured.

Buggy who finally flips to the page. That one.

Buggy who’s afraid to read the note you left there. But he does. “Want to collaborate one day?”

Buggy whose stomach and heart are in knots. 

Buggy who keeps reading. “I’d like to see what you look like too.”

Buggy who shows up at your door, panting and red faced. Sketchbook in hand.

Buggy who trails his fingers along your face as he fucks into you, commiting each detail to memory. The shape of your mouth with each moan. Your lust-filled eyes. The little teeth marks left after you bite your lips.

Buggy who can’t help but stare at your sex-tired body. Chest heaving. Glistening.

Buggy who still wants to taste you. To taste himself on you. Who uses his mouth and tongue to memorize more of your body.

Buggy who is surprisingly good at drawing and collaborating.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A/N: Just want to highlight this line bc I love it "This time, he doesn’t ruin the drawings with jizz or fire."

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #buggy x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

[oepionie]

—"MY DUMBASS SOPPING WET CAT" leona kingscholar

🎸masterlist | 💬ao3 link

synopsis: "are you insane?! look at you! you're soaking wet!" "i don't care. i had to come see you." in the middle of a stormy night, you hear knocking at your door and find leona standing outside your dorm in the pouring rain. it seems that he has a question for you.

⊹ [ cw ] — passing mention of freezing◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF.GN! READER | soft leona agenda, mutual pining, kissin◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 800+◞

Thunder rattles the ground as a bright white flare lights up the dreary dark halls of Ramshackle. The rain pattered against the roof while you and Grim huddled in a blanket. Both of you were watching a soap opera on TV, waiting for the storm to pass.

Grim had long since dozed off to dreamland, snoring quietly, but you stayed up, far too engrossed in the family drama on TV.

As you grabbed the remote to play the next episode, the last thing you expected was to hear a knock on the door.

Now, cats were notorious for hating water, you were pretty sure of that. Those furry little balls of fluff loathed being hit by even a single drop of rain.

So, why in the Twisted Wonderland was Leona Kingscholar standing outside your dorm in the middle of a pouring storm?

Leona's hands were buried in the jacket he somehow had managed to grab in his haste. He kept his attention fixed to his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Bout time you opened the door, herbivore."

"Are you insane?! Look at you! You're soaking wet!" Dumbfounded, you pulled Leona into your dorm and ran to fetch him a towel. The lion followed your retreating form with a paralyzed gaze, uncharacteristically silent.

Was running through the rain really worth it just to see you? He debated just making a run for it. The entire thing had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, anyway. However, before he could do anything, you returned and tossed a fluffy towel over his head. Leona took it into his hands, draping it over his shoulders.

"C'mon. You're making my doormat soggy." You grumbled, nose scrunching up as you pulled the lion into your dorm.

Leona slams the door shut behind him. He pulls you back by the collar of your shirt, dragging you to stagger back until your back was pressed up against the wall. He rests one hand beside your head and uses the other to lift your chin up towards him.

"What are we?" Leona mutters whilst staring at you, taking his merry time to take in every little feature on your face. His expression was contemplative, apprehension swimming in his eyes.

"I dont know-Rivals?" You snort, laying a head on his shoulder. Leona looks down at you with an annoyed expression. Chuckling, you peer up at him through your lashes. "What do you want us to be?"

He stays silent and stares at your lips, glancing back up at you for permission. You nod and he wraps a muscular arm around your waist. Your hands grip the fabric of his shirt, tugging on it slightly as you lean up to reach him. Leona cranes his neck and meets you halfway. He kisses you sensually, moving his hand down to rest around your neck and holding your hand with the other. You pull back and Leona chases after your lips. Giggling, you press the back of your hand against his mouth.

"Woah there, tiger. You're still cold and drenched. Let's go to the living room."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"That really all you have? Crowley didn't have anythin' better to give you?" Plopping down on the couch, Leona scoffed as he watched you drag a bulky heater over. Sighing, you pat the rusty metal. "Deadbeat crow-dad, remember?"

While you fumbled with the old switches, he took a mental note to gift you a new one soon. Old-fashioned tech like that isn't reliable enough to keep you warm during the winter - you could end up freezing to death. It was a situation he wanted to avoid at all costs, especially now that you've wormed your way into his heart.

Finally, after some tinkering, the heater buzzed to life. You clapped your hands, the giddy grin on your face making Leona's lips curve into a small smile. Cute.

"Anyways. Look at you. How much of a dumbass do you have to be to run through a storm like that?" You huffed, hands on your hips as you looked down at him.

The creaky worn down couch was already starting to darken and soak up the rainwater on his clothes. Leona fumbled with his hands, gaze moving to his feet.

"I don't care. I just-" He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I had to come see you." 

"Why's that?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. Leona blinked. Even he wasn't sure. 

He hadn't expected to feel as strongly about you as he did. These were the kinds of things he thought a person like him was too rough around the edges for. It drove him wild and caused him to daydream about mushy lovey-dovey things he'd never considered before. Despite that, he wasn't ready to fully admit it yet, and somehow, he thinks you knew.

"You always have to ask dumb questions. I just fucking wanted to." Leona scoffed, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your stomach. His eyes fluttered shut as you stroked your deft fingers over his damp hair, undoing the knots and tangles with care. Snorting at the lion, you poked his cheek and jeered at him.

"Dumbass."

"Your dumbass, at least."

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

Taglist: @keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisoniousheart @anonima-2 @kawaiipotatoghost ↳ want to be added?

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona

[murasaki-cha]

Honestly the best advice I can give to someone who wants to start Trash Of The Count's Family is to never and I mean NEVER ask a TCF fan about what TCF is but ask a person who has read the manhwa casually.

Because we will never give you a simple answer. Oh no no no we:

Will spoil the everloving crap out of the novel. All of it. We just can't help ourselves. Never have I met a TCF fan who doesn't spoil the novel. I think we just forget that they are spoilers and that there are people that haven't read the novel. I have legitimately had someone ask me "What's an Eruhaben?" and I was confused for a solid 5 minutes until I remembered that there are people who haven't actually read the novel

Will not shut up. You will get a rundown of our top 10 favorite characters, top 10 favorite villains, top 10 favorite battles, top 10 favorite scenes, top 10 favorite angst scenes, etc. YOU GET THE POINT! Probably because we don't have a big fandom we get excited when new people join. You will have to read a 10 page essay it'snot a choice. There are multiple powerpoints the fans have made and I wish I was being sarcastic about this

Will scare you because we are insane overly enthusiastic about TCF. There are some inside jokes that only the fandom will get but we usually don't even try to be subtle we just go "Oh man I can't wait for Cale to be hurt so badly he's bleeding so profoundly and probably choking on his own blood! In canon!!" Or "He needs soggy apple pies or he will die!" Or "Why won't slacker life-chan return Cale's feelings?" Or "White Radish *cue laughing soundtrack*". You will think we are deranged but I can confirm none of us has been put in a mental asylum so far from what I'm aware of👍. We're just silly but our silly will concern people

Now if you find all these factors as things that will motivate you to read the novel than please welcome you'll fit in here just fine.

If not than please stick with the manhwa onlys please than try to read the novel at your own pace

(Just to be clear this entire post is meant for comedic purposes. The TCF fandom has some of the nicest and kindest people I've ever had the joy of meeting and I've made many great friends here. We welcome any new fan with open arms, warm hugs, apple pies and heavy angst lol. Never be afraid to interact with anyone here as we love to talk about our favorite novel)

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #tcf novel #cale henituse #tcf fandom

[evanhamato]

OK, I have a personal headcannon that the turtles are super tall- like- raph is 10f ish, Donnie 8ft, leo a little shorter, and Mikey is at LEAST 6ft.

So the turtles interacting with the world being tall mf's and as well as their s/o (like throwing them over their shoulder or air jailing them

Bounus points is S/O is short by normal standards.

THIS IS NOT MENT TO BE SMUT. At all. I request wholesome and Mischievous content.

Well wishes: SBF🐍

[ Ankle Biter ]

Future!ROTTMNT x GN!Reader who is short

A/N: i assume you meant the future turts? im so sorry if this is wrong! we're gonna assume the reader is between 5'0 - 5'3! thank you for requesting SBF!! <3

Relationship: Romantic

TW: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, slight panic (?), affectionate teasing.

Future Raph

He adores your short size.

Hug? You get a bear hug regardless of how gentle he is.

Cuddling? No, weighted blanket in the form of a humanoid turtle.

Kisses? He has to bend over or pick you up to do so.

He gets a little anxious in crowds.

Being so tall means you can see everyone so, you'll be easy to spot, right?

No, not when everyone blurs together.

He once lost you at a festival and...

It was not pretty for the other turtles.

Certainly. Not pretty.

Future Leo

One word.

Air jail.

Your crimes are condemned to punishment, being held like a soggy cat for 5 minutes.

You are also an arm extension.

Something (surprisingly) too high to grab?

Fetch it for him.

If you guys are hanging out with shared friends, he ALWAYS has to sweep you of your feet.

Show-off.

That is until you start to rebel.

When you start to rebel, the only thing Leo can do is pray.

Future Donnie

Height doesn't really affect you two.

Kisses are a little harder but, Donnie is flexible.

Plus, carrying all those junkyard scraps beefed him up a little.

Along with training and fighting.

However, he doesn't hesitate to bring up your height in banter.

"I'm not sure how your opinion matters when you still aren't fully grown. Oh wait, you are."

Simply uses his robotic arms to shove you away once he gets your temper going.

Aside from that, he thinks its a convivence that you are short.

He's making something for you? Less materials used compared to his brothers.

He's also more lenient on repairs or replacements when it comes to you for the same reasons.

Future Mikey

Lets be real, if anyone is gonna tease you the most, it's Mikey.

Backtalk? On top of the fridge you go.

"Are you sure you don't need a stool to see? Just making sure."

He is so smug about it.

Growing up the shortest, it's funny to see the tables turn on someone else.

But he makes sure to never go to far, no feelings will be wounded by Dr. Feelings himself.

He really likes you on his shoulders, a simple lean and it's easy to kiss you.

Nicknames. It's always the nicknames.

With the teasing also comes the politeness.

Doors opened for you, stuff moved out the way, he can't have the ankle biter themself getting hurt!

#rise donatello x reader #rise michelangelo x reader #rise raphael x reader #rise leonardo x reader #rise donnie x reader #rise leo x reader #rise mikey x reader #future donnie x reader #future raph x reader #future leo x reader #future mikey x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise tmnt #rise of tmnt #2018 tmnt #tmnt 2018 #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles

[sissybabycucksophia]

God how pathetic am I🥵🥵😳😳😳

Last night I lay in bed with 3 diapers on, a booster on the innermost diaper, plastic panties, breast plate, pathetic little girl romper, pink knee high socks with ankles cuffed together, pink mittens held on by cuff whuch were then linked by a chain. I sat like this for 2 hours before going to bed at 10, i peepeed 7 times before getting to bed then put on a blindfold and lay there until 1am trying to fall asleep but simply peepeeing more and more! The diapers were so thick it was impossible to lie on my side because my legs couldn’t touch. Eventually at 1am i was so horny i got up and tried humping my bed frame in order to have an orgasm in my soggy penis prison but it was no good, through all the layers i bare felt a think. So i waited till the last of my peepee had been absorbed and then got changed out of everything before going to bed normally.