#my dad is cooler than your dad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue lunch break visits, rocky road ice cream, a too-big bouquet, and the rainbow connection.

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, tw talk of dying (and past lives)

𓆩❤︎𓆪

You're dozing against the back wall in the kitchen when Benny clears his throat. The grease back here while he's cooking tends to get pretty thick and you're tired to begin with. It's a recipe for nodding off.

Flinching into a proper standing position, you give your boss an apologetic smile. "What?" you ask, blinking hard.

"Your boy's here."

"My boy?"

"Curly hair, tattoos. Looks like he hasn't showered this week. Or any week, actually." Benny laughs, a chesty, self-satisfied chuckle.

You rush to his side, careful of the spitting hot grill, and follow his gaze out of the kitchen window. Eddie's about two seconds away from opening the glass door, clad in his smart work uniform.

"He's not my boy," you say.

Benny scrapes his spatula across the grill's bubbling surface and flips a burger. "If he's the reason you're tired today, you can consider him banned. He's ruining my best waitress."

"I'm your only waitress." The door opens. Eddie stops in the doorway and casts his gaze around the room. You hide behind the wall and fuss with your hair. "And no, he's not keeping me up. It's Junie." Isn't it always Junie? She's your baby and you adore her, but that doesn't mean she's getting any easier to handle. The terrible twos are persevering with a ferocity you can't quite withstand, or at the very least sleep through.

"He eating?" Benny asks.

"I'll go find out."

You wipe the oil from your nose and grimace as you walk out into the actual seating area of the diner. It's empty but for one person and Eddie, who grins when he sees you.

"Hey, sweet thing."

You try not to show how much you like being called 'sweet thing'. Your face must betray you somehow because Eddie's grin turns smug and he approaches until he's basically stepping on your toes.

"How's it hanging?"

You snort. "Benny asked if you're eating."

"What's today's special?"

"Cheeseburger."

He fixes your shirt collar. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and the cooler metal of a ring grace your throat. "Yeah, I'm eating."

You report back to Benny with his order and find the cook's already added two burgers to the grill. He points his spatula at the now grilled and constructed burger for Darren. If you hadn't taken it you'd still know who's it was; Benny's regulars are loyal to a fault. The same old guys come in here day in and day out, and they all want the same thing.

Quarter pounders.

You take it, twist around a childish Eddie trying to trip you up and deliver it to Darren, a frowny-faced farm-hand that Benny swears is a nice guy deep down. You've yet to dig far enough.

Eddie tries to trip you up again when you come back. You glare at him, stepping on his toes gently – more a threat than a real show of aggression – and disappear again through the kitchen door.

"So." Benny throws down a basket of fries before moving to the chopping board with a fresh tomato in hand. "He's your boyfriend?"

"Do we have to do this?" you ask, joining him at the chopping board. You try to snag a slice of tomato and are quickly tutted away.

"Is he?"

"No," you say, trying again for some tomato.

"Kid, if you don't wait."

You pout and set back on your heels.

The burgers sizzle. Benny throws a slice of cheese over Eddie's and lets it melt. Quicker than you can believe, Benny constructs two burgers and fills a red plastic basket with fries.

He offers them to you. "Lunch break."

Free food. You smile at him sheepishly and try to take them. He pulls his arms back.

"Wha-"

"If he's your boyfriend, you better tell me now."

"Benny, I don't know if you know this, but I'm an adult. Already got knocked up once."

"And where is he now?"

Chastised, you mumble, "He's not my boyfriend," and Benny finally hands over the food. He looks like he might try to ruffle your hair if you stick around, so you knock open the kitchen door with your hip and make a speedy exit.

"What's with the face?" Eddie asks as you sit, reaching for the hot plate balancing across your forearm.

"I think Benny just tried to give me a dad talk."

He laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Really? What did he say?"

You shake your head. That's not a bag of worms you're interested in delving into right now. Your brains too fried, and the food smells great. Your stomach aches with hunger.

"You want a coke?" you ask.

Eddie stands up. "I'll get them. Sit down, okay?"

You sit down and shove a greedy handful of fries into your mouth, turning in your seat to watch Eddie talk.

He leans over the metal ledge of the kitchen window. It's quiet enough to hear him laugh, hear him say, "No, sir," in a tone that borders sarcastic.

He wields a five dollar bill at Benny, who shoots him down.

"Put it in the Junie jar," Benny says.

"Junie jar?" Eddie questions, though he's smiling.

Your eyebrows furrow at the expression. You've never heard it either.

"I don't bother pretending she spends it on anything else."

"You got that right."

You flush with heat all the way to to the tips of your ears and turn back to the table before Eddie can catch you watching.

He throws himself into his seat like he's collapsed. The twin cokes in his hands upheave and then splash back into themselves, an impressive and ridiculous show of skill that makes you gasp.

"For you." He shoves a glass down next to you. The ice cubes clink.

"Thank you," you say, and don't waste any time digging into your food.

He squints at your eager eating, though he waits until you've taken the worlds biggest bite of your burger before he asks, "Hungry?"

You swallow before you mean to and have to take a big sip of your drink to avoid choking to death. "I didn't eat breakfast."

"How come?"

You can't take his concern. Your eyes drop this hand where it picks through fries, no rings in sight. He’d told you once he can’t wear them at work, because he gets really warm and the rings are costume jewellery. His hands look bare without them, but they’re very nice hands. You follow the stark line of a bone down from his knuckles and focus in on his simple wrist watch as you explain.

"It took me an hour to get her to finish a slice of toast this morning. I usually wouldn’t make her finish, but she's not eating well."

You don't have to say who. Eddie tips his head back to eat a handful of fries like a courtesan eating grapes, all grandness.

"Teething?"

"She has all her teeth already," you say. A laugh bubbles up, delighted at his suggestion.

"What do you think it is?"

You wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin and shrug. Eddie sees straight through your forced nonchalance.

"No, seriously. What do you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's gonna come down with the flu. She didn't sleep all night either, and…" You rub your tired eyes with the backs of your hands. "I don't know. I hope she's feeling better at pick up, but I doubt it."

"How are you feeling?" He says 'you' softly, almost crooning.

"Tired, Eds."

"I can see that."

The door opens and a breeze whips your ankles. You hide them further under the table and cringe when you kick Eddie straight in the foot. He only raises his eyebrow at you and kicks you back. "What's your problem?" he mumbles under his breath, smiling.

When the burgers are gone and there's only a couple of cold fries left, you and Eddie fall into conversation about tonight. He's finally playing a gig after months without one, and you're riddled with guilt.

"I wish I could come," you tell him, feeling gutted that you won't see him in action.

You wonder what he looks like on stage. Sometimes it's hard to coalesce the Eddie you know and the other Eddie, rocker Eddie. He's so sweet. The image of him on stage and sweating, rocking out, you can't summon it.

You clear your throat. "I'm sorry we can't."

Eddie shakes his head quickly, fingers playing with the chain around his left wrist. "Don't worry about it. Junebugs's gotta sleep. You gotta sleep."

You pick at your nails, shame-faced. If you were a good friend you'd go and see him perform, but you're a good mom so you can't. Maybe you could get a sitter… only you don't trust anybody to look after her. Not the way you would. And people can be evil.

Maybe I could take her to the Hideout, you think tentatively.

You couldn't. It's too loud, it's too rowdy. You're not sure they'd even let you in with a baby.

"Sorry," you say again, dropping your cheek into your palm.

Eddie doesn't smile. He turns his wrist, the back of his hand to the table and his palm open between you.

"Don't be sorry," he says. He watches your face and slowly, slowly, mischief creeps into his expression. "How about I give you a private show?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You and June've never heard me play. I could bring an amp. June can play drums. You'll sing."

His allocation shocks you out of your thoughts. "Why can't you sing?"

"What will you do, then? If I sing?"

You flounder.

He lifts his coke to his lips and smirks at your silence. "Exactly."

"Eddie, I can't sing."

He waves his hand at you rather than answer.

"I won't sing."

"Oh, you won't?" he asks, tone enough to make you cross your legs under the table. He rolls his eyes.

"No. Let Junie do it. She's always singing."

"And you'll-? What?"

You shrug. He imitates you, over-exaggerated enough to make you gasp a laugh.

“Is that supposed to be me?"

He ignores your question in favour of his own. "You'll do nothing. Typical."

"You're getting too big for your boots, Munson," you warn, sliding his plate on top of yours.

He stacks your empty glasses. The two of you stand and linger. He should go back to work. You should too.

"I'll come over tomorrow?" he asks finally.

"Okay." You look over him in his clean clothes and neater than usual hair and can't help smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say quietly, opening your arms just slightly.

Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms quickly around your shoulders, careful of the plates in your hand. He rubs them once, a good, grounding pressure across the breadth of your back. Your nose presses against his neck. He smells like aftershave and cigarette smoke and skin.

Before you know it he's pulling away, the end to an amicable embrace between friends. Almost disappointing, not quite what you want anymore, but a relief and a comfort all the same.

He chucks your chin. "Tell Junie I miss her."

"I will."

"Okay." He turns to walk away. "Bye, sweetheart," he shoots over his shoulder.

"Bye!" you call.

The door shudders in his wake. You stand there watching until Benny clears his throat pointedly and asks you to come and make some more coffee.

You rush through the rest of the day. You finish earlier than you should because Benny's in a gracious mood, thrusting your tip jar into your arms with a command to get some sleep. You promise you'll try your best and head out for the daycare.

Junie's asleep in a bean bag by the baby gate when you get there. You stop dead in your tracks. She has her shoes and coat on already, her backpack in her lap. You look up at the childcare worker in charge today, a nice lady called Deborah, quizzically.

"She's been like that for an hour. I'm sorry we couldn't keep her awake."

You pout at Junie. "Why she got her coat on?"

"She insisted. Screamed bloody murder. Think she was excited to see you," she says, smiling softly.

You smile in return. "Thank you, Deborah. Have a nice weekend.”

Deborah nods and disappears back into the play room. You open the baby gate with likely less dexterity than you should have as a mom and drop to your knees in front of the beanbag, careful not to make too much noise. You're wondering if you can carry her to the car without waking her up when her foot moves, then her arms. They fall to her side as her eyes open.

"Hey, baby," you say, feeling weirdly emotional. She looks so lovely and pretty, and if she's sick that's gonna pluck your heart strings (and cause a boat load of problems).

"Mommy," she mumbles, eyes bleary.

"That's me." You reach out to squeeze her little thigh. "My poor girl, what's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?" you ask carefully.

She blinks.

"Why're you sitting here all by yourself? You didn't want to play with Adrien? Or Lucy?"

When she doesn't reply you take her backpack and thread your hand through the strap, offering your open arms to her. She can barely sit up, her movements slow and sluggish.

"Here," you murmur, sliding your hands under her armpits and pulling her into your chest.

She finally smiles, hands bunched up at the collar of your shirt. You leave some room to look at her and she looks at you. You're surprised she's not whining or crying.

"Hey," you say again, amazed at her droopy smile. "You look like you've had a good day."

Her head drops forward. You think she's nodding, though that might be wishful thinking. You don't even know if toddlers can nod.

Of course they can nod, you think to yourself scathingly. I mean… can they?

And Junie isn't like most toddlers. She hasn't really done anything by the book. She meets milestones when she wants to, sometimes early, sometimes really, really late.

You pat her back, her nylon coat crinkly under your hand. "Ready to go home?"

You stand up with her clutched to your chest. Usually you'd have her say goodbye to Deborah or the other daycare workers but Junie doesn't look like she knows her own name right now. You frown at her and encourage her forehead against your chin, trying to gauge if she's a little warmer than usual.

"I missed you," you tell her honestly. You miss her every single day. "I want to know everything you did today. Do you remember what you did?"

Junie pushes against your chest with her hand as you walk out of the daycare centre and into the parking lot.

"Did you do… colouring? Or… building blocks? Did you sing?" you ask, grinning.

You cross the road, and when you look back she's staring at you, straight into your eyes.

"Hi," you say with a laugh.

Her hands rise to your face, fingers thankfully clean and warm against your wind-bitten cheeks. You slow, gazing down at her expectantly. She raises her chin as high as she can and smiles big.

"You want a kiss. I can tell," you croon smugly.

She kisses you. It's a little drooly as baby kisses always are, but it's the best thing that's happened to you all day. It's always so surprising when she initiates affection. That she loves you just as much as you love her.

You steal another kiss.

"Guess what?" you ask, reaching a hand to stroke a little baby hair back.

She says a word that isn't real. It sounds like 'mod'.

"It's payday today, which means…" You beam at her. "Ice cream!"

That grabs her attention.

Eddie can't believe it. "You had what without me?" he asks over the phone.

Junie herds your knees, arms around your legs and face turned to the TV. You stand slumped against the wall where your phone is plugged, curling the landline's coiled cord around your finger so Junie can't grab it.

"Ice cream," you supply helpfully.

His voice isn't easy to understand. The Hideout is a very loud place. Eddie's practically shouting down the line. "I can't believe it."

"It couldn't be helped. She needed to be tempted."

"Tempted! Has she eaten anything else?"

You look down at the girl in question and reach down to rub her back. "Oh yeah. She ate like, an entire bag of lays, one of the big ones. She still smells like honey barbecue."

"Nothing else?"

You sigh, that creeping, ringing thought edging in. You're a bad mom.

"I made her cereal, and celery sticks and sandwiches and little cut up peaches and- and she won't touch any of it," you say, like you're promising. Your tone begs to be believed.

There's a loud racket. Eddie shouts, "What did you say? I can't hear you!"

You repeat yourself. You miss the start of what he's saying, but you catch, "-not your fault! She's probably just having a moment. You remember when she kept throwing her bottle? She doesn't do that anymore."

You nod. "Yeah, maybe it's like that. She's figuring she has choices." Not the best timing for your kid to decide she's gonna get picky.

"Exactly! Or maybe she is sick. Does she look sick?"

You look back down at Junie and feel across her smooth forehead for the twentieth time today. "She doesn't feel warm."

"Good. I'm sure she-" You miss the rest.

"I can't hear you," you say with a small laugh. "I can hear the drum kit though. Are you going on soon?"

"I said, 'I'm sure she's fine.' And yeah, couple of minutes."

"Okay. Um. I'll let you go, then."

"Okay." A small gap where you think he's hung up, but then, "Can I talk to her?"

You bite back a smile. "Sure."

You kneel down. Junie looks a short fall from suspicion, though her arms quickly reach out for a hug.

"June, d'you wanna talk to Eddie?"

"Eddie?" she asks, turning to the door.

You catch her hand before she can walk away. "No, babe, on the phone."

You sit down flat with your legs crossed and encourage her to do the same. She doesn't not want to be encouraged, eyes still trained on the door.

"Baby," you say, though you're bringing the phone to your mouth as you do. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Okay, I'm gonna pass her the phone and you're gonna have to talk straight away, because she doesn't know how it works. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright. Bring on the junebug."

You press the phone to Junie's ear. She looks startled and then annoyed, shoulder hiking and head moving in like she might push it away. You can see the moment she realises Eddie is on the other side, her lips part and her eyes widen in wonder.

She listens for a while, flabbergasted. You think you might be able to hear his voice. Not what he's saying, but his bubbly baby tone.

"Eddie," she says suddenly. She looks at you, says a bunch of nonsense words and babbling punctuated by Eddie Eddie Eddie.

"Are you listening to him?" you ask, excited at her recognition.

She grabs the phone out of your hand and stares at it. You try to wrangle it back and put it back to her ear. She is not happy.

Hardly news that your toddler's mood may swing, you shove the phone between your head and your shoulder and wrap her up in your arms with a placating shush. She starts to cry regardless. You think they might be crocodile tears.

"Eddie?"

"Sweetheart, I gotta go, okay? I'm sorry if I upset June–"

"You didn't, you didn't, she–"

"– I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"– misses you, I think–"

"See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Good luck!" you say. The line's already dead. The dial tone makes your ear prickle.

You feel upset for a second. It's a mess of feelings. You're too tired to deal with any of them.

"Eddie?" Junie asks, hands pulling at the hem of her nightie.

"Just mommy," you say with a smile. The longer she looks at you the easier it gets. "You wanna go to bed and cuddle?"

She laughs and runs away from you.

"I'll take that as a no."

Eddie knocks the door and doesn't get an answer.

He pauses, a bouquet behind his back and his acoustic guitar heavy around his neck, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his elbow. It's a very heavy grocery bag. He'd figured he has a lot of apologising to do this afternoon.

It seems like there's no one home to apologise to.

"Girls? It's me."

Still no answer.

"Eddie," he adds, like a loser.

He thinks he can hear small footsteps.

"Eddie!"

He laughs to himself. "Junebug? Where's mommy?"

"Hello?" you call finally.

"Hey, can you let me in?"

He keeps the flowers hidden firmly behind his back as you open the door. He hears the deadbolt, the chain slide free and then the regular old lock unlocking, and you pull the door open and suddenly he can't breathe. You look that pretty.

"Eddie!" Junie shouts, to his pleasure.

You grin brilliantly as he steps over the threshold.

Junie's arms are quickly around his legs. She's in a sweet blue dress and frilly socks looking almost as pretty as her mom does, hair neat and tidy, face pristine.

You're nearly matching her. You've a soft white shirt on, tucked into a simple blue skirt and a cardigan to match.

You barely stop to look at him, flitting back to the kitchen where you’ve brown paper bags upended, the fridge and freezer doors both wide open. "Sorry, I'm just putting the groceries away. How did the gig go? Did you rock the house?" You giggle to yourself.

Eddie wants to scream, you’re that endearing. “It went great. Awesome. Not sure I rocked the house, but it was metal.”

"Amazing! I- I'm sorry I didn't hear you, I was in my own head," you say as you go, stepping over toys and frozen peas and Junie's Muppet Babies backpack like a natural. He notices your small white socks and feels himself slipping that little bit further into a terrifying feeling.

He doesn't have time to tell you it's okay, or that he wishes you’d been at the gig, or to watch your step. Junies's babbling for his attention and he'd rather die than not give it to her, moving the grocery bag he has hanging from his hand over her head and tossing it toward the couch, where it lands and spills.

"Okay, June, I'm gonna pick you up," he says quickly, pulling the guitar over his head. He props it up by the open doorway, Junie tugging at his jeans the whole while.

"So demanding!" he teases, scooping her up to prop on his hip and unveiling the flowers at the same time.

You aren't looking. He nudges them towards her face and shakes them gently.

Junie can't decide what's more fun, the flowers or Eddie. She wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can but stares at the flowers with a dawning comprehension.

"What are these, baby?" he asks, holding them lower so she can see them all in view. They're mostly red. There's some whites too, big round roses among other flowers he can't name.

"Red," she says quickly. "White. Yellow, blue, green."

She's not right, there aren't any yellows or blues, but he can only blame himself for drilling them into her the way he had. She's showing off that she knows them all, and she deserves some praise.

"Good job! Red, white," he shakes the bouquet enough to reveal a few small pink ones, "pink flowers. They're pretty, don't you think? Pretty as you and mommy?" He hums to himself, patting her back thoughtfully. “Maybe not that pretty."

You're not listening. If you were he's not sure he could say it, not while you're looking like you do. You're always pretty, always, but right now he feels like he did the first time he saw you. Just gone.

Junie tells him something, a more factual tone and air about her. He rubs the top of her upper arm encouragingly, asking, "Is that right?"

"Do you want food?" you call.

He sets June down on her feet and she hates it until he wraps her hands around the bouquet's neck. "Can you give these to your mom for me? Please?" Junie stares at them. "For mommy," he adds, pointing at you where you're closing the cabinet door.

Junie, the tiny smarty-pants that she is, runs to you. Eddie's a coward for it, but he doesn't think he can give them to you himself under honest pretenses, doesn't think he could admit that he'd been thinking about getting you flowers for a while now. Much easier to have her give them to you.

You make a sound like you've swallowed a gasp and stare at them.

"They're nice, right? I saw them and I thought they'd make a good apology for last night."

You don't take them. You can't contain a smile, but you don't take them.

"I'm sorry if I made any trouble for you," he says tentatively.

You drop your hand on top of Junie's head. Your tone is warm, each word reassuring. "No, you didn't. She just… you know, she has a routine, and she loves when you come around. She missed you. That's not your fault."

"Okay, good. I missed her too. Nobody can jam out like she can.”

Junie whacks you in the thigh. Eddie's starting to think he did something wrong because you still haven't taken them from her, your eyes as unreadable as the way your hands move, rigid and curling.

You shake them out and finally take the flowers.

"Thanks, baby," you say. Then, looking at him. "Thank you."

"You can get me back," he says.

Shell shock turns to eagerness. "Yeah, anything."

He picks up the spilled groceries and brandishes them at you. In one hand is this week's dessert, a huge carton of rocky road ice cream, the fancy kind with big chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows on top. In the other, a plastic jug of your favourite drink.

"Find room for these in the fridge?"

Since accepting them, you've yet to put down the flowers, holding them protectively to your chest as you take what he’s offering and carry them into the kitchen.

June runs full pelt at his legs and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up.

"You're so happy today!" he cheers, saccharine sweet as she burrows her little face into his collar. "Have you been having a good day with mom? I love your matching outfits."

You try to hide how the compliment affects you, face buried in the freezer. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that your freezer has ample room, you don’t need to look for space. and he can see the way your hand tightens around the bouquet. He loves how shy you've become lately over his compliments, no matter how small. It's worth the possibility of making a fool of himself to see you flustered.

Junie reports back on the day. Eddie listens intently for words he might understand but finds none.

He doesn't let this bother him, leaning against the counter behind so he can hold Junie low on his stomach to watch her expressions flicker, hands encapsulating her back. She looks happy, obviously, but she also looks very intent on something.

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head toward her knowingly. "Was the grocery store exciting? Did you do anything else?"

"Duckies!" she says.

"Duckies? You saw ducks?" he asks curiously, looking to you for confirmation.

You're still holding your flowers to your chest.

Junie chatters. "Duck, duck, duck."

"What's she talking about?" he asks, pulling her up enough for her head to rub against his chin.

"Oh, we went to the duck pond. She was obsessed," you say.

"Right, right. Can't say I blame her.”

"Trying to explain why they weren't yellow took some dedication."

Eddie smiles at you softly. "You can put them down, you know."

Your eyes flicker between him and the flowers. "I- nobody's ever got me flowers before. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do with them. I don't… have a vase."

He hadn't realised he'd be the first guy to get you flowers. It makes him wanna wrap you up and hug you, because how is it fair that a girl like you never got flowers? Not once?

"Shit," he says instead.

He flinches hard and looks at Junie. She's too busy with her hands in his hair to notice what he's said. He apologises anyways.

You roll your eyes. Eddie's relieved to see it's with obvious fondness, a funny lopsided smile to your lips.

"If she starts dropping s-bombs, you're the one who has to deal with it," you warn.

"I will.”

He takes a step toward you and you take a step toward him.

You hum and hold the flowers up to Junie as he had before. "Aren't these just something else? Look how pretty they are! Why don't you pick one, baby?"

Eddie shifts her onto the right side and you both watch her touch them, hands adorably careful as she feels the leaves between her fingers and pokes the fuzzy yellow centre of a flower with white, round petals.

"That one?" you murmur, pulling it out from the rest with the same adorable carefulness.

Junie accepts the flower and immediately shows it to Eddie, ecstatic.

“Yellow," she proclaims.

"And white," he says, ruffling the petals with his index finger.

She smells like talc and you, that soft jasmine perfume, and her hair is fragrant where it tickles his face. He indulges and hugs her that little bit tighter. She indulges him in turn and hugs him back, the flower petals cold and silky against his neck.

"How do you…" You scratch the base of your neck. "Do you think I could squeeze all the stalks into one glass?"

It's only a bunch from the grocery store but he thinks a glass might be a little too small. "Maybe you can split it? Have one in your room, one in here."

You set about following his suggestion, snipping away the cellophane with a pair of scissors and acquiring two tall glasses. The stalks are tall. You trim them down and begin arranging them. Eddie has no clue why you're being as particular as you are but he's happy for you to do as you please, traipsing into the living room where Junie seems to have been running rampant before his arrival with intentions of cleaning up.

He closes the front door and bends at the waist to let Junie back on her feet.

She goes down easy enough. Eddie turns on the TV to keep her occupied while he whips around the room. He wants to clean (as best as he can) before you see him and tell him to stop. He puts your small handbag and Junie's backpack at the sideboard by the door. He sweeps up all of her toys and tucks them under the television as you would, then moves onto the rogue dirtied pajamas on the floor. They're Junie's favourites, the ones with tiny strawberries that she always chooses when given the option.

Your laundry basket isn't anywhere in the living room or kitchen. He attempts to sneak past you where you're still arranging flowers intently. The sight of you stops him in his tracks.

I need to get her a vase, he thinks. And another bouquet.

You turn to him, a pleased expression turning your features from pretty to chest-achingly lovely.

He holds up the pajamas and then keeps on down the hall to the bathroom, even as you chasten, "Eddie," with a fond exasperation.

You showcase your first bouquet upon his return, sheepish, awaiting judgement. You're conflicted tonight, a handful of emotions shaken and stirred.

"Tada," you sing.

"Looks sick, sweetheart. If this whole waitressing thing doesn't work out for you, you could definitely be a florist."

You huff a laugh. "Oh, for sure."

"I'm serious. It looks really nice."

He thinks maybe he can see the way you might've been before, in that moment. There's something so young – and you are young, as he is, as he keeps forgetting – about your face and how you take praise. You look like you want desperately to brush it away, and you look like you want him to give you more.

He stands close enough that you're forced to turn back to the counter where the second bouquet is taking form. "This one looks nice too."

"I thought I'd put the prettiest one out here." You lean back and your shoulder presses to his chest. "And then the reject in my room," you say, chin lifted to look him dead in the eye.

He feels heat crawling up his neck and decides to fight fire with fire, even if the fire is entirely imagined. "Do you often have rejects in your bedroom?" he questions with a smarmy smile.

You laugh. Far from the polite and prim giggling you'd used when you first met, though that was cute, too, this laugh is something else. He wishes he had a tape deck with him to record it, play it back.

"Only if they're very pretty," you say. You place the last of the flowers into the second bouquet. "And these ones are beautiful. Thank you, Eddie. You didn't have to get me flowers."

"I wanted to."

Your head falls gently against the top of his shoulder. He stands very still.

The faucet drips. The TV plays. If he listens, Eddie can hear the sound of kids outside on their bikes, shouting and jeering.

Like this, he can see the curve of your neck, the hill of your chin. He can see the pillows of your lips and the slopes of your cheek. The darling shape of your nose. He knows a kiss would fit there well, fit there perfectly, if he would only raise his hand to your shoulder. Turn you ever so slightly.

Even the flat of your forehead begs for affection. He can almost feel it from looking at you – the warmth of your skin under his lips. He can't decide whether he'd kiss you from temple to temple, or smack dab on your crown. Between your brows, at the tail of them. The corner of your eye might work.

Anything would work.

Eddie lifts his hand. Careful not to startle you, he cups the side of your waist like he had before a hundred moons ago when you'd cut his hair in this same kitchen. He spreads his fingers wide and inches over your soft abdomen, feeling for the shape of you.

You turn your cheek into his shoulder. He lets his lips touch the back of your head.

Plinking echoes from the living room sudden enough to startle you in tandem. Kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you and Eddie both turn to the living room and come away from one another. You're more confused than Eddie at the sound; a split-second and you're out of reach.

He closes his hand and follows you. Now past the obscurification of the cabinets, he can see that Junie's finally noticed his guitar and has pulled it down flat on the floor.

She plays with the strings enthusiastically. Eddie can't bring himself to care at her roughness when she looks the way she does, curious and entertained, giggling her contagious baby laugh.

"I forgot you brought that," you say, looking to him, he suspects, for a cue. A silent, Is she allowed?

Of course she is. “I told you I'd give you a private show."

"What happened to the amp?"

"My hands were full." Eddie sits on the floor to Junie's left. "Whatcha doing, trouble?"

She hits the neck.

He takes her hand in a gentle grip and encourages the side of her finger across the strings.

She laughs thick and sweet as honey. "Brmm," she imitates, lips pinching between giggles as he helps her do it again.

"You're a total rockstar," he says.

You kneel opposite. "She's gonna lose her mind when you play something."

Eddie feels very smug at what's to come.

You let Junie play for a time, and then you open your arms and she walks around to your side, sitting on your thighs. She continues to reach for the guitar, seems sulky when Eddie picks it up, and quietens when he plays an experimental note.

"Are you gonna sing? I've heard you sing before, you know? You're not bad."

You wrinkle your nose.

First, he plays the Muppet Babies theme tune for June. She gets excited and starts to hum. You have to hold her in your lap to stop her from messing him up. He wouldn't mind if she did. He's hoping, maybe one day when she's old enough to understand, he could get her behind her own guitar. He's not kidding about starting a band.

He drops his eyes to his fingers, shaking his head on instinct to try and shake away the thought.

June sings and sings and eventually, quietly, you start to sing too. You’re purposefully not trying but any flatness is easily made up for by the familiarity of your voice alone. The way you talk, so charming and careful, the sweetness of your newfound shyness and the rough hint of ever-present tiredness you carry, it all seeps into your singing. Eddie adores it.

Junie almost gets some of the words right. It's very exciting for you, Eddie can see it in the tilt of your head. You enunciate precisely and he slows the tempo to give you time.

"It really sounds like she's almost there. She definitely said 'dreams come true,’” he says as the song ends.

"You think?"

"Definitely. Do you want to sing it again?" he asks, words falling into a high-pitched sugar, eyes on Junie.

"More?" you add, a slight correction. Junie doesn't know what 'again' means yet, but she understands 'more'.

"More," she says seriously.

You go through it one more time. If he plays slow to drag out your reluctant singing, that's his business.

He unveils his next song with a dash of edgy stage presence. "For my next song, I'll be playing what can only be described as the absolute pinnacle of music."

He sounds legitimate.

Your eyebrows pinch together at his sombre attitude. "Sure."

"I'm gonna play it as true to form as I can, but… I don't have a banjo. So…"

He plays the first few seconds of Kermit The Frog's The Rainbow Connection.

When he sings, he does it after an internal pep talk consisting of a scathing, Be brave, idiot.

"Why are there so many, songs about rainbows. And what's on the other side?" he sings, trying and failing to sound like Kermit. He abandoned that pursuit immediately in favour of his regular voice. Thankfully it's a slow song. Simple. It doesn't take much to play, either. The real challenge are the lyrics, which he doesn't really know. "Rainbows are visions, but only… illusions?"

You bob your head appraisingly, hands crossed over Junies front, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

"And rainbows have nothing to hide."

You’re making it impossible to concentrate, looking as earnest, homespun, and ridiculously pretty as you do. Pretty in more than just your looks. The way that you watch him, the way you rub a pattern over Junie's ribs, it’s all so indicative of your heart.

He fucks up the rest. Bad timing, amateurish fingering over the struts, lyrics that escape him. You'd never know he could play Master of Puppets a month after it's debut from the way he performs now.

You cheer, gathering Junie's hands into yours to help her clap.

He blushes like a fool.

—

Dinner tonight – take out.

You're prouder than you should be when Eddie asks, "Can I help you cook tonight?" and you get to say, "No, you can't. I'm not cooking."

You'd never shake your head at a frozen pizza but there's an irreplaceable satisfaction that comes from getting hot food delivered. Maybe it's the convenience, maybe it's that you don't have to cook it yourself. It might even be the grease. Whatever it is, it tastes better than any freezer food ever could.

You've trapped Junie in her high chair. Diaper changed, pajamas on, bib in place. You rolled her sleeves all the way up and gave her two slices of cheese pizza cut into small pieces that have been blown on for a more than generous amount of time and tell her to go ham. She doesn't bother with her plastic fork and you don't blame her, eating your own pizza in a similar fashion.

Rather than sit opposite you or next to Junie, Eddie has opted for the chair on your left. Junie on your right, your daughter eats with an animated little grin that apples her cheeks, giving her that chubby baby-like smile.

"You see her smile?" you ask, taking a big bite of perfect crust. You have to stop yourself from sighing happily, fingers covered in crumbs.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, pizza sauce or his face like a little kid.

You sit back in your chair so he can really see her. "She's always been a smiley baby, and when she was much smaller all her smiles were so chubby cheeked. She was chubby cheeked. Now when she smiles like that she makes me remember her when she was a baby."

"I'm not surprised she was a smiley baby if she had you… D'you miss having a baby?"

"Watch yourself," you say, and then giggle as all the blood drains from his face. "Kidding. I don't know if I miss having a baby baby. I mean, she's so little, she's practically still a baby. But I do kinda wish I could go back and hold her as a newborn."

Eddie wipes his cheek and stands up to get some paper towels. He wipes his face and hands and grabs the juice from the fridge to fill his glass (that's basically still full) and then yours (the real reason he'd stood, you reckon).

"Was she heavy?" he asks.

You worry for a moment he's humouring you. It's clear how much you love Junie, you know it is, and that shows in how much you want to talk about her. You'd never expected that part, though of course it makes sense – sometimes she smiles and you wanna call the newspapers – and you don't think Eddie's insincere. He seems like he genuinely wants to know and that's enough for you to want to round the table and throw your arms over his shoulders.

"I think…" You pick up your glass and hesitate with the rim to your lip. "I think if you'd held her back then, you wouldn't think she was heavy."

He practically smolders, bringing an arm up to tense his bicep. "Thank you."

You laugh at him. "Shut up! I just think, you've been good with her ever since you met her. When I held her for the first time it's a good thing I was laying down. I probably would've dropped her."

Eddie takes Junie's sippy cup to fill. You'd say it was a waste if he hadn't bought it himself, she's too busy eating her weight in cheese to care about something as rudimentary as juice.

"You would not have dropped her."

"I would've."

"You wouldn't have! And if you did, it would've been an accident. Next point, they don't have skulls, right? No harm, no foul."

"Who told you babies don't have skulls?"

"...I'm not at liberty to say."

You eat the rest of your crust and shake your head at his misguided education. "They have skulls, Eddie. The scalp is super soft and fragile for ages, but they definitely have skulls. You know what they don't have?"

Eddie squeezes Junie's shoulder as he walks behind her. "What?" he asks in alarm, passing you to sit down again. His knees touch the side of your thigh.

"Kneecaps."

His hand stops on the way to the pizza box, body frozen.

"What?" he asks, his alarm doubled.

"Swear down. No knee caps."

"Don't they need them? For crawling? I feel like knee caps are more important than skulls."

"If you didn't have a skull you wouldn't be able to breathe," you say, though you're guessing.

"What use is breathing if you can't move?"

You turn to him to take him in properly. You beam, because this is an outlandish conversation and you're enjoying every second of it and he looks just as happy as you feel.

"Do babies need to move? June could never move again and I'd still look after her,” you counter.

"Sweetheart, you're cheating."

"I can't exactly breathe for her-"

"What are you talking about? Of course you could. I don't know how but you'd find a way, Y/N, I know what you're like."

Your teeth click together, a funny retort squashed down by his unexpected admittance of faith. He always does this; Eddie loves to tell you the kindest things anyone has ever told you like they don't cost him a thing.

"I would," you agree, blinded by love rather than supported by any logic.

"Mommy," Junie says, like she knows she's the topic of your hypothetical devotion and she wants in. "More pizza"

"Please?" you tack on, though her small sentence had impressed you to the point of elation. You turn to her already with your hand in the pizza box.

"Pizza," she says. You love the way she says it, like the 'zuh' sound at the end is a complete surprise.

The pizza's cold enough by now to give it to her intact. She's amazed at the big slice you put on her plate, picking it up with a coordination you know is taking a lot of effort for her.

"Good job, baby," you praise, using her distraction to pull a little string of cheese off of her messy cheek.

She takes a huge bite. You watch her worried she's gonna choke, and feel Eddie's knees press deeper into your thigh as he moves forward to join in.

"Is it weird that she's impressing me right now?" he asks.

You giggle and roll your shoulders back until you can feel the brush of his hair against your shirt. "No, she's awesome."

For dessert, you insist on plating up. Or bowling up. You scoop a more generous than she should really have portion for Junie, something similar for Eddie, and a normal portion for yourself.

"On the couch?" Eddie asks.

You can see him cleaning up Junie out of the corner of your eye. You wish he wouldn't but you're grateful that he does. His attentiveness makes your hands feel heavy in that you remember you have them, and you remember what it's like to want to hold someone else's.

"Yeah," you say, though eating on the couch makes you nervous. You don't want to ruin it. You're lucky you even have one.

Eddie scoops Junie up easy and pats her back.

“You put away a lot of cheese, kid. A lot. Was that yummy or what?"

She burps. His laughter is roaring and boyish as he applauds her.

"You're patting her back, she's gonna keep burping.”

"That's what you're supposed to do for babies, isn't it?"

He stands under the harsh kitchen light with his face turned away and down toward Junie, hair a mess of flyaways, t-shirt covered in shiny toddler fingerprints over one shoulder and jeans slipping down low on his hips. Your explanation comes breathlessly. "When you give a baby a bottle they suck in too much air and it gives them trapped wind. You burp that kind of baby. Not greedy almost three year olds."

"She is not almost three."

"I think I'd know, Munson."

"She's like, two and a half at most."

"I'm rounding up for emphasis," you say, and glare at his eyebrows rising.

He pats her back some more anyways. She burps again and he laughs even more. "Juniper The Burpiest," he says to himself as he walks away, voice fading as he settles down across the way on the couch.

Junie has crashed and burned, warm thick cheese and dough putting her quickly into a close to listless state in his lap. He faces her out toward the TV and she leans heavily against his chest with his hands around her torso, propping her up. You shepherd in the desserts.

"Gimme Junie's," Eddie says.

"She's gonna fall asleep," you say, but pass it over anyhow.

Eddie places the bowl of rocky road in her lap with a hand between to stop from making her legs cold and starts to spoon ice cream into her mouth. She accepts. It's adorable to watch. His face over her shoulder, Junie's face slowly deflating, eyes bleary and blinking as her lips close lazily around the spoon. She barely flinches at the cold.

You eat your own ice cream in the seat next to them and wonder if this is forever.

Eddie wipes her chin with the side of his hand and watches her head fall. He wears a loving smile. It makes you want to cry, to know someone else loves her.

You let all your weight fall against his shoulder and eat your ice cream casually. This is the least casual thing you've ever done. Spoon in your mouth, you press your cheek to the top of his arm and glue your gaze to the TV.

You swear you can feel his eyes on you, but when you chance a look he's watching the TV, head inclined to yours ever so slightly, a hand brushing Junie's hair from her dozing face. You're weak. You give yourself over to what you want and turn your nose to his arm. He smells lIke he always does, warm in the truest definition of the word.

You close your eyes. After a few minutes, you feel Eddie take the bowl from your hands and set it next to Junie's. You want to open your eyes and say sorry but they’re heavier than you'd thought, and you can only manage a murmur of sound.

His hand sliders under your elbow and curls around your arm. His head drops on top of yours so softly you almost don't feel it.

You doze, digging your face further into his arm, feel the curve of it under your cheek and the cut off of his sleeve rising.

A frayed thread tickles your cheek and you complain without thinking, sighing your annoyance.

"What?" Eddie asks.

You raise a hand to rub at your face and eyes. "Tickled me."

"Did I? M'sorry."

"T-shirt. Did you cut them yourself?"

"You know it. Was going through a phase."

"Going through."

"Say it to my face," he says. Soft, teasing.

You lift your head and find him smiling at you.

He has a beauty mark under his eye, occluded near completely by his eyelashes. You can't believe you've never noticed it before.

"You have a freckle," you whisper.

"Where?" He nods. "Under my eye?"

"Yeah."

You sit up and stare at him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I've never seen it before," you continue, still whispering. "It blends in with your eyelashes."

"I think you're the first person to see it who isn't my mom. No one ever looks at me this long,” he says quietly.

If his eyes weren't closed you'd never have had the courage to do what you do next. You raise your hand with his cheek, thumb pressed to the skin beside his nose and fingers slipped under his ear. You turn his face toward the light. Eddie lets you without complaint, his breath warm where it fans over your thumb. You push your fingers further until they've threaded into his soft hair, your thumb brushing up under his eye. You part his mess of dainty lashes with your thumbnail until the beauty mark is clear in view.

"That's so sweet," you whisper, awed.

Eddie readjusts Junie in his lap with an overabundance of caution and doesn't speak. He's lax under your touch.

"It's really pretty. You had it since you were a baby?"

"I think so."

You laugh under your breath.

"What?" he asks.

"It suits you." Something pretty hiding in plain view.

"I heard," he says hedgingly, "that freckles are a sign of how you died in a past life."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Bet it was something really gross, like a parasitic worm-"

"Ew."

"Or someone stabbed me. Or shot me. With an arrow."

"You're only twenty. Your past life would have still been in this century."

Eddie opens his eyes just to glare at you. "Don't deprive me of a badass past life. How would you have had me die?"

You push his hair from his face. "You know what I heard about them?"

"What?"

Fun to whisper with him like this. Like you’re younger than you are, trading secrets in the dim light.

"I heard they're kisses from a past life."

You raise your second hand to his cheek and cradle his face.

Eddie leans into it. “You wanna give me one for the next?” he asks, a short fall from salacious.

Your breath doesn’t catch. Your hands don’t shake. “Is that what you want?”

He falters. Bravado slips. Your heart skips a beat, worried maybe he doesn’t like you the way you’re thinking after all.

“Y/N,” he says.

You can’t hear his rejection. You won’t.

You close your eyes and kiss his cheek. Your nose slides over his skin, the heat of his blood under the surface warming your palms, and you steal a second there, two, breathing in his smell. If this is all you get, you can be okay with it. Eventually.

You pull away.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter

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

please forgive any mistakes and how long it took, i have been a bit unwell! hopefully it won’t be too long before part four :3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

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javierpena-inatacvest · 30 days

Text

Haircut

Summary: Javi thinks that he's way past due for a haircut. You like his hair long for reasons other than his good looks.

Word Count: 2.1K (I sprinted to write this after I saw this picture)

Pairing: Husband!Javi x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) Oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise kink, (lovingly?) possessive Javi, Javi's back at again with his filthy mouth, hair pulling, Javi is hungry and the man is gonna EAT, allsions to more smut, Jonas Brother's references ( bc Javi is our girl dad king and his daughters love them LMAO)

A/N: Y'ALL REALLY THOUGHT THIS PICTURE OF PEDRO WAS SURFACE RIGHT HERE ON TUMBLR DOT COM AND I WASN'T GONNA DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?!? WRONG. I legit have 3 WIPS I started in the past 24 hours based on this picture alone. Pedro really did this one for the Javier Peña girlies (gn) and I will forever be in debt to him for that. You cannot tell me that this is Dad!Javi when his kids are a little bit older bc HOLY SHIT?! This really may the nail in the coffin for @notjustjavierpena and I bc really fear this is the dilfiest Husband Javi has ever looked 😩😵‍💫 anyways, never getting over this!!!!

Series Masterlist Never Too Late Masterlist

“God, I can’t even remember the last time my hair has been this long. Lucy keeps saying I look like a Jonas Brother. Am I supposed to know who they are? Is that supposed to be a good thing?” Javi sighed, playing with his dark brown curls in the bathroom mirror as you snuck up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, peeking out to watch your husband’s longer than usual locks twist between his fingers.

“They’re the goofy looking boy band on Disney Channel that the girls are obsessed with. Like the Backstreet Boys, except cooler, apparently.” You laughed, planting a soft kiss into the fabric of Javi’s worn t-shirt covering his broad back before stepping next to him, leaning your hip against the bathroom counter to admire your husband as he fiddled with his hair.

“Jesus Christ, those guys? God, I really do need a haircut before I start looking like the poster what’s-his-face hanging on Lucy and Elliot’s walls.” Javi chuckled, running his hand through his hair once more before mirroring you, his hip resting against the counter, leaning his weight on his palm splayed flat along the granite surface.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think he’s supposed to be the best looking one.” You teased, giving Javi a playful shrug. “Besides, I like your hair long.”

“Seriously?” Javi asked, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest in protest. “It looks like a mop right now.”

“A very sexy mop.” You smirked, nudging Javi before stepping closer into him, reaching up to run your hand through his curls, slowly twisting the ends with your fingers. “It reminds me of that trip we took to Jamaica a few years ago. Your hair was almost this long, remember? You looked so hot in those stupid floral button downs you insisted on buying, and hanging out shirtless by the pool all day while you played with the girls.”

“Fuck, I forgot about that. I’m surprised we didn’t end up with a fourth kid after that trip.” Javi chuckled, slowly shifting the palm that had been holding him up towards your waist, letting his fingers gently toy with the waistband of your pajamas. “You really like my long hair that much?”

“Mhmmmm.” You cooed, continuing to close the gap between your bodies, your free hand resting on Javi’s chest as the other continued to stroke his curls. You could feel a low groan rumbling in Javi’s throat as your fingers weaved back and forth through his hair, the other creeping up to cradle his jaw, thumb tracing back and forth across the stubble on his cheek.

“Yeah? What else do you like about it?” Javi groaned, his hand slipping under the elastic waistband of your pants to grab a fistfull of your ass, kneading the soft flesh in his hand.

“I like…” You paused, bringing your lips to Javi’s, pressing a tender kiss on his lips, “I like that it gives me something extra to hold on to.”

“Hold on to?” Javi asked, cocking his head in slight confusion.

“Hold on to when you go down on me. I love being able to run my hands through your hair when you eat me out, especially when it’s long like this.” You smirked, watching Javi’s eyes go wide in delight, a devilish grin spreading across his face as he bit down on his lip.

Before you could say anything else, Javi’s hands were gripping around your waist and hosting you up to sit on the counter, caging his body against yours, hands planted around the outside of your hips while his lips crashed into yours, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth.

“Fuck…” Javi whispered to himself, pulling away from your lips to pepper kisses down your jaw and neck, running his hands over your thighs. “I love it when you play with my hair, Hermosa. Love feeling you pull on it when you’re close. Makes me lose my fucking mind every time. Fuck, I’d stay burried between your legs forever if I fucking could.”

Javi began to let his kisses trail down your body, past your chest and across your stomach before he was dropping to his knees in front of you, draping your legs across the width of his shoulders. Pulling at your waistband, you lifted your hips off the counter so your pajamas and underwear could fall to the floor, revealing the wetness that had been pooling between your thighs since you had walked into the bathroom a few minutes ago.

“Jesus Christ…” Javi whispered, further parting your legs to see the arousal already dripping through your folds, staring up at you with a boyish grin on his face, “So fucking wet for me, Hermosa. Didn’t realize you liked my hair that much.”

“Oh shut up you goof, you know I- o-oh fuck-” You whimpered, Javi cutting off the rest of your sentence as the flat of his tongue dragged across your cunt, the suddent sensation making you gasp in delight, already playing in to Javi’s plan as your hand shot down to his head, digging your fingers into his messy hair.

“Better hold on tight, querida. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Javi smirked, pulling away just enough to see the smug smile between his cheeks, peppering a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs before his head was back between your legs, placing a soft kiss on your clit, already aching and throbbing for more of what you had just been promised.

“Do your worst, Peña.”

That one sent a low growl of approval humming through his chest, laughing to himself as his hands gripped tighter around your thighs, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your skin before another slow, broad stroke of his tongue was traveling through your folds.

While you were truly convinced there wasn’t another man who loved going down on their wife more than your husband did, you could always tell when Javi wanted nothing more than to stay buried between your thighs, making you cum over and over until you were begging him to stop, lapping up every last drop of you until there was nothing left to give, and right now, you already knew Javi meant what he said when you were about to have to hold on for dear life.

The hand buried in the dark waves of Javi’s hair only began to tug tighter as his tongue began to work meticulously across your cunt, pressing just enough pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves to already have you a squirming, whimpering mess, but painstakingly slow enough to have you begging for more.

“Javi… Oh, shit. Fuck, more baby, please. P-please.” You moaned, looking down at Javi with what you were already sure was a wrecked expression painted across your face.

You could practically feel Javi’s smug smirk pressed against your cunt as he eased one, then two fingers into your aching core, curling them to bump against the spongy spot inside you that already had you fisting at the edge of the bathroom counter to try and keep your composure, and better yet, your voice down.

“Oh my god, f-fuck. You feel so good, baby.” You moaned, feeling the strong arch of Javi’s nose bumping against your clit, placing a soft kiss there before the flat of his tongue licked another long, broad stroke across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to send the sweet tingling sensation to start building in your spine.

“Fuck, I love this perfect pussy so much. I still can’t believe she’s all fucking mine. My perfect fucking wife. Tell me, Hermosa, whose pussy is this?” Javi asked, pulling away for you to see your slick covering his mustache and the lustful look pooling in the dark brown of his eyes, the quiet possessiveness of his tone making your cunt clench even tighter around his fingers as they continued to pulse in and out of you.

“It’s y-yours, Javi, It’s all- fuck- It’s all yours.” You whined, your breath hitching in your throat as you spoke.

“And who’s the only one who makes you feel like this, huh?” Javi tutted, sliding a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch and sting making you let out a ragged whimper as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“Y-you- Jesus- Y-you are, Javi.”

“And who’s gonna be a good girl and soak my face when she cums for me?”

“M-me.”

“That’s fucking right, you are.” Javi growled before diving back between your legs, working his tongue relentlessly against your clit, circling and flicking in fast and firm motions as his fingers curled deeper into your core, eating you up like a man starved, desperate to make you fall apart.

You could already feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten from the way Javi was working so relentlessly to make you come undone, drinking every ounce of you up as his lips latched around your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your back arch and mind go blank while that all too familiar tingle began to creep through your core, cunt beginning to clench tighter and tighter around him.

At this point, your fingers were tugging so tightly around the soft, brown curls of his locks to try and hold yourself together, that you were convinced that you were close to pulling his hair out of his skull, but with the way you were on the brink of collapse from the way Javi’s mouth was working against your cunt, you almost didn’t have a choice.

“Fuck, Javi. Oh shit- Baby, I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop, mi amor. Won’t stop until this pretty pussy fucking soaks me.” Javi mewled, peeking his head out from under you just enough so that his sweet, brown eyes were locked with yours, the hot words of his breath dancing against your pussy as his fingers continued to rock in and out of you. “I’ve got you, Osita. Promento. Damelo, bebita. (I promise. Give it to me, baby).”

Before you could respond, your jaw dropped open and face scrunched in pleasure as Javi dove back in, burying his face in your cunt as each press of his tongue became more firm and precise than the last, feeling your pussy begin to flutter as you clutched tighter around the edge of the counter, trying to keep from screaming out in pleasure and raise any suspicion. But as your legs began to tremble and your heart race, teetering on the brink of collapse, it was taking every ounce of willpower you had left to make that happen.

“Fuck, Javi. Fuck, I- fuck- I’m gonna, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.” You whimpered, feeling your orgasm crash through you, pleasure radiating in your veins as you fell apart, losing all inhibitions to keep yourself quiet as you threw your head back in all consuming bliss. With his fingers still buried in your cunt, gently working you through your high, Javi shot back up, his mouth engulfing yours in an electric kiss to try and capture your ragged moans that had been coating the walls of the bathroom, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips.

Your heartbeat finally began to slow, your chest heaving in long, heavy breaths as you slumped into Javi, your head resting on his shoulder as your hands stayed buried deep in his hair, grasping onto his now sweat-dampened ends to try and pull yourself back down to reality.

After a few moments of letting you come to, Javi gently pulled out his fingers, all three drenched and glistening with your slick, pulling them out and bringing them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk of satisfaction on his face.

“God, you taste so fucking sweet. You really weren’t kidding about the hair, huh Hermosa?” Javi chuckled, cupping your jaw to cradle your cheek with his broad palm, forcing your gaze up at him.

“I told you.” You giggled softly, still trying to catch your breath as you smiled at him, pulling him in for another long, tender kiss. “Hottest looking Jonas Brother I’ve ever seen.”

The two of you burst out into laughter, practically snorting at your comment, taking a second to compose yourselves as Javi crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes at you.

“If that’s the fucking case, I’m getting out the clippers tonight.”

“Not until you take me to bed and do this all again, you aren’t.”

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

Text

All-American Girl - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley's every part the doting dad to your daughter Tatum, but after talking to some of the other wives on base in your mom's group, you're worried he may be hiding his true feelings about fatherhood.

A/N: not me procrastinating and adding to my country music series instead of literally anything else on my list. here's sickeningly sweet bradley as a girl dad fluff based off All-American Girl by Carrie Underwood.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x wife!reader

content/warnings: sickeningly sweet fluff, Bradley as a girl dad, mentions of sexism.

word count: 1.4k

Now he's wrapped around her finger, she's the center of his whole world And his heart belongs to that sweet little beautiful, wonderful, perfect all-American girl

Bradley groaned as he jogged up the front steps, his boots heavy against the brick as he walked up the veranda to the front door. An American flag flapped in the breeze, the pole nestled in the stand attached to the pillar on the front of the house, the mid-afternoon sun striking the front yard, basking over the dozens of plants and greenery that were planted there. Bradley kicked his boots off the moment he crossed the entryway, stacking them neatly by the door. He started unzipping his flight suit, his tanned skin slicked with sweat from the training exercises he’d completed earlier that day. He thought about the list of things he wanted to do before he settled in for the night with you - a shower was the first priority at this point.

Peeling the olive green suit off his skin, he discarded it in the laundry hamper in the bathroom. His white t-shirt and boxers followed suit, along with the thick, military issued socks. He’d plan on washing those tonight after dinner. He padded along the hallway to the bathroom, his balls of his feet sticking to the cherry wood flooring. The cool water flowing from the shower head was a refreshing comfort compared to how warm he was earlier, he contemplated asking for a transfer to somewhere colder after today - the hot Pacific coast sun was brutal, and despite having lived in California for a few years now, Bradley hadn’t adjusted. Not that Virginia Beach had been much cooler - at least, not in the summer, but it wasn’t as consistently warm as it was on the west coast.

As Bradley stepped out of the shower, he wrapped a plush, lavender coloured towel around his waist. Shaking his caramel coloured curls dry, he approached the vanity, reaching for the pomade - the same brand he’d been using to tame his hair since he was 14. His mom had taught him that trick - using a styling pomade to keep his curls intact, but less wild than they would be left to their own devices. Part of him wondered if he just never changed brands because it was the one she’d suggested for him, one of the last happy memories of his mother that he had clung to for the last 26 years.

“Bradley? I’m home!” you called out from the bottom of the stairs, having seen Bradley’s vintage Ford Bronco parked in the driveway.

“Upstairs, honey!” He yelled back, his deep voice echoing throughout the empty house.

He quickly pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a fresh, white t-shirt, grabbing his favourite floral print button-down on his way down the stairs. He beamed at you, leaning in to give you a loving peck on the cheek. He knelt down in front of the car seat you’d placed on the floor, smiling softly at his infant daughter as she stretched and yawned, waking up from the nap she’d taken on the car ride home.

“Good mornin’ sunshine! How’s my girl?”

Bradley held his index finger out to baby Tatum, smiling as she gripped it tightly in her hand. He began unbuckling her harness with his free hand as he spoke to her.

“Did you have a fun day with Mama? What did you do, princess? You and your mama go shopping for some new clothes, baby girl?”

Tatum let out a happy sigh as Bradley scooped her up in his arms, holding her close to his chest. He leaned his head down to kiss her forehead, his hand moving up and down her back in soft, slow, gentle strokes as he cuddled his baby. He took a seat on the couch, leaning back slightly so Tatum could recline on his chest. He smiled up at you, waiting patiently for you to start showing off the different outfits you’d purchased for Tatum. He’d always sworn that he’d never be the type of father who’d dismiss things he wasn’t interested in - whether it was baby clothes, or ballet, baby and me classes or going for walks around the neighborhood with her - he’d always try his best to be into it. It’s how his mom described his father - always interested in anything to do with Bradley when he was little.

You delicately sifted through the array of dresses and outfits, each garment infused with your hopes and dreams for little Tatum. With tender affection, you recounted where and when you had acquired each piece, your voice tinged with a blend of excitement and maternal pride. Tatum slumbered peacefully, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm against Bradley's shoulder, while you poured your heart into sharing your plans for her future attire.

As the last dress found its place, you sank onto the couch beside Bradley, seeking solace in his comforting presence. Nestling into his side, you felt the warmth of his embrace envelop you, his arm offering both physical and emotional support.

“Are you happy?” you murmured softly, a trace of uncertainty lacing your words as you chewed anxiously at your bottom lip.

A flicker of confusion danced across Bradley's features before he met your gaze with unwavering reassurance.

“Of course I’m happy, why would you ask that?”

“It’s silly,” you sighed, a moment of vulnerability surfacing before you continued, meeting Bradley’s brown-eyed gaze as you spoke, “It’s just that…you know how I took Tatum to that mommy and me group?”

"Mhmm, every Wednesday," Bradley affirmed, his attention fully focused on you.

“Right! That one. Well…one of the moms was saying how she was so thankful her baby was a boy, because her husband wanted a boy really badly and she didn’t want him to be upset if he didn’t get what he wanted…”

Bradley's brow furrowed with concern as he gently kissed Tatum's forehead, a protective gesture that spoke volumes.

“Babe, he sounds like a dick,” Bradley interjected, shaking his head as he gently kissed Tatum’s forehead again.

“I’m not finished yet!” You said as you held your hand up. “So anyways, she said that, and a lot of the other moms started talking and saying how their husbands were disappointed when they had girls or relieved when they had sons, and then they said how lucky I was that you were happy with a girl. The one of them said her husband pretended to be, but then he was totally different and genuinely happy when they had a boy next.”

“And you think I’m doing that?” Bradley queried as he tilted his head to the side, looking at you.

“Well, no, but…would you tell me if you’d wanted a son instead?”

The corner of Bradley's mouth lifted in a soft smile, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "No," he replied emphatically, shaking his head. “Because I’ve never wanted a son instead of Tatum. Not once.”

“You haven’t?” You said as relief washed over you, Bradley's words washing away any lingering doubts.

“Not for a second. I’ve wanted Tatum from the minute you told me you were pregnant - I never really gave a shit whether she was a boy or a girl. She’s mine and that’s all I care about. It just happened to turn out that she’s the second Bradshaw girl around here to steal my heart, after her mama.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm, you know that song, the one where she says about how her daddy was praying for a boy, but got a girl instead and she was wrapped around his finger? Then she grows up and asks her husband one day what he wants, and he says he just wants a sweet, beautiful All-American girl like his wife?”

“Yeah, I know it,” You laugh softly as Bradley begins to hum the tune of the song, singing it softly as he looks down at Tatum.

“That’s exactly how I felt when you told me you were having a girl. I just wanted a beautiful little baby who looked just like you, and that’s exactly what I got. Now I have two beautiful girls who love me more than anything, and I would move mountains for the pair of you. We could have twelve girls for all I care - I’d love every single one of them just as much as I love you.”

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