thebrideofmunson

[thebrideofmunson]

(Must've Been While You Were Kissin' Me) Part 2 of 2 Word Count: 4k+ Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Tags: EXPLICIT SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI - Rockstar/Radio DJ AU, canon divergence, set in 1992 and Eddie has more piercings and tattoos than ever, thigh riding, semi public sex, very slight voyeurism/humiliation kink if you squint, oral sex (m&f receiving), dirty talk, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex (do not do this), light spanking, come eating, pet names instead of y/n (sweetheart, doll, baby), really lame open end for a potential third part, idk man this got away from me.

Summary: Working as a woman in Rock n' Roll radio, you encountered your fair share of flirtatious rock stars. Often, they would flirt to belittle you, to question your love and knowledge of the genre, but Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin seems to know just which buttons to put to get on your good side. (Part 1) ... and into your pants (Part 2)

[A/N]: This is part 2 to You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth, and TECHNCIALLY can be enjoyed as a stand alone fic, but it'll make a lot more sense if you read part 1, so I recommend it! Also I DID kind of allude to a third installment, and I've already got some ideas floating around for it so gimme some love on this guy and let me know if you want to see a third part!

[Part 1] [AO3]

An hour after you wrap up your show, you find yourself climbing out of a cab with your coworkers and the members of Corroded Coffin. 

You watch the smoke on Eddie’s breath billow up towards the sky as he leads you into the bar. Lazy, curling wisps of it floating up above your heads and dissipating in front of the harsh neon sign. His arm is slung casually around you, fingers curled possessively on your shoulder, while the rest of the group trails clumsily behind you. 

It was tradition, the station taking the night’s guests out for drinks after the show, but it wasn’t something you were typically this eager for, it wasn’t usually your scene. Not that you’d admit it now, tucked under Eddie Munson’s arm and being marched toward the very small VIP section of the only club worth a damn in Fort Wayne, without so much as a second glance from the bouncer. 

Harrington, Henderson, and the station assistant (a doe-eyed, often starstruck little thing named Darla) offer to go get the first round of drinks as you settle into one of the large, circular booths around a too-small cocktail table in the corner. 

Never have you been more grateful for the anonymity that radio provides. You can feel the attention of nearly every patron in this bar, their eyes glued to the members of the band, no doubt surprised by their presence. Even moreso, you can feel the jealous eyes and hot stares of the women (and a few men) who wish they were in your place. If any of them were to recognize you, you’re sure years of professionalism would be flushed straight down the toilet. Still, with fingertips drawing shapes into the skin of your shoulder and the rumble of laughter under the weight of your body leaning into his, you’re not so sure how professional you can claim to be. 

It isn’t clear how you got here, how he convinced you to come. Every pet name he called you, every brush of his hand against your waist, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Letting habitually flirtatious rock stars down easy was your bread and butter, but somehow this one got to you. The gentleness in his eyes or the way he didn’t ever interrupt you just to disregard your opinion and make an offhand comment on your appearance. In the cab to the bar he even commended your research into the band, claiming nobody ever digs far enough to get past the murder charges. Even now he seems impressed, when you clock the song playing over the thrumming sound system. 

“What?” You giggle, thanking Darla with a smile as she passes you your favorite drink, “It’s literally my job to know music, what did you think, I wouldn't recognize fuckin’ Metallica?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he scoffs, beer bottle to his lips, “not Disposable Heroes, nobody knows Disposable Heroes.” 

“Well, I do!” You snark though a prideful wrinkle of your nose, and hold your bottle up. He taps the neck of his own against it. Unsure of what else to say, you throw out the world’s lamest last minute toast. “To a successful show at the Slippery Noodle tomorrow.” 

He raises a brow, his stare intense and taunting, “and a good time to be had tonight.” 

You flush as you take a sip, wishing you could hide behind your beer. 

So you drink. 

You talk with him and the rest of the group, rowdy at first, voices tangling and building above each other. Another toast, plastic cups and beer bottles cracking against one another in the middle of the boisterous group.

You drink more. 

Jeff and the Freak find a pool table and disappear there for the rest of the night. 

You lean heavier on the solid body beside you as a pleasant buzz takes over. 

Gareth finally works up the nerve to ask Darla to dance, and they’re off. 

As less people surround you, Eddie’s touches linger longer, press deeper into plush skin wherever his hand may rest at the moment. 

Henderson and Harrington head back to their hotel with a stern warning to not get into too much trouble, and then it’s just the two of you.

When your drinks continue to sit empty well into the tale of your first punk show, you regretfully peel yourself away from his body, put the story on hold, and make your way to the bar. He calls, “hurry back, sweetheart,” to your backside as you walk away, as if you weren’t already practically skipping to get back to his side faster. Another round of beers ordered, you duck through the crowded dance floor to join him back in your secluded booth in the corner. Upon your return, you set both bottles onto the table and try to take your seat in the booth again, but greedy, eager hands grab your hips, pulling you into the seat of his lap instead. 

A breathy giggle erupts from your chest, but you don’t protest, letting him wrap an arm around your middle to continue doodling absentmindedly on the hip bone exposed by your cropped tee. 

“You know there’s plenty of room on this bench,” you chide, “I think I can fit.” 

He hums in contemplation. You aren’t sure if it’s the bass from the dance music rattling your chest, or the tickle of his breath across your neck that raises goosebumps on your skin. “Maybe,” Eddie muses, nosing at the spot just behind your ear, breathing you in. “But I like you right here.” 

How charming.

You stutter a soft, “fair enough,” but it’s all you can manage, distracted by the feeling of his lips on your neck, exploring your heated skin, seeking out the places that make you sigh. 

Smirk pressed to your pulse point, he hums again, arm tightening around you. “Well?” He urges, “go on.” 

“Go on with what?” 

The ghost of a laugh dances along your skin, “You were telling me how you got into the industry. C’mon doll, I was fascinated, don’t let me distract you.” 

There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice when he expressed his interest, so you try to push through the haze that’s quickly clouding your mind, and continue on with the story you started before finding yourself in his lap. You paint the picture, talking about the colorful characters at your very first punk show and the feeling of the bass in your chest that only made you crave more. He continues to mouth at your neck, tug on an earlobe with bared teeth, savoring the way your breath would hitch or you would fumble over your words when he found a particularly sensitive spot. You reach the end of your tale, breathless and acutely aware of your surroundings, and turn as best you can in his arms. 

Round, deep honey eyes shine as they lift to yours, tongue skating across his lower lip before rolling it lazily between his teeth. You don’t even try to avert your gaze. 

Shameless. 

“Are we done with storytime now?” You ask through a poorly disguised sigh, tacking on a playful, “I simply can not go on with you distracting me like this.”

His response comes in the form of a hungry kiss, more teeth and tongue than anything else, but it’s even more intoxicating than any drink you consumed so far tonight. Both of his hands grip your cheeks, holding you in place to deepen the kiss, hot, curious tongue licking as far into your waiting mouth as he can. Your hand fists in the cotton of his tee shirt, a soft moan passed from your lips to his, drowned out by the loud music around you. 

It feels like hours that you’re wrapped up in one another, all roaming hands and shared, ragged breaths and desperate sounds swallowed quickly by the other. You don’t realize you’ve fully turned to straddle him in the tight space of the booth until his hands on your hips drag them down into his. The harsh drag of denim against your center drawing a strangled moan from you as you break from his lips. Both of your chests heave, foreheads pressed together and your breaths mingling between you. Wordlessly, he nods toward the back hallway to your right, eyes crinkling with mischief, fingers bruising on your hips. You flush, adrenaline and the heat of his stare prickling your skin. You should be ashamed of how quickly you nod, your motions clumsy as you climb off of him, but your racing heart and the cool bite of metal from his hand on your lower back guiding you forward allow no room for shame. 

He leads you to the bathroom with the kind of confidence that only comes with stardom, like he’s daring anyone to stop him, knowing they won’t. You, however, peek nervously over your shoulder at the bar. Cigarette smoke and the fog from the dance floor casts a haze over the room, offering you some cover and comfort. 

The slam of the lock brings you back to yourself as you take in the scene around you. Stickered, graffitied walls, a flickering vanity light, and a faint musty stench. 

But then Eddie’s crowding you up against the locked door, a palm pressed to the space above your head and his own scent of smoke and sandalwood and leather taking over your senses. He wedges a knee between your thighs, smirking at the keening sound the action draws from your throat, and continues his earlier assault on your neck. Behind closed doors, his attention is even hungrier. A possessive hand grips your neck, tilting your chin away to expose more of your throat to his eager mouth. He brings his other hand to ruck up the hem of your top, fingertips skimming the warm skin as he exposes it, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“You know,” he mumbles into your skin, palming at you through the thin material of your shirt and humming in satisfaction when you arch into his touch, hips still rutting against the thigh between your legs. “Didn’t peg you for the type to be into this kinda thing,” he pauses, drags a knuckle up the column of your throat. “Dirty bar bathroom and all that.” 

“‘M not,” you mutter in protest, your body betraying your words and grinding harder into his thigh, seeking any sort of relief from the needy ache in your core. 

A dark laugh accompanies his words as he asks, “then what do you call this?” His face is cocky, he knows he’s caught you in a lie, and his look darkens as he tears your top up and over your head. 

You return the favor, pulling clumsily at the leather of his jacket until you can wrench it off of his body, his shirt following immediately after. Eyeing the ink littering his body, the dark contrast against his pale flesh, harsh scars and coarse hair dusting the skin of his abdomen, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth and quip, “an exception.” 

The smart comment you’re sure he’s building up to is cut short in his throat when you sink to your knees – the cold, hard tile biting into your skin through the rips in your jeans – and make quick work of his belt. Opening his pants, you adjust them just enough so that his cock springs free, your mouth watering at the sight. He’s not even fully erect yet, but it’s long and deliciously thick, flushed red at the tip. Reaching out to stroke him, you savor in the groan he lets out, feeling him harden even more at your touch. Then another, as you lean in to run your tongue along the underside of his cock. 

As far as you’re concerned, you have all the time in the world in this bathroom, nobody is waiting outside the locked door. 

You take your time, switching between tiny, teasing kisses and long, broad licks up and down either side of his gorgeous length. Eddie swears and a hand flies to your hair, fisting in the length of it as you finally take him into your mouth with a happy little hum, tongue swirling around the head before sinking lower. His hand in your hair guides you even closer as he takes control and fucks into your open, waiting mouth with shallow thrusts, a string of expletives falling from his lips. You swallow past your gag reflex, and look up through batting lashes at his face twisted in pleasure, giving the tiniest nod as you allow him to thrust even deeper into your throat. The sounds he makes are downright pornographic, deep and rumbling and desperate. You swear you can feel them in your cunt, thighs pressed together seeking out any sort of relief. 

With your nose pressed firmly into his skin, he stills you, holds you in place and brushes the backs of his fingers along your cheekbone. It’s a gesture that you would even call gentlemanly, if not for his cock in your throat. 

Breath faltering, you gag around his length and he pulls you off of him by the hair, leaving you with ragged breath and a trail of saliva still connecting you to his cock. You lick it away, mouth agape, nothing but a simple dart of the tongue, but his eyes follow the motion just as subtly. 

A hand scrubs across the lower half of his face, dragging his lip in its wake. “Shit,” he breathes, a hand cupping under your chin to coax you back to your feet, “get up here.” When you’re standing in front of him again, he grabs a handful of your ass, fingers slipping past the waist of your jeans, cool steel stinging against your hot skin, and pulls you into him. The other hand pops the button on your pants and his deep inhale is practically predatory, his pupils blown and the brown of his eyes so dark that they look black. 

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmurs into your neck, squeezing at the globe of your ass again before retrieving his hand to work your pants and panties down your legs in one go. He’s right. The cotton of your panties sticks to you with your slick, the scent of your arousal filling the room as he exposes you. The sight of him circling you, eyes roaming your skin like you’re his prey, has you speechless. All you can do is whimper in response and follow him with your eyes, anticipating his next move. With a hand on your shoulder he urges you to bend over the edge of the countertop, and you comply, shivering under his attention and the cool air that hits your exposed, dripping center. You grip the edge of the sink, breasts pressed firm into the marble countertop, and wait. He continues, “all this,” emphasizing his statement with a rough drag of his palm across your lower lips, smearing your juices across the backs of your thighs obscenely, “just from sucking my cock?” He prods at your hole, middle and ring fingers sinking inside you easily. The cold steel of his rings kisses at your entrance and pulls another wrecked sound from your throat, thankful to finally feel some sort of relief. Wet, squelching sounds fill the room alongside your cries as he fucks roughly into you with his fingers. “Oh I don’t believe you for a minute that this is an exception. You’re soaked, you love this.” 

You want to stutter a protest, tell him he’s wrong, but then he curls his fingers inside you and strokes against your walls and you’re bucking back into his ministrations instead, argument long forgotten.

Cocky chuckle on his lips, fingers buried deep inside you, he continues monologuing. “Turns you on, doesn’t it? The thought that everyone who walks past this door knows just what’s going on behind it, that someone could try to walk in at any moment and catch you like this. Debauched,” he punctuates the word with a sharp, teasing smack! to your backside. It’s barely anything, you can tell he’s testing the waters, but even the thought of another has you clenching around his fingers. His tone darkens and he does it again, harder, sharper, with another accusation. “Lecherous.” Another blow, harder even than the last, is dealt to the opposite cheek. Your skin stings when he runs a soothing hand over the pink, angry mark he left behind. Withdrawing his fingers to toy lazily with your clit, he leans over you, breathing his last statement into your ear, “fucking desperate, practically begging me to fuck you right here in this bathroom.” 

Oh, so it’s begging he wants? 

You decide at that moment that you aren’t above begging. Literally anything to offer you some sweet relief because once again he’s teasing. Featherlight touches compared to the rough hands that were on you only moments ago. 

“Please, Eddie,” You whimper, arching your back. His fingers slip between your lower lips, collecting the wetness he finds there, but the touch is gone as quickly as it appeared. Fed up, you glare over your shoulder, only to find him licking his own fingers clean, a blissed out smirk on his face. You groan at the sight of it, dropping your head back onto your crossed arms with an impatient huff. 

“Please, what, sweetheart?” He taunts, spreading your lips with both hands, thumbs teasing at your cunt but not ever pushing inside. 

Your response is a babbling mess of desperate words, a series of wanton pleas falling from your lips in no particular order. It’s near unintelligible, but he makes out a few key phrases that are more than enough for him. “Please just touch me,” and, “fuck, anything, just please,” and, “whatever you want, just fuck me.” 

The head of his cock notches at your entrance, head just barely pushing inside, and it silences your babbling, your breath hitching in your throat. 

His voice is saccharine, sweet as honey as he says, “if you insist,” before driving his hips forward, filling you quickly with one harsh snap. The sudden fullness is intoxicating, a stinging stretch that has you moaning loudly, not a care in the world who hears. “That’s it, baby,” he grunts, pulling almost all the way back out before slamming back into you, punching another heady noise from deep within your chest. “Let it out.” 

Eddie’s motions are frenzied, fucking you with a renewed energy, skin slapping harshly against skin. Another rush of arousal floods your core when he reaches out to fist in your hair again, wrenching you up and off the sink and into his chest. Your hip bones slam into the marble with every thrust, surely making just as much of a mark as his bruising grip on your waist, but you can practically feel his cock in your molars he’s hitting so deep and all you can really focus on is the delicious drag of his length against your inner walls and the overall feeling of being filled to the brim. 

Reaching a hand up over your shoulder, you tangle your own fingers in his hair, steadying yourself, turning just enough to catch his lips in a sloppy kiss, if you could call it a kiss from this angle. It’s more of a swapping of spit and a shared, hot breath between you, but his fingers tighten at your scalp and he fucks up into you even harder so you really couldn’t care less. 

There’s a rattling from the doorknob, a harsh pull that has you gasping in surprise, but Eddie can feel the way your walls flutter around him and it only spurs him on more. 

Then, a knock, another jiggle at the door handle. A faint, annoyed voice from the other side. 

Eddie growls, practically roars, “occupied!” Letting his grip on your hair loose, his now free hand works its way down your body. Splaying over your throat to feel the noises he’s drawing from you, down dragging his nails over the swell of your breast, pinching a nipple through the delicate fabric of your bra. Then, burying his hand between your legs, he murmurs in your ear, “c’mon baby, let ‘em hear you.” He circles your clit, agonizingly slow at first, then speeding up in time with his thrusts. 

“Fuck!” You moan out, hips moving on their own accord to meet his with crude, wet sounds. His fingers work harder against you, the tension building in your stomach, your pussy squeezing eagerly at his cock. Your skin is alight with heat and everywhere he touches you sends pleasure straight to your core. Eyes wound shut, your voice comes out weaker now, “Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, sweetheart,” he consoles before sinking his teeth into the curve of your neck, doubling his efforts on your clit, his thrusts shallow and disconnected. He’s just as close as you are. 

Your orgasm takes you both by surprise. One moment you’re teetering on the precipice and the next you’re thrown over the edge, head thrown back onto Eddie’s shoulder, shuddering with a spent cry. Your hips twitch, channel milking his cock for all its worth, your release triggering his own. 

He stills, spilling into you, squeezing a bruising handprint into the meat of your hip. When he pulls out, you can feel his cum leaking out of you, a fact that you should be appalled by, but the feeling of it dripping down your thighs only makes you clench around nothing, the sudden emptiness. 

You remain draped lazily over the counter as he rights himself, doing up his fly and shrugging on his shirt. You know you should move, get dressed, get out of there so that people can actually use the bathroom for its intended purpose, but your legs are jelly and you don’t trust yourself to move quite yet. 

Eddie’s hand on your lower back reminds you that you should get moving, and you hum, mumbling a soft, “mmh, gimme a minute, I’ll get dressed in a sec.” 

“Like hell you will,” he scolds, sinking to his knees behind you. You look over your shoulder quizzically at him, a soft confusion painting your features and a little ‘hm?’ caught in your throat. It endears him to you even more, he chuckles lightly, lifting one of your ankles and pulling it free from the confines of your pant leg. 

“You know, this feels like the opposite of what should be happening,” you point out, but when he nudges your knees apart, you comply, spreading your legs further. 

“Look at you,” he scolds, “you’re filthy. Gotta clean you up before we head back out there.” Before you can question him, he dives forward, licking at your messy folds with a satisfied groan, your own moan echoing him. He spreads your lips with two fingers, digging into your hole with his tongue and slurping at the mixture of your combined releases. It’s obscene, the sounds coming from behind you, and you can’t help but press your aching cunt harder into his face. “Eager little thing, aren’t we?” He taunts against your pussy, words muffled. 

“S-says the man who won’t even let me get dressed,” you tease back. Not that you’re complaining, at all. 

He doesn’t justify that with a response, just continues to eat you out slowly, lazily, thoroughly until he can only taste you in your cunt again. 

He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of another orgasm, though he brings you right up to the edge, and he chuckles darkly when you whine as he helps you back into your jeans. 

“Gotta leave you wanting a little more, right?” He quips, flashing a toothy grin as you  pull your top over your head. He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, yet another chivalrous gesture wildly contrasting the romp you just shared. Then, reaching down to grip your ass as he guides you to the door, he leans down to your ear and murmurs, “gives you something to look forward to when I bring you backstage after the show tomorrow.” 

Typical rockstar, expecting you to be at his beck and call…

…but you both know you’ll be there with bells on.

[thebrideofmunson]

You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth Word Count: 2974 Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Tags: Rockstar/Radio DJ AU, canon divergence - season 4 still happened, but Eddie lives, set in 1992 and Eddie has more piercings and tattoos than ever, brief sexual harassment mention (mostly just unsolicited flirting, not from any characters of the show), use of actors' last names because the duffers don't care about their characters enough to give them last names (Jeff specifically, I used Gareth's common fanon accepted last name), mentions of Chrissy's death and the events of season 4/the trauma surrounding it, Eddie Munson needs a hug, shameless flirt Eddie Munson.

Summary: Working as a woman in Rock n' Roll radio, you encountered your fair share of flirtatious rock stars. Often, they would flirt to belittle you, to question your love and knowledge of the genre, but Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin seems to know just which buttons to put to get on your good side.

A/N: I tried so hard to post this all in one go, but ultimately decided it would work better as 2 parts. So for now enjoy the exposition and interview chapter, and smutty part 2 will follow soon.

[AO3] [Part 2]

Music. 

Hendrix called music his religion. Beethoven called it the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. Shakespeare, the food of life. 

All of these were excellent quotes, but to you, music wasn’t just one thing. Music is everything. Ever since your first concert (an age inappropriate punk show that your aunt snuck you into at thirteen) music practically ran through your blood. Nothing excited your younger self quite like the thrum of a good bass drum and the crackle of worn out venue speakers. 

You devoted your younger years to learning everything you could about the music industry. Researching how songs were written and produced, spending hour after hour teaching yourself instruments from the ground up, practically begging your aunt to take you to any and every concert she had access to. When your tastes started to develop even further and strayed toward hard rock, heavy metal, and punk, your parents didn’t bat an eye, assumed it was just a hobby, that your music tastes wouldn’t define your lifestyle at all. Then, you turned down a college scholarship in lieu of an unpaid internship at the local radio station and a day job at the diner ‘round the corner to make ends meet. That’s when things got rocky. 

Still, you persevered.

Hopping from station to station, eventually internships turned into paid mail room jobs. Then you got hired for assistant work for your favorite rock radio station, running coffees and pushing pencils and picking up dry cleaning. Out of sheer dumb luck one day, with a missing traffic announcer and a desperate producer, you were thrown into the ring with a hastily improvised introduction from the DJ who pronounced your name impressively wrong. You ended up doing traffic at that station for two years, until – after asking nearly every month and mixtape after mixtape to prove your music taste worthy – your producer broke down and gave you an early morning DJ slot. It was a two hour show from 3 AM to 5 AM, but it was yours. 

Working your way up the ladder, you just kept pushing until you got where you are now, two years into a new decade: The lead host of a prime time Metal radio show with your name in the title. 

All that hard work and climbing to the top and your love for what you do is exactly what makes the disrespect hurt so much worse. 

Being a woman in a predominantly male industry (radio alone, let alone any subgenre of Rock), it’s increasingly obvious how little your listeners and guests alike take you seriously. There isn’t a single mail drop that doesn’t include at least one hate letter telling you to get off the air, and you would be surprised if you had a guest on the show that didn’t seem downright shocked by your knowledge of the genre. 

But the worst part? 

The flirting. 

God, the flirting. 

Most women your age would swoon when a rockstar so much as looked their way for longer than a fleeting moment, but whenever a flirtatious comment or a wink is sent in your direction it’s practically dripping with disrespect. They’ll interrupt you mid-sentence to belittle you, to reduce you to nothing more than eye candy and someone they can manipulate if they flirt hard enough.

Your responses burn in your throat when you swallow them down to instead fake a laugh and pretend you’re flattered. 

The producer used to urge you to flirt back, “give the listeners a little show,” but you know better than that. If you did that, your listeners would only think one of two things. Either you slept your way into this position, or you were using it as a way to try and sleep with the stars. There’s no way you would put your professionalism to the side for the sake of some greasy musician's ego, no matter how much you respected their music. 

However, that attitude changed the day Corroded Coffin walked into your studio. 

Frontman Eddie Munson is walking sex and he knows it. He carries himself with the confidence of a man who has been through it all and still somehow came out on top. He flirts, not to belittle, but with a genuine appreciation of whoever he’s speaking to, and he really does flirt with just about anyone You’ve seen it in action before, at shows you had attended as an assistant for the station in dimly lit bars, back in ‘88 as the band was still just taking off. That was a man that could make you feel like the center of the universe, and he wanted to. You were the subject of his attention that night, for a while, and you have yet to forget the feeling of being special, if even for a few moments. 

So when the band is lead into the building by their management team (if you could call them that), you’re not surprised in the least to see Eddie Munson hanging off the shoulder of friend-turned-manager Steve Harrington, pout on his pierced lip and poking a finger into Steve’s dimple as he makes some teasing remark. When he’s shaken off, he kisses the same cheek affectionately, and then ruffles the hair of the younger man next to them, publicist Dustin Henderson. Henderson, shoves him away angrily, and though you can’t hear their words from inside your booth, you’re sure he’s saying something about ‘professionalism’ and ‘not a kid anymore, motherfucker.’

You smile, seeing the exchange and give a ‘one minute’ gesture to your station manager who points into the booth at you, before introducing the next song. 

“Alright folks, at the top of the hour, we’ve got the new Alice in Chains single comin’ at you. When we come back we’ll be sitting down with Corroded Coffin to talk about their newest album and summer tour, so don’t go anywhere. Here’s ‘Would.’” 

Starting the song and muting your microphone, you take off your headphones and walk over to the door to usher the men in quickly. Smiling gently as the men all cross through the door into your tiny studio, you can hear Henderson shouting at them to ‘Behave, boys!’ Steve, scoffing out a defeated, ‘Who, Munson? Please.’ You give the two of them a soft wave and inform them that you can hold your own, not to worry. 

Turning back toward your workspace, you make note of the fact that three of the band members – Gareth Emerson, Jeff Best, and the bass player who, despite hours of research, the only name you could uncover was ‘The Freak’ – sat patiently on the stools set out for them, across from your desk. Eddie, however, with a severe case of lead singer syndrome, has perched himself in front of your control panel, running his fingers along the knobs and dials, grinning to himself. 

“Uh, hey,” You interject, enjoying the way his head snaps up at the sound of your voice. You introduce yourself to each of them softly, keeping an eye on the clock counting you down to the song’s end. Then, pointing to your stool that sits right in front of Eddie’s knees, “do you mind?” 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he breathes, winking as he passes you in the tight space, “couldn’t help myself.” 

Normally the pet name would have you rolling your eyes and preparing for a long, long, interview…but the boyish smile you’re met with when you look at him across the controls has your heart skipping a beat. 

The countdown informs you that there’s 30 seconds remaining in the song, and you don your headphones again, uncovering one ear, and encouraging the guys to do the same. 

“Okay guys,” you call their attention and straighten your note cards with a slight tap tap against the table. You regretfully give them the same rehearsed speech you give to every band that enters your booth. “Super excited to have you on the show, but we don’t have long. I’m sure you’re used to radio spots by now, so I won’t give you the whole spiel, but just remember we’re on live.” A pointed brow raised at Eddie specifically brings a roar of laughter from his bandmates. 

As the clock starts ticking down the last fifteen seconds, Eddie leans into the still muted microphone and raises an eyebrow of his own, smirking. “So keep the fuck’s to a minimum, then?” 

You only nod as you fade out the song playing, and fade into a snippet of Gareth’s impressive drum solo from their latest album. The man practically beams at the notion, used to most of the spotlight shining on Eddie’s impressive guitar playing and vocals and clearly more than excited to have a little bit of recognition. You return his grin and throw him a devil horn gesture, tongue poking between your teeth before you fade out to dead air once again. 

“Aaand WKZT The Crash coming back at you, Fort Wayne’s only source for all your hard rock and heavy metal needs. I’m here with Corroded Coffin, one of America’s biggest success stories in recent rock history. Their debut album, The World Upside Down, has been number one on the charts for an impressive 5 weeks running and has sold over 1.8 million copies - and counting. Joining me today are guitarist, Jeff Best-”

A peace sign that you listeners will never see. “Hey guys, how’s it goin’?” 

“Gareth Emerson on the drums-” 

A small wave. “Hi, what’s up?”

“A name I’m sure is on his birth certificate, bassist, The Freak-” 

Devil horns of his own. “Sup?”

“And last but definitely not least, lead guitar and vocals, Eddie Munson.” 

He leans into their microphone, voice dropping so that it’s barely audible in the room, but crystal clear in your headphones. He purrs, “pleasure.” 

You roll your eyes yet again, but lean back into the back of your chair with a bitten back grin, dragging the arm of your mic stand closer to you. “Let’s just start with a big congratulations, guys, really, did you ever think you would be sitting at almost two mil on your debut? You’re projected to get there in just another week’s time.” 

“You know honestly we’ve just been doing our own thing,” Gareth says earnestly. “I don’t think any of us ever expected it would get this wild, well, maybe Munson.” 

The laugh that you snort out is unbecoming, but you can’t stop it.

Eddie continues, “I always had faith in us. Even if these fu-” a stern glare from you cuts him off, as if you knew his foul mouth was coming. “...fungi didn’t. You know Jeff here still referred to us as a garage band not even a year ago?” He thrusts a thumb over his shoulder to point at the other guitarist, who holds his palms out in self defense. 

“We were literally in Gareth’s garage when I said that.” 

This time you do manage to stifle your laughter at their banter, and move forward. “That’s actually an excellent segue. Rumor has it you lot have been playing in garages together since middle school. To what would you owe the success of staying together all these years? And with all your original members?”

It's touching, the way they all share a glance, debating who should speak up, before Eddie eventually does. His nose wrinkles as he speaks, a hint of a laugh at his own sentiment. “C’mon, doll, haven’t you ever heard of the power of friendship?” 

Jeff claps a hand on Eddie’s chest to keep him at bay, “what this clown means is that we started as just a couple of friends, a group of outcasts who had two things in common – our taste in music, and this goofy little fantasy game that we played every Friday-” 

It’s your turn to cut him off, “Dungeons and Dragons, right?” 

This new smile that broadens across Eddie’s features has an air of familiarity, a bitten lip and a hint of pink to his cheeks. Warmth blooms in your chest at the look he gives you when he says, “the very same.” 

“Yeah, I caught the influence in some of your song titles. Specifically Flesh to Stone. We’re on a short schedule, so I’ll spare our listeners the details. I’m sure they don’t need to hear about your fantasy characters, though I might know a certain half-elf bard that’ll want to know after the show.” You point awkwardly to your own face, pulling a ‘get a load of this nerd’ expression. 

A dart of Eddie’s tongue as it wets his lip, the soft bite into the flesh there as he seems, for the first time quite possibly ever, at a loss for words. 

You avert your gaze back to your notecards, moving on, clearing your suddenly dry throat. 

“Upside Down has quite a few heavy numbers on it. Some critics have been debating whether it’s a concept album or not. With cohesive themes throughout, I can see the argument for it, but there seems to be two separate stories within this album. Can you speak on that at all? Is Upside Down an ode to a dungeon master with incredible storytelling skills, or is there something more hiding beneath the surface?” 

The silence that follows isn’t tense, but it’s far from comfortable, too. Everyone but Eddie looks to the floor, up at the posters behind you, anywhere but at their lead singer and songwriter. His own gaze is unfocused, facing you but looking straight through you. You almost want to strike the question just for your own comfort’s sake (and his), but it’s already been asked. 

The Freak pats a leather-clad shoulder gently and mumbles, “that’s all you buddy.” 

In an instant, his demeanor changes again. With a clearing of his throat, he sits further back up in his stool and squares his shoulders.  

“Little bit of both.” He still starts out slow, but as he speaks seems to come out of his shell once more. Curls flicked from his face, knuckles cracked, he leans forward with elbows to knees. “See, I dunno how much research you’ve done on me, but back when I was 20 I got into some shit-” 

“The murder charges,” you interject. 

He nods, his pointer fingers forming a peak in front of his taut lips. “The murder charges, yeah. The dropped murder charges, I should clarify. Uh, what my friends and I went through that March was…unspeakable. I still haven’t really found the words to talk about it in earnest, which is saying a lot because before the spring of ‘86 I could find the words for anything. Too many words, if you ask these guys.” Another gesture to the band surrounding him, they all have a nod or an eye roll to add to the conversation. “So when I didn’t know how to deal with all of the thoughts and memories and pain from that spring, I took to writing. I wanted to tell the story of what happened but on my own terms, in my own way. So I came up with the hero character mentioned in Hero’s Journey. Technically the whole album is his story, dramatized, but there’s plenty of flickers of truth in it too. Um–” he clears his throat again, fidgets, taps his foot against the rungs of the stool, “Wake Up is one of the tracks I’m sure you’re asking about.” You nod. “If you listen to the lyrics outright, it’s the pivotal moment in our hero’s story, the moment that sends him on this wicked journey of monsters and alternate dimensions, sword fights an-and,” his voice cracks, “a life taken way too soon. And it is about that, on the surface, but if you read them, really read the lyrics, you’ll see an ode to the girl I let down…a grievance with myself for not knowing how to save her…a big ol’ middle finger to the universe for putting her in harm’s way in the universe. It’s the most real track on the album, and I’m just happy to finally share it with the world.” His eyes, while pained, crinkle when he smiles your way, assessing the energy in the room and deciding to not continue in the same direction. “Oh, and I’m sure the other heavy song you’re asking about would be Chest Hair.” 

You laugh to the point of snorting again, and shake your head. “I can’t say I’m familiar with that one.” 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs into his lap, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “We cut that one at the last minute. It was a fun little number about how hot our main man Stevie looks without a shirt,” turning in his seat he points out the window at their manager, shouting, “AIN’T THAT RIGHT, BIG BOY?” 

You join the rest of the band in shaking your head this time, laughing when through the glass, Steve flips Eddie off and Dustin rubs at his eyes in annoyance. You can see him mouth to himself, ‘almost made it the whole interview.’

“Listeners let it be known that Eddie Munson has just turned his manager, Steve Harrington, beet red with his affection,” you take a second to compose yourself and then queue up the next song, slowly letting the intro fade in as you close out the interview. “Okay folks, that’s all we have time for with Corroded Coffin today, make sure to check out their debut album, The World Upside Down for yourself, and catch them tomorrow in Indianapolis at the Slippery Noodle Inn, tickets available at the door. Say goodbye, fellas!” 

The four of them all chorus a goodbye, waving once again despite not being on camera. “I’m out for the night, too, but before I go, I’ll leave you with the title track from the album, Upside Down.”

[thebrideofmunson]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors [15k]

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

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mommy.” Her breath quivers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie drops his gaze to her wet feet.

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

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

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

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

"What's your name?" he asks. 

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

"I'm Eddie." 

"Dee," she says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're really fucking pretty. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm only three down," he says. 

 "Oh… Thank you," you say roughly.

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

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

"She did? She said that?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can see where she gets it." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Junie," he repeats, surprised. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm an oatmeal fiend." 

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

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

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

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

"She likes you." 

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

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

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

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

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

Junie looks like she agrees. 

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

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

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

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

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

"You got a job?"  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why thank you," he drawls. 

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

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

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

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

"Junie gets peanut butter and blueberries." 

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

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

You blink. "What?" 

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

"Salt. Sometimes raisins." 

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

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

"Blue," Junie says. 

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

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

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

"What's after?" 

"Music." 

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

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

"And you're in a band?" 

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

"At the Hideout?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Smart Junie." 

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

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

Junie takes the bottle and shakes it. 

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

"Thanks, junebug."

"Tanks," Junie says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby's want love. Care and affection. 

And to pull Eddie's hair, apparently. 

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

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

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

"Are you a singer, Junie?" he asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sure." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mommy," she says, unhappy and loud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And have the precious little lady starve?" 

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

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

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

You exhale through an open-mouthed smile.

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

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

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

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

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

She pouts. 

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. "That's okay." 

"It was sick to meet you," he says. 

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

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

"You could?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bye!" Junie calls back. 

You both grin. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody knocks the door. 

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

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

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

"Hi," you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie visibly softens. 

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

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

"Hi," Junie says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?" Eddie asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're in dire need of one of those. 

"What was wrong with the little lady?" 

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

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

"A little." You smile ruefully. 

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

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

“Woah,” you say.

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

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

"What do they all do?" you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got a pencil?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please don't ruin the door." 

A wolfish smile. "No promises." 

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

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

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

She's excited. 

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

Junie claps her hands together and reaches for the drill. 

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

Junie reaches up for the drill again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like your tattoos," you say. 

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

"I- I like your tattoos." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s solid. 

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

"Sorry," he whispers. 

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

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

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

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

You beam. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Sh, you'll wake the baby." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi?" you whisper.

"Can I use the bathroom?" 

You laugh. "Yeah. Course you can." 

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, sweetheart." 

The fatigue ebbs a little. 

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"Pepperoni," you correct, absentminded. 

"Peroni." 

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

"Pepper."

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

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

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

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

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

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

She babbles. 

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

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

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

"Yeah? How's Junie liking daycare?" 

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

"Uh-huh. How's work?" 

"What?" 

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

"You're asking me about work?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Nobody ever asks about work," you say. 

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

"Sorry," you mutter. 

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

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

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

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

"She's like a magic item." 

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

"Are they all terrible?"

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

"I asked. And I get it." 

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

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

"No, I know, I just-" 

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

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

"I know." 

Junie puts her hand on your cheek. 

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

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

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

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

"I couldn't-" 

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

Junie starts clapping her hands together. 

"I think she's decided," you say. 

-

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

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

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

"Shush," she repeats with much more enthusiasm. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Stickles," she says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eddie, that's too much for her." 

"She's a growing girl." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stands up. 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Or what possesses you to offer to cut his hair. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you always had long hair?" 

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

You smile encouragingly.

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

"I love your hair," you say. 

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

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

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

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

"But?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He goes quiet. 

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

"Would you do it now?" 

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

"I'm in dire need." 

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

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

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

"I can do it over the sink?" 

-

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

And it does feel luxurious.

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

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

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

That was that. 

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

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

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

"Can’t do it?" he teases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My hero." 

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

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

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

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

"Nothing," he says quickly.

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

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

"I guess we do sound the same." 

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

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

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

"I'm gonna do that much, okay?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"If you please." 

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

You draw closer, as close as you can be. 

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

"Zits, mostly." 

He can feel your laugh under his hand. 

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

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

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

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

"Mostly." 

"What was the worst part?" 

"Being scared all the time."

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

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

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

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

"Did it work out perfect?" 

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

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

"Yeah, by myself." 

"I'm sorry." 

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

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

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

"How old were you?" he asks. 

"Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"I wanna know about you." 

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you had me?" 

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

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

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

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

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

He tickles her until she's screaming. 

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

"No, you're okay." 

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

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

"I don't think that," you say. 

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

"Sleep," you say. 

"Well, I can't help you there." 

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

"Food coma," he says knowledgeably. 

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

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

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

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

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

"It's my house." 

"If you don't let me-" 

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

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

"No you're not." 

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

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

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

"Eddie-" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He holds the bottle in front of her face.

She finally looks up with a pout. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about me?" 

"What, would you be a hero?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodnight, Eddie," you say. 

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

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

"Hey." 

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

"Junie's mom did it for me." 

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

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

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

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

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

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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[thebrideofmunson]

# eddie is fed up with their lack of music culture

STRANGER THINGS | Papa (4.08)

[thebrideofmunson]

My live reactions to season 4 episode 9 (part 1)

But they're slightly out of context and a complete unfiltered adhd mess

Also ofc spoilers

-will yuri ever give up on trying to trick them

-and I think he might legit be attracted to that helicopter

-are JOYCE AND HOPPER GONNA FUCK IN THAT CHURCH?!?!??

-AHUT UP

-shut up

-OMFG

-FINALLY

-not the us government cockblocking

-Robin making fun of Steve is my fav

-don’t like the foreshadowing of Steve telling Eddie and Dustin to abort the mission

-there’s so much foreshadowing for Eddie dying I can’t take it

-Eddie and his bandana is doing things to me

-also Dustin is so cute with his little outfit

-that boy is my son

-I really hope el’s plan works because it’s so cool

-so happy for Kate bush rn because she’s truly in her bag

-shit angry hick

-Joyce is the best mom, but I hate this plan

-not argyle making a pizza

-THIS US IT

-ITS HAPPENUNG

-Eddie’s hand…

-MY HEART IS RACING

-I think this scene will actually get me pregnant lol

-get this stancy off my screen, I want Eddie’s sexy ass playing Metallica to save the world!!!!!

-“you’re there” just let out the deepest sigh

-this is making it sound like I don’t like Steve or Nancy, I’d like to clarify that I absolutely love both of them, I just can’t stand stancy for so many reasons

-Enzo is either gonna die or double cross them calling it now

-jk on the double crossing, but homeboy is NOT surviving

-I’m so anxious I’m tempted to look on Twitter for spoilers so any deaths don’t hit as hard

-LUMAX LUMAX LUMAX

-max better survive to see that movie istfg if she doesn’t

-Jonathan best brother ever

-please make them explicitly say Will is gay by the end of the series

-yas the show setting it straight on how bad Billy was

-Catholic guilt max is so real

-fuck I have chills. I love max so much and I really just want her to actually be happy.

-shit vecna has her

-Caleb is acting his ass off in this scene

-starved for elmax content

-skater girl max truly has my heart

-IS THIS REALLY IT

-YES

-omfg Chrissy this is for you

-I just audibly screamed

-already knew it was gonna be master of puppets, but I’m still freaking out cuz I love this song

-DADDY DADDY DADDY

-stfu Dustin head banging is adorable

-this is already one of my top 10 fight scenes from any show/movie just because of the song choice

-I INWO THAT RAGEDY BITVH DIDNT JUST TACKLE ERICA

-Eddie nation how we doing?

-I will be rewatching that scene for the rest of the summer istg

-Max’s best memory being there snow ball<3

-Russian crew is so unbelievably fucked I’m horrified

-bro demaflayers?!?!?!?

-Steve’s hopping just gave me the ick

-ronance moment

-baby max<3<3<3

-lmao I forgot this was the song they used in the snow ball scene

-it’s 3:30 am and I’m so tired, but I’m only half way through and HAVE to watch on one sitting

-seriously the cinematography

-fuck Jason omfg

-IF HE HURTS LUCAS

-I hate this it’s so unnecessary

-I don’t wanna watch the Russian teams scenes because I’m so scared

-fuck hopper being the bait

-NO JOYCE GETTING FLASHBACKS

-still so scared for Eddie too

-ROBIN

-STEVE

-NANCY

-god Russia needs to come through rn with that hive mind theory

-if Eddie doesn’t get through

-BO NO NO NON NO NO

-pausing to accept that Eddie is about to die

-just caved and looked at spoilers and now I don’t wanna finish :(

-it’s honestly on me for falling in love with him

-just spoiled Max too so I can handle it

-I’m finishing this shit in the morning

-Eddie nation plz don’t stop posting fanfics because it’s all I have now

#st4 volume 2 #st4 #stranger things #eddie munson

[thebrideofmunson]

My live reactions to season 4 episode 8

But they're slightly out of context and a complete unfiltered adhd mess

Also ofc spoilers

-Eddie defending his taste in music<3

-I’m so over stancy it’s not even funny

-I forgot just how much I missed Joyce and Hopper

-season 5 is def gonna be them fighting all of the dif monsters at once

-WILL GAY OMFG and Jonathan being a caring brother and catching onto him being upset

-fuck dr.brenner, I could care less about how they’re “redeeming” him

-it took me so long to trust Dr. Owens in season 2, but now I love him so much

-I think Nancy saw what’s gonna happen next season

-angry vengeful Nancy is so hot

-I neeeeeed max to survive so lumax gets back together

-hopper is a dilf

-so is Enzo

-seeing max’s Halloween mask made me really happy for some reason

-also Eddie having his genius moment is unbelievably hot

-also Eddie’s family?

-steddie moment

-Eddie did those people so dirty

-still the loml

-barfing at the stancy

-but the thought borderline hippie dilf Steve !!!!!

-run to the light? You mean run up that hill(sorry that wasn’t funny)

-LUMAX LUMAX LUMAX

-yuri is an ass guy

-I was about to freak over gay Robin, ig not

-also adore how much Vicky looks like Molly Ringwald

-why is Jason an actual fucking sociopath

-mom Jonathan

-yuh argyle saves the day

-I feel so bad that when El had her hair looking really good she had to shave it

-NOOOOOO DR OWENS

-I wanna cry because dr brenner is so frustrating

-it’s so nice seeing El finally have a voice and stick up for herself

-Eddie and Dustin are such nerds <3

-nah I don’t like what Eddie just said to Dustin, it’s like he’s getting ready to die

-Erica showing up to every game<3

-Robin don’t say that

-El looks like ashtray

-shit I wanted brenner to die, but him getting shot at in the desert is scaring me

-in argyle we trust

-yesss El is getting so powerful

-that shot of el watching the helicopter blow up is so cool

-the cinematography this season especially this episode is so good

-god the way they’re subtly saying Will is gay is peak television

-him standing in the bg between El and Mike when they reunite!!!!

-it’s still fuck Dr. Brenner btw

-that’s right El, don’t forgive him

-Did argyles work not realize the van has been missing? Like I feel like he should get in trouble for taking it to multiple states

-Robin looks so good in that outfit

-Eddie’s hands Asdfghjkl

-finally they’re using separate ways

-this season’s soundtrack is definitely the best

#stranger things #st4 #st4 volume 2 #eddie munson

[thebrideofmunson]

eddie munson:

[thebrideofmunson]

For all those wondering what Will painted. You're welcome.

[thebrideofmunson]

#pride

[thebrideofmunson]

eddie munson + signs of adhd (insp.)

[thebrideofmunson]

depollute me

eddie munson x fem!reader

after getting back from the upside-down, you’re left shaken up and dirty. and, after all of it, you cannot bring yourself to clean up alone.

warnings: SMUT (vaginal fingering, grinding, shower sex, light dirty talk) hurt/comfort, mentions of violence, death & gore, injuries, pet names (princess, sweetheart), kind of angsty

inclusivity warnings: reader is described as having hair long enough to shampoo and pull, as well as having breasts large enough to fully grab! (lmk if there’s anything else)

title is totally not inspired by leith ross 👀

“Easy,” Eddie guides, ringed fingers curled around your waist as he helps you step into the light of the bathroom.

“Christ, Eddie,” You grunt, pulling yourself away from his grip, “I’m not that hurt.”

Keep reading

[thebrideofmunson]

Hey y’all I’ve been going through a massive writing dry spell so please send in some requests

Rules nd stuff:

-I prefer to write for JJ, but will write for anyone

-plz request stuff for the girls because there’s not enough stuff about them

-no ships

-I’m ok with smut,angst, and fluff

-I’m ok with blurbs, headcannons, and imagines

Request away;)

#outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #kiara carrera #kiara carerra x reader #john b routledge #john b routledge x reader #sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #pope heyward #pope heyward x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks imagine

[thebrideofmunson]

I honestly forget that Kiara being gay isn’t cannon

#outer banks #kiara obx #kiara outer banks #kiara carrera

[thebrideofmunson]

Eyes on the road

JJ Maybank x fem! reader smut

Word count: 1k

Summary: You try and get your boyfriend back for teasing you on a long drive, but end up paying the price

Warnings: fingering, orgasm denial, slight daddy kink, not practicing road safety, and unedited writing

The radio played softly in the background while the trees along the freeway passed you by. It was late at night and you and JJ were driving back from your date on the mainland. Content from your day you rested your head against the window while your boyfriend drove, his hand gently holding your thigh. You felt your eyelids growing heavy, but then you were jolted back awake by JJ’s hand traveling up your thigh. Looking over at him you watched how the street lights illuminated his sharp features and then casted shadows as the car passed underneath them. Instinctively you spread your legs to welcome his touch, leaning back and closing your eyes, but just as he reaches your clothed core he pulls away. Your eyes fly back open and you snap your head to look at your boyfriend. A needy whine escapes your lips causing JJ to smirk in response. Turning away from him to look out the window you cross your arms.

“Oh come on sweetheart don’t pout.” JJ teases you, but you ignore him and continue to stare out the window.

Ten minutes had passed and you were still unbelievably horny and slightly frustrated with your boyfriend. You readjust yourself in your seat, your thong accidentally brushing against your clit in the process. A soft sigh escapes your lips causing JJ to raise an eyebrow and look over at you. Seeing his reaction gives you an idea. Trying to hide your devious smile you unbuckle your seatbelt to give yourself enough room to slip off your underwear from under your dress.

“Baby what are you doing.” The car swerves ever so slightly as JJ looks down at the lacy black fabric you had discarded on the floor before he looks up at your face. Disregarding JJ you bring your fingers down to your clit, coating them in your juices as you circle around it.

“Oh fuck JJ.” You toss your head back against the seat as his name escapes your lips in a moan. Unable to look away from you JJ swerves the car again.

“(Y/N).” JJ warns you, but you don’t care. Picking up the pace you shamelessly let out lewd whines.

“Daddy I feel so good.” That sends JJ over the edge. Grabbing your wrist he pulls your hand away from your core. You stiffen up scared you were in trouble, but JJ replacing your hand with his own causes you to melt into the seat with a loud moan.

“You’re lucky I’m touching you with how bad you’re being.” JJ coats his fingers in your arousal before pushing two of them into you. You let a out a loud gasp at the feeling, but it quickly turns into a moan. Proud of himself JJ smirks.

“Look at you falling apart when I’m barely touching you. Does daddy feel better than your own fingers?” You pant out a yes in response, lifting one of your legs onto the seat to give JJ better access.

“Such an easy little slut for me.” JJ chuckles at you. You watch JJ in the dim light as he fingers you. His jaw was clenched as he watched the road with intense eyes, he knew if he looked at you for even a second he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes off. The way his arm was angled caused his muscles to bulge, you grab onto it, resting the side of your face on his upperam. JJ curls his fingers inside of you and your eyes roll back. A knot builds in your stomach signifying your impending orgasm.

“Daddy I’m so close.” You felt so good you could barely speak. Unable to resist anymore JJ looks over at you. The sight of you clinging to his arm as his fingers move in and out of you was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He cusses under his breath, feeling himself get hard. Distracted, JJ swerves the car again causing him to mumble out another swear. Regaining his composure he draws his eyes back to the road and sets his jaw.

“I’d love to see you cum baby girl, but I don’t think you deserve it.” Annoyed you groan. Letting go of his arm you lean back against the seat once more.

“Daddy I need to.” JJ scoffs at you.

“Fine, but only if you beg for it.” Your boyfriend knew how much you hated to beg, but he could also feel how badly you needed to release. Determined to stand your ground you close your eyes and attempt to distract yourself by slowing your breathing.

“Ok so you’re gonna be like that.” JJ chuckles before slamming in and out of you faster. You cry out at the feeling. Instinctively you dig your nails the door handle and the center console. Relentlessly JJ continues at the same pace, but you still refuse to beg. The two of you continue this game until you can’t stand it. The knot in your stomach begins to burn and every single one of your muscles tightens up to the point it felt like they might snap. Tears stung your eyes. It felt like if this went on any longer you might pass out. You were left with no other option.

“Daddy please I need to cum.” With the tears now streaming down your face you looked at JJ. Unhappy with your efforts he kept his mouth tightly shut. You cried out needing to release. To further punish you JJ pressed his palm into your clit, causing you to just about sob.

“Please daddy it feels like I might pass out if I don’t cum right now. I’m sorry for being a bad girl, I just needed you so bad.” JJ could hear the pain in your voice as you pleaded for your release.

“Go ahead baby, cum for me.” A final cry left your body as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Your vision went blurry and for a second you felt like you were flying.

“Shit babe. I had no clue you could do that.” JJ smiled like a 13 year old boy who had just seen his first boob. He glanced between you and the road. Your face dropped in horror when you realized that you had just squirted all over the front seat and JJ’s hand.

“Oh no baby I’m so sorry. I just made a mess of your car.” You covered your face in embarrassment. Still in total awe of you JJ shook his head and smiled.

“Don’t apologize. That was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. And don’t worry about my car, I’ll clean it in the morning.” You nod still slightly embarrassed. JJ puts his hand back on your thigh gently, rubbing reassuring circles into your skin.

“You ok princess.” His voice was coated in sweetness and concern, a stark contrast to his earlier tone.

“Yeah.” You gulp trying to steady your breath. Needing fresh air you crack your window.

A/N: one of these days I’ll write something that isn’t smut, today is not that day.

#jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks #jj maybank x reader smut

[thebrideofmunson]

Sweet sweet relief

JJ Maybank x fem! reader smut

word count: 2k

"You know, I could make you cum." Both you and your best friend have been going through dry spells, so he offers to help you out.

Warnings: Underage drinking and smoking, fingering, oral(f receiving) sex, backshots(f receiving),some slight choking and spanking, language, over stimulation, praise kink, and JJ being an ass guy

The sun was setting just beyond the marsh. The pogues were all sitting around the fire drinking after a long day out on the beach, except for you and JJ who were laying in the hammocks.

"So," JJ started, "how's life been?"

You guys sat in different hammocks facing across from each other. Looking up at the sky you think, sighing at how slow the past few weeks have been.

"Boring. I thought I'd be happy when my boss let me drop a shift, but I've had nothing to do." JJ nods in response.

"How's life been for you?" You shift onto your side to get a better look at him, propping yourself up on your elbow. JJ wracked his eyes up the curve of your body before meeting your gaze for just a second too long.

"It's actually been pretty good, except for the dry spell I've been going through." Your nose scrunched up at him.

"Ew JJ, is sex the only thing you ever think about?" He gave you a knowing look before shifting in his seat to be more comfortable.

"No, I also think about girls, their butts, money, and weed." You both laugh at your best friend's immaturity. JJ pulls down the branch above him and starts picking off the leaves, tossing them at you. You flinch and throw them back at him.

"I haven't been going through a dry spell per say," you look down and pick at the stitching of the hammock, "I've hooked up with plenty of guys recently, it's just that not a single one of them has made me cum." One thing you cherished about your friendship with JJ is that you could say anything to him without it being weird. It's been that way since you first sat together in 7th grade U.S history.

"You know, I could make you cum." The blonde stopped his leafy assault on you and leaned back, closing his eyes. You lightly kick his side.

"You wish Maybank."

A week later you and your friends decided to hold a kegger. Still attempting to chase an orgasm you snuck off with some random. So here you were sitting on a log as Kevin goes down on you. You weren’t sure which side of the island he was from, or if he was even from the island at all, but that didn’t matter because he was so boring that he could’ve lived next to you your whole life and you wouldn't have even noticed.

“You like that?” He’d been sucking on your left lip for the past five minutes. Just wanting to get it over with you begin to fake an orgasm. Gripping his hair you buck up into his mouth and let out a few sad moans. When he finally pulls away you waste no time to stand up and put your clothes back on. Pushing past him you head down the trail back to the boneyard.

“Wait, are you not gonna suck me off?” Kevin pathetically calls after you. Flicking your hair over your shoulder you carry on, ignoring how he calls you a bitch and a prude.

“God, (Y/N) I’ve been wondering where you disappeared to.” Kiara runs up to you and offers you the blunt she’s holding. Taking it from her, you mouth a silent thank you, happy to take your mind off of the let down you just had. You begin to take a long draw, but it’s cut short when it hits the back of your throat. Coughing you pull away.

“Who the fuck rolled that?” You spit, staring at the blunt in absolute disgust.

“JJ.” Kiara says matter of factly. You look down the beach at the blonde who was joking with some guys you didn’t know. Saying goodbye to Kiara you make your way over to him.

Leaning over his shoulders you cover JJ’s eyes.

“Guess who.” JJ pretends to think for a second before answering.

“Hmm. Your mom.” JJ laughs at his own joke as you lightly smack the side of his head before nonchalantly dropping your arms across his shoulders.

“Whatcha drinkin?” You reach out for his red solo cup.

“Whatever the fuck the kooks brought. It’s nasty as hell.” He hands the cup over to you. Your face scrunches up in disgust the second the beer hits your tongue. You shake your head as if you were shaking off the taste and hand the cup back to JJ. He chuckles, but grimaces as he takes another sip.

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since we all got here.” JJ questions you. Sighing you look over at Kevin who was now moping as his friends partied around him.

“Just getting the absolute worst head in the history of pussy eating .” JJ follows your gaze before craning his neck to look up at you.

“My offer is still on the table.” JJ drops his voice so that his new friends wouldn’t hear him. Confused, you try to make sense of what he had just said. JJ examines your features as he awaits your response. Just as you’re about to ask JJ what the hell he was talking about you remember your conversation on the hammocks. Making eye contact with JJ you weigh your options. On one hand he has been your best friend since middle school and this would big time break the “no pogue on pogue macking” rule. While on the other hand it's better to bring home the guy you trust with your life rather than some rando and if the rumors are true he can definitely fix your little problem.

The growing ache in your core is what finally makes the decision for you. Biting your lip you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“I’d like that.” JJ puts his big hand on top of your’s and gives you a concerned look.

“Are you sure?” Despite being constantly horny JJ is very big on consent.

“Are you?” You begin to chew on your lip, nervous he’s regretting his decision. JJ smiles and stands up, saying goodbye to his new friends as he leads you down the beach.

“Yo,” John B calls out as you and JJ pass by him and the rest of your friends, “you two gonna join us?” The pogues are all sitting in a big circle as Kiara tunes her ukulele. A chill rushes down your spine thinking you guys were caught, but luckily for you JJ is a professional bullshiter.

“No, I don't think so. (Y/n) told me she's not feeling too well so I’m gonna make sure she gets home safe. I’ve gotta cover someone’s shift tomorrow so it’s probably best for me to leave early anyways.” JJ’s hand leaves yours so he can squeeze your shoulder. Your friends all nod in agreement.

“Oh no (y/n) what’s wrong?” All eyes turn to you as Sarah checks in on you. A flush rises into your cheeks at the attention.

“Oh you know, the weed, cheap beer, and hours of sun combo is hitting me kinda hard tonight.” Everyone nods understandingly before saying goodbye to you and JJ. Once the two of you are out of sight he lands a hard smack on your ass.

The walk to your house was short. Excitedly you bounce up the steps to unlock the front door, following behind you JJ watches how you ass moves in your short shorts. Once you get through the door you call out to make sure nobody is home. When you don’t get a response you turn to JJ with a smirk, pulling back a little bit when he tries to lean in for a kiss. Disappointed JJ frowns.

“The house is all our’s.” You let go of JJ’s neck and grab his hand to lead him back to your room. JJ has been in your room countless times, as best friends do, but he’s secretly always dreamed of being in your room like this. Neediness takes over your body as you press JJ against the door and kiss him. After a minute or two you let go of him panting slightly. JJ lets out a soft “woah” and you look down shyly. Taking control of the situation JJ picks you up and carries you over to your bed, softly tossing you onto it. JJ takes a second to admire you. Your hair is splayed out on your pillow, your lips are slightly puffy from when you kissed him, and you’re staring up him with your needy fuck me eyes. He lets out a soft groan before climbing over you, hovering just over your lips.

“Have I ever told you how fucking beautiful you are?” You reach your hands up to toy with JJ’s hair as he continues to stare at your face, shaking a slight no.

“Well I’m sorry I haven’t.” And with that he dives down to drown in your lips. The kiss starts out sweetly, but grows more intense as he grabs your hip to bring you in closer. JJ’s fingers drag down your body until they reach your shorts, unbuttoning them to make room for his hand. A soft moan escapes your lips as his fingers meet your swollen clit. He paints small figure eights until he gets bored of it and thrusts two fingers into you. Slowly at first, but as your moans pick up so does his pace. His dick twitches in his shorts as your walls close in tighter around his fingers and you whine out his name, but JJ has a plan. He pulls out his fingers and you reach up to lightly smack his forearm.

“JJ please don’t tease, you know how badly I need this.” You’re practically crying as you beg for his touch. Paying no mind to you he sucks his fingers clean.

“God baby I just wanna taste you.” He moans out, getting off the bed to kneel on the floor.

“C’mere.” He grabs one of your thighs to tell you to meet him on the edge. You oblige and crawl over, situating each leg over his shoulders. JJ pulls back to drag down your panties and shorts at the same time, groaning once you’re exposed to him.

“Fuck, (Y/N) you look like a goddess.” Just when you think he’s gonna begin eating you out he starts kissing your thighs, leaving behind a few hickeys and love bites.

“Maybank,” you challenge him, “you better fucking make me cum.” A lust filled look clouds his eyes and he tightly grabs your hips before diving into your dripping pussy. His entire plan to torture you was thrown out the window by his competitive edge. A scream is brought on by the heaven he was giving you. You chant a few needy yeses and grab his hair to steady yourself.

“Baby,” he pulls away only slightly, his voice vibrating against your clit, "take off your top for me.” Obediently you rip off your tight cropped tank top, your braless boobs bouncing out. JJ moans at the sight.

“Fuck you’re a good girl, now play with your nipples.” He tongue fucks you as you suck two fingers to wet them. Rolling your wet fingers over one of your nipples you lean back on your other arm and let out short panted moans.

“JJ, I’m gonna cum.” JJ only tongue fucks you faster and brings his thumb to your clit to signal you to let go. Your whole body tenses up as you release on his face, fading as you come down from your first orgasm in a long time.

Panting you lay back down on your pillow waiting for your best friend to join you. JJ leans on his elbow next to you and smiles at you sweetly as he rubs the marks he left on your thigh.

“You did so good babygirl, still got it in you for me to fuck you?” Catching your breath you nod at him and open your legs to invite him into them.

Kneeling in front of you he strips off his shirt. Your jaw slightly drops as you stare at him. You’ve seen him shirtless hundreds of times, but you’ve never looked at him like this. JJ reaches back into his pocket to pull out a condom.

“Wait,” you grab his wrist “I’m on the pill.” He looks down at you through hooded eyes.

“And I really want to feel you fill me up, but only if you feel comfortable.” You blurt the last part out slightly embarrassed. JJ puts the rubber back into his pocket and stands up to strip himself . Your legs clench instinctively at the sight of his big throbbing cock, JJ pushes them back apart to line himself up with you.

“You ready?” His eyes are blown out with lust and adoration as he checks in on you. Needing him badly you nod and grab his shoulders to bring him down to kiss you. Not breaking the kiss he thrusts into you. Soaking in the feeling he groans into your mouth before snapping in and out of you. A moan rips through your body as your eyes roll back. Crying out his name you grip onto him, leaving your own crescent shaped marks on his shoulder and upper arm. You squirm underneath him at the feeling, JJ reaches up to your throat to still you. With his hand pressing around your neck you make eye contact with him.

“J.” You squeak out his nickname.

“Yes baby?” His own voice labored as he cursed at the feeling of you around him.

“Please be rough with me.” JJ’s thrusts slow down, but don’t stop as he looks at you.

“Ok.” He nods and thrusts a few more times before pulling out to flip you onto your hands and knees. Arching your back you prepare for him. JJ slaps your cheek harshly before leaning forward to kiss the stinging red mark. Lining himself back up he leans forwards to groan in your ear.

“Fuck baby, that’s it.” More moans escape him as he leans back to watch how your ass bounces.

It only takes a few minutes of this for you to cum again. JJ notices, but keeps pounding into you. You let out a whine and he smacks your ass again.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m close.” He chants out. You want to tell him to turn you over so you can watch him, but your voice just won’t come out. JJ must have read your mind because he nudges your shoulder for you to fall back down so you were facing him. He continues to thrust into you again. Now you can see all of him. How his eyebrows meet in pleasure, how his sweaty muscles ripple, how soft his lips look as low moans escape them, how he scrunches up his eyes, but then opens them again so he can watch you under a hooded gaze. His mouth falls open as his own finale catches up to him, his dick twitching inside you. He moans your name as he releases and fills you up just like you asked him to, an unexpected third orgasm causing you to scream his name.

You come back from the bathroom to find a blissed out JJ laying on your bed staring at something on the wall, you follow his gaze to look at the picture of the two of you from your eighth grade graduation. Smiling, you crawl back into bed with him.

“Who would’ve thought?” JJ kisses you deeply, sighing as he pulls away.

“I did, a lot.” He laughs at himself as you lightly smack his chest. JJ pulls you into him and kisses you, breathing deeply through his nose. Pulling away from him you nestle into his chest and mutter a thank you into his skin.

“Yeah no problem, always here to help.” JJ lets out a content sigh.

“We should do this again sometime.”

“Definitely.” You reply softly as your eyelids grow heavy.

A/N: Well. There's that to make up for the killer writer’s block I have on the sequel to The Siren. After some technical difficulties i accidently deleted the entire fucking beach scene and my mom checking on how my homework is going every few minutes I finished this in one day. Pretty proud of myself even if i didn't do a big assignment that's due tomorrow. Once again wrap it before you tap it(condoms protect against more than just babies), always ask for consent and speak up for yourself, and pee after vaginal intercourse because uti's are hell.

#jj maybank smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #outer banks #jj outer banks #outer banks smut

[thebrideofmunson]

Tumblr needs to make an option to reverse your actions because I was in the middle of writing an amazing fic and tried to paste it in a google doc to check my word count AND FUCKING ACCIDENTALLY DELETED HALF OF IT

#gonnafuckingkms #wanna give up #but i wont cuz this idea is just too good

[thebrideofmunson]