Bucky’s go-to is to come inside you. There’s something about filling you up that just feels right at a baseline, instinctual level. He likes claiming you; he likes marking you as his. And with the miracle of modern birth control, he doesn’t have to worry about consequences.

Plus, like… it feels good. The warmth, the wet— he loves how tight you feel around his cock, and the way your cunt clenches around him amplifies every wave of pleasure. And when you come, holy shit— those fluttering, squeezing pulses? There’s no use fighting it. He has no choice but to follow you headfirst into ecstasy.

Coming in your mouth is almost as good. It’s hot and wet like your pussy but with the added bonus of your tongue stroking along his cock, and he loves the restrictive pressure when he shoots deep down your throat. He loves feeling you swallow around him, sometimes two or three times before he finally pulls out. If you wait too long to swallow it’s almost too much for him to handle, and your throat closing around him when he’s so oversensitive toes the line between pain and pleasure in the most delicious way. But mostly he loves the intention of it— you, on your knees for him. Staring up at him, begging for his load while he grips your hair and guides your mouth over his length. Yeah… your mouth is good, too.

But he also fucking loves to come on your face.

Yes, yes, he’s filthy, but listen. The first time was an accident, okay? You were on your knees, doing that thing like he likes— the one where you get him so close, over and over, until his legs are shaking and his nerves are on fire and his brain is nothing but mushy static.

And you’re pretty good at reading his warning signs; you know that when he’s about to blow his dick gets a little bit harder, his balls pull up tight, his abs tense and his breathing stutters. You usually stop in time to let his orgasm fade back from the brink, give him a second to take a deep breath and regain some composure… but this time you were just a little too late.

Bucky groaned, a hint of panic flaring inside him when you popped your mouth off of his tip and sat back on your haunches. You looked up at him with that proud, coy smile— you loved edging him like this, reducing him to such a mess— but Bucky couldn’t see you with his eyes squeezed shut.

He was fighting for his goddamn life. Even with nothing touching his dick, he could still feel that rising tide— he was doing his best to hold back, but he couldn’t stop that molten heat coursing under his skin. He thought he was doing it— he almost had it under control— but another surge of heat through his hips released a dribble of cum from his slit, which turned into a trickle, which turned into a—

“Ahh, shit,” he grunted as his cock throbbed with the first powerful spurt. He wrapped his hand around it and pumped quickly to make the most of that blissful electricity, only opening his eyes when he heard your satisfied moan. He had the brief but insane thought that he was glad he already failed, glad he already tripped and stumbled over the edge, because there was no way in hell he would’ve been able to keep his balance after seeing you.

The biggest smile stretched across your face as he painted white streaks onto your skin, again and again with each pulse of his cock. Your smile didn’t falter, even when you had to squeeze one eye shut when a splatter of cum hit too high on your cheekbone, or when the next rope landed over your perfect mouth. You opened your lips to catch the next gush on your tongue, and Bucky had never been more thankful for the wall against his back keeping him upright.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he groaned, shuddering as he milked the last few dribbles over his fist. You swallowed what was in your mouth before your tongue darted out to swipe some of his spend off your lip, and Bucky almost thought he was about to come again right then. “Holy shit,” he whimpered, still pulling at his cock. “Look at you.”

So yeah, the first time he came on your face was an accident… but all the times after that sure as hell weren’t.

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

Eddie Munson isn’t a good guy. He knew it was wrong, but he’s sick and twisted and so very perverted that he’ll sink into those sinful waters with stones tied to his feet if it means he gets to stay. 

An almost sister, far apart enough to break no laws and close enough that it was clearly wrong. Borderline criminal, wholly illicit. But Eddie wasn’t one to deny himself much, not when the world made it so easy; you practically fell into his lap, how was he supposed to ignore the opportunities? 

The infatuation to begin with was immoral but with Eddie’s reputation as the town ‘freak’, he thought what’s another notch on that continuous bedpost? He’ll be the drug dealer, he’ll play the weirdo, he’ll sing of satanic worship and whatever people think he’s capable of and behind closed doors he’ll treat himself to a delicacy so much worse. He’s told time and time again that he is the villain? Fine, he’ll be the villain. 

It’s ironic that you see him as the opposite. 

Family has never meant much to you. The word or the people. The people hardly stuck around and in the end, it became just you and your mother and that was doomed from the start. Your relationship with her was never great and after you both started working jobs to help pay for the roof over your heads it just deteriorated quicker. 

So it was out of the blue when you found out your mum had met someone and you were about to move in with them. She met the guy at her work and they had hit it off immediately, all of that love at first sight stuff that you adored. You had forever read about epic romances and world-shattering love so the idea that your mother, who you may not have been close with, was getting that sounded perfect. Your chance for the family that you dreamt of but never allowed yourself to look at in the harsh light of consciousness. 

Wayne was a nice man. You had no faults. He made your mother happy which was his strongest defender and he was kind, his dry humour made you giggle- when you understood- and he was a gentleman. You would have never expected it from the rumours about his relatives but after spending some time with him, you felt he was the perfect fit for your mum, and for the imaginary idea of your future. 

The rumours in Hawkins spread quicker than fire. At school, you kept your head down, or in a classic, and tried to be kind and polite whilst saying few words, so whatever was the big gossip of the week you never really cared about. 

It’s why you didn’t have any hesitations about Eddie. Sure the stories and list of offences against him were vicious but every time you looked up, if he caught your eye, he was stepping out of the way so girls could pass and hugging his friends with that adorable dimpled smile of his. The rumours never held any weight. None of it could be proven before you had met him and decided which truth to follow. And fortunately for both of you, Eddie seemed like an angel. 

It had been just over a month and your fantasy family was dripping into reality. More like pouring, every time you spent more time together it felt like everything would begin to sparkle as you’d read about. It made you fuzzy that you and your step-brother were the closest. Something in you just gravitated towards him and you were always received with welcome arms. Anyone could see that you adored him. To you, he was the strong male character in your life. He’d protected you, looked after you and doted on your constantly. For the first time in your life, you felt special. 

Eddie was your Prince Charming. To you, it was as simple as that. 

And there was no doubt on earth that you were his Princess. Eddie had no shame in flaunting that title around and taking great advantage of its powers. 

For example, using it as a knife to cut down any notions of boyfriends; 

“Princess he’s not good for you, he’s just going to fuck you and leave. You don’t want that do you?” a big hand cradling your teary face, he’s rock hard from looking at your wet lips and matching eyes. 

You shake your head dumbly, “N-No but Eds he said he really likes me.” You sniffled into his arms, feeling the pull to be closer to him more than usual. In such close proximity like this, it’s like you want to be permanently attached to him. Feeling an overwhelming desire to be touching him. 

“Trust me. You’re my princess and I only ever want what’s best for you.” you nod and wrap your arms around his lean torso. 

“Say that you believe me. Say you trust me.” 

Your voice doesn’t shake when you answer him. 

He also uses it as a lasso every time he wants something extra. Reeling you back in as you trail after the name. Utterly and unknowingly addicted to the way the syllables fall from his lips, the way those lips curve because he knows he’s in control. 

It was now Friday night, which had become the night Eddie’s group comes round and they always end up watching a movie. Sometimes you’re invited to stay but tonight you saw that they were watching The Shining and determined to opt for the comfort of your bed. Eddie understood, he’d cuddled you after enough nightmares to know it wouldn’t be for you. 

Which is why he’s so surprised to see you in the doorway. Lit mutely by the TV screen, rubbing your eyes in your little pj’s. The items that haunt his dreams. A thin white baby tee that thins every day by the way he swears your nipples get more noticeable each day, maybe it’s the impure thoughts but who’s to tell, and pink, practically panties you conveniently call shorts. They’re not that short. Eddie just can’t help but notice his hand is just the right size too big to slide under those shorts, or over, or rip them in two through. 

Shattered out of those recurring thoughts, Eddie looks up to you who is already looking at him. “Hi, Princess.” he smiles, becoming you closer with an outstretched arm. 

Your fingertips immediately graze his and work their way up his arm, not before getting distracted by his rings. “Hi, Eds.”

“You okay?”

You nod, staring down at your fingers tracing his tattoos. He’s watching your face, trying to figure out what you want, “Jus’ wanted to see you s’all.” he should’ve guessed. Before Eddie you had never been a contact comfort person, never had anyone to go to when you just need a hug. It was hardly a surprise when everything fell into place and Eddie became that person.

Eddie was your person.

“C’mere.” a simple command that has you rushing over to him. You completely forget everyone else in the room. Letting Eddie’s actions wash over you as he leads you to sit astride his legs, sinking into his back and the arm of the sofa. Watching with heavy eyes as he gets a blanket and throws it over the both of you and completes it all by wrapping his arms around your middle and tugging you into him. 

And then you look up. Eyelids barely focusing but making out the poorly concealed shock on one of the boys’ face. It’s almost movie-like when you watch as the guy beside him leans over and whispers something in his ear. The audience can just about make out a “they’re just close-” or something along those lines. It placates you. Just as the look Eddie is throwing them over your head would, staring at them with a gaze that puts them in their place; they don’t speak about you. 

Your hands are both sitting on his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his black sweater, breathing in the smell that is just Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes are on the screen. Watching the flickering characters, the action the suspense and the only thing he’s aware of are your fingers pushing into the plush of his clothes and your ass tantalisingly close to his crotch. He would have been able to control himself, after all he’s not alone but when you start to shift and move, he hardly manages to conceal the groan pushing at his vocal cords. You don’t notice because you never notice, blissfully cluelessness of the effect you have on him; and too many other sleazy guys that had tried and failed to pursue you. 

But Eddie never claimed to be a good guy. So what was a little indulgence?

When the sensation of his hand moving on your leg catches your attention it’s because it keeps moving. Usually, he just draws patterns on your skin but this time the patterns extend. Instead of twisting back on themselves they keep going, up from your ankle blooming dangerously close to your inner thigh when they rest on the crease between your thigh and torso. And then he squeezes. 

The squeak that leaves you is surprised and loud enough for Eddie to hear you, immediately grinning and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. You hope in vain that he didn’t hear but when he squeezes again you know he did. 

A chaste kiss is pressed into your hair before his lips dip, “Can you be quiet for me?” his fingers start to move again, dipping lightly into the insides of your thighs and then moving back. You look up at him with wide eyes, questioning him- what he was doing, what this was. “I need you to keep quiet. Because I’m gonna touch you and I want it to be our secret ‘kay?” 

His stare leaves no room for consideration and usually, that would work, but when his long fingers start trailing over the cotton underwear you have on, your brows furrow, “Eddie, this is- we can’t.” something in you knows its wrong and you use that to try and scrape away the sick pleasure you’re already receiving. 

On the screen there’s blood on the walls and enough violence to make you cry so when you turn to look at the noise, Eddie’s large palm is there sweeping your vision back to him. And maybe it affects your judgement, because the action reminds you: Eddie is always protecting you, he knows what’s best, at least that’s what he’s always said. He’s done nothing to contradict that. When you do see him it softens you further. His eyes are like black holes, a pixel of the TV screen in them. It’s unsurprising when you get swallowed up by them, rendering into nothing beneath his gaze. 

He smiles, his hand has found home on your face again and his thumb sweeps under your eyes, and then his gaze melts into something darker. Like ink to oil, he says, “Princess. I know you’re not saying no to me.” 

And he’s right. 

Because then his fingers graze the sodden fabric and you’re caught red-handed. You want to cry, you want to hide, and he lets you for a moment. You want to get away but you’re nestling into his body confusing your mind further. You don’t know what you want. But Eddie does. 

“I know little one, I know.” he shushes you, appearing the comforting big brother as he strokes your hair and looks uninterested. All the while his fingers have explored to the band of your panties. They finger the little bow on them, he smiles to himself because it’s just so you. He takes ahold of the elastic band and you twist the fabric in your hand in confusion. 

You mumble something under your breath and Eddie doesn’t even feign attention, he carries on playing with you. With a harsh grip on the front of your panties, Eddie pulls them up towards you. The angle of the fabric means it’s rubbing directly on your clit, pulling everything tight, making you throb. Eddie watches what he can see; your little hands scratching him through his sweater and the way you curl in towards him, legs drawing up and thighs tensing around his hand. He knows how inexperienced you are, he has a list of everything he wants to teach you. This being one of them. 

Perhaps he should have waited longer, maybe this wasn’t the right time, but all of a sudden he feels your smaller hand encompassing his wrist, keeping him there. At the gesture he smiles, hiding it in your hair and kissing your head softly, because Eddie really does care for you; but he’s going to treat you like he doesn’t. 

That’s what he does for a while, manipulating the fabric to make you whimper. It’s causing you to drip. You can feel your button throbbing against the mean material and you wish it didn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel good. It’s weird and it’s worse that it’s Eddie doing it; your step-brother. None of this is right, but you don’t release his hand, you can stop from clenching around nothing. You feel entirely powerless, the only thing you can do is try and turn your mind off and pretend the two of you are alone. 

But of course, the world has a cruel sense of humour. 

“Hey, Eddie, is she okay?” one of Eddie’s friends, his name the furthest thing from your mind given your current state, leans towards the pair of you to share his concern. He nods his head in your direction and there’s a questioning glint in his eyes as he looks at your brother. 

From his perspective it looks like you’re crying, your chest moving with added weight and your head has hardly left Eddie’s chest. A hand comes down to stroke your hair, the other concealed by the blanket still moves, and you feel Eddie’s sternum rise to reply. 

He drops his voice, playing into his part, “Oh yeah, she’s all good, jus’ had a nightmare.” he nods as his friend releases the subject. Returning his focus to the screen. 

Eddie should have stopped. But deep down, or not that far, neither of you wanted him to. Deft fingers crawl from their original place, smoothing down the fabric to cup you through it. His fingers move as he traces the outline of your lips, your clit, even going as far to prod at your hole over the top of the fabric. 

It makes you whine his name, he’s playing with you and it’s mean. You won’t ever tell him to stop, especially not when he’s rubbing over the fabric. But you lie nonetheless. 

Lifting your lips closer to his ear, “Eds, we shouldn’t. I don’t wanna get in trouble.” it’s pathetic and you both know it. 

Your hand is hardly pushing him away. His wrist is enveloped in your soft fingers, that just rest on the skin as if just to hold him, to feel him. You try to catch his eye but he’s already shaking his head. His tongue wets his lips as they curve into that smirk again that makes you feel damned. 

He breathes and thinks he’s going to be nice. There is a multitude of sins circling his hazy brain that would be much worse than what he’s going to do to you. It’s not like he doesn’t know he needs to be careful with you. You’re gentle and delicate and as much as he wants to split you open and make you scream on his cock, he won’t just yet. He needs to ease you into it. Thankfully you’re already halfway there. 

“And yet,” he starts, his voice is haunting and dark, disarming you completely with a tone you’ve never heard before, “you’re soaking through your panties, little one.” and it makes you want to cry, the whole situation, his condescending words, everything because he’s right. 

The fabric is ruined with your arousal and when Eddie lifts it to the side it pulls away with slick strings. He huffs a laugh at your broken face, tears welling up already and he’s hardly touched you. Ever since he saw you he knew you’d be heaven to break. 

Eddie dips a finger into the pool of arousal he’s summoned. Coating his digits in before breaching your hole. He’s slow at first but then he gets greedy and he lets himself off the hook because his last line of defence will always be: he wants to be worse. It takes you by surprise when you feel his finger thrust quickly into you, leaving no time in curling the digit until it searches for that special spot that even you haven’t discovered. You both know when he does; a high-pitched squeal leaves your bitten lips at the sensation, immediately pushing your face into his sweater to smother any other humiliating noises. 

Eddie shakes off his friends’ concerned looks and thankfully they don’t pry. Your face feels on fire and you submit to the torture as Eddie strokes and rubs at that spot. The blanket helps to smother the noises. You can hear them minutely, it’s overwhelming, the wet sopping noises coming from your cunt and Eddie’s fingers which are by now soaked in your desperation. 

He revels in it. The way your moans drown into his body, the hiccups he knows soon will turn in to sobs, you react so beautifully and he can’t help but feel it was meant to be. In a perverted way he thinks this is right, what he should be doing. And even if he knows perhaps morally its not, you clenching around his finger rhythmically is enough persuasion to carry on. 

Before long he’s sliding in another finger. Your eyes clench at the intrusion, not because its painful but because of how easy it went in. The whole thing is humiliating and you’re closer than ever. 

Jack Nicholson has an axe on screen, stepping up the stairs to the beat of Eddie’s thumb, which is now circling your clit. The two fingers inside you pump as the screen flashes. The man above you, inside of you, speeds up with every sharp camera turn. It’s getting increasingly harder to hold in your noises and Eddie can sense that. 

He does it unthinkingly and its ironic that thats the thing to break you. Something incidental. His hand leaves its place on your head and his thumb mindlessly slots into your mouth, muffling your pathetic noises. When he brings his hand up to keep it in there, it becomes the triggering sensation. 

Now Eddie is struggling to stay silent. At first he focuses on the way your cunt grips his fingers. Your clit pulsating under his thumb. Making it impossible to pull them out until your orgasm ceases. But then he feels something wet on his neck. And he realises that you’re fucking crying. 

He desperatly claws at breathing slowly and focusing his gaze on the screen, trying to figure out whats happening in the movie. But its futile. Nothing can take his mind away from the fact that you came so hard you’re mewling into his neck, wet little hole crying for him too, and it’s you. 

Once your orgasm slows its attack on your body you lay limp in his arms. Exhausted and high, you stay like that until the movie ends. 

You both know it was wrong. That it shouldn’t happen again, and you were going to try to do the right thing. But Eddie, well, 

Eddie Munson was a bad guy.

a’s notes — please reblog i beg of you WITH TAGS

You hoped that he’d kiss your knuckles and rest his face in your neck as he came. You hoped that he would’ve mumbled praise after praise in your ear as he slowly brought you to that edge before tossing you off with a bite on your collarbone.

Or…

You hoped that he would’ve at least, lasted longer than twenty fucking minutes.

But no. The little shit didn’t even give you a chance to build up your arousal whatsoever. Not even to the point where you would at least be able to finish in the safety of his bathroom.

Thinking back on it, you’re not even too sure he realized you had faked it. That the shitty, high-pitched moan you let out was false, and that he wasn’t in fact ‘giving it to you’, regardless of how many times he mumbled that above you.

The entire thing was stupid. Silly and irreparable and downright annoying.

Because an hour ago you left to go have what was supposed to be really good sex.

And a half hour ago you came home to sit on an empty couch, in your empty house—extremely horny and far hungrier for something that wasn’t microwave mac n’ cheese.

You needed to be fucked. Properly, until you were drooling and unable to speak.

So really, without a second thought, you left your dinner plate on the kitchen counter with your keys still stuffed in your pocket and a new sense of determination.

•

The drive to Steve’s apartment was familiar. A second nature route that guided you from one end of town to the next, up the stairs of his apartment and to number 38. What wasn’t familiar though was the locked front door.

Regardless of the monstrosities—the mind flayer, the bad men, Billy—Hawkins, Indiana was still Hawkins, Indiana. A boring small town in the middle of nowhere full of endless country dried up plains and empty streets.

This meant that other than hicks, and the occasional sense of the end of the world, there was nothing to even be remotely afraid of. And really, nothing that would warrant your friend to lock his door: something he has never once done in all of the years you’ve known him.

There’s a part of your mind that prickles with nerves.

So you knock.

It’s loud and curt and would leave enough room for you to hear the sounds of padding feet. Or any sign of life for that matter. So you wait. You wait for one, two, nearly four minutes and yet you hear nothing.

So you knock again, only to be met with dead silence again.

You go to knock for the third time, but then your ears pick up on a whimper. A low sob which is hardly discernible until it’s accompanied by a crackle of television and a creak of the floor. Putting your ear to the door, you concentrate on trying to pick up on any other sound you can.

But after nothing happens, you choose to dig through your pockets until you come across the spare key he gave you.

Pushing it in, you slowly turn the lock until you hear a soft click and the door falls open. His apartment is dark. Pitch black, with the only semblance of light coming in from the thick curtains covering the living room window.

“Steve?”

Quiet.

“Steve?”

The agitation that tickles you at the back of your neck morphs into fear. Because Steve is usually a light sleeper. One of the lightest sleepers you know, easily woken up by something as soft as the sound of rain. So with no response and a locked door, your heart jumps at the possibility of something horrible.

Gone is the thought of your needy arousal. Now you worry about your friend's life and what you’ll find when you come across his body.

If you come across his body.

You’ve had nightmares like this. All eerily similar to the current events playing out. It all begins like this with you walking through his kitchen and down the main hall, only to end in the worst.

The bedroom door is closed, having been forced shut without any lock on it. The air surrounding you—frigid and nail-biting—feels like death. Completely lifeless other than the light of the tv bleeding out from under the door.

The faint sounds come back, but as hard as you try to listen, you can’t make them out at all. And though that still concerns you, it doesn’t deter you. Everything acts like a magnet, drawing you closer to the source of the noise and the end of the mystery that causes your heart to slam against your ribs.

Your hand grabs ahold of the doorknob and as you open the door slowly, you start to realize what exactly you’re hearing.

And what you’re seeing.

Through the small space, you can see…a movie. It takes you a second to understand what you’re seeing, but when it finally clicks, you can’t help but feel flushed. There are flashing images of a woman bouncing on what looks like a guy dressed in a pizza delivery costume. Over-exaggerated echoey moans are then met with softer noises. Ones that sound as though they’re coming from right beside you. Instinctually you look to your left, only to find Steve in a compromising position. He’s lying on his bed in the corner of the room, spread eagle, pants by his ankles and cock in his fist.

His hand is tight around his length, pumping quick and hard as his hairy thighs flail around. His head is flat on the pillow, jaw wide open as he mumbles incoherently, twitching every time his thumb runs over his tip.

You gulp at the sight, legs tightening together both at the perversion of watching him and in hope of bringing some sort of relief.

He looks beautiful like this.

Granted, Steve Harrington is always beautiful. Pretty beyond words. Soft hair and honey eyes and strong hands covered in moles and freckles and the evidence of a life lived.

He’s like a deity. A demi-god of sorts, like the kind you learned about in your junior year ancient history class. Hercules and Perseus. Man and god, divine and mundane.

Beautiful and otherworldly.

You can tell he’s close, chest rising in shallow puffs of stunted air. His fingers tighten against himself; squeezing the base and dragging upward, only to repeat the motion again even faster.

You shouldn’t be watching this.

But you can’t look away.

“Steve?”

You scare him shitless. He jumps, nearly ten feet off the bed only to flop on his stomach and onto the ground. He seemingly disappears, the only thing visible of him being a hand that frantically searches for the remote.

“Jesus fucking Christ, —!” He shuffles around on the ground for a bit, yanking on his pants as he grabs a pillow and covers his hard-on. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Throwing your hands up in the air, you turn on the bedside lamp closest to you, yellow light warming up the room as your eyes readjust. “I—I thought you were hurt!” You stutter.

“Hurt? What do you mean hurt?”

Huffing, you force yourself to keep looking at him and not the incredibly dirty image paused on the tv screen. “Your door was locked.”

His eyes widen. “…what?”

“Your door was locked, Steve, your doors never locked. I was worried.”

“So?” He yelps, taking the remote and permanently turning the tv off. A red flush deepens across his face, swirling down his neck and blooming beneath the collar of his shirt. “You don’t just walk into someone’s house when their door is locked.”

“You gave me a key, and you didn’t respond when I called out for you.” You roll your eyes, averting your gaze to the floor as embarrassment starts to take over. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you were jacking off?”

Groaning, Steve falls backward into the bed, hands flying up to cover his eyes. Shaking his head, his palms dig into his eye sockets. “Gross, don’t say that—“

“What? Jacking off?!”

“Yes, it’s—it’s just—“

“That’s what you were doing!”

“It’s my home!” He whines, looking away to continue avoiding you. “If I want to jack off with my door locked then that’s what I’ll fucking do!”

You blink at him in bewilderment, anxiety running you both to the ground as you try to ignore the other. With a long sigh, Steve crosses his arms and blinks up at the ceiling, giving way to the silent dance you both are partaking in. It isn’t until he’s running a large hand through his sweaty hair, that he exhales deeply. “What are you doing here anyway? …Thought you were out with Dick.”

“Rick,” you correct.

“Same difference.”

“It’s really not,” you snap. Wringing your hands out, you lean against the wall, jitters running up your arms as the tension in the air slowly begins to disperse. You feel incredibly exposed, the memory of why you’re actually here coming back to the forefront of your mind. Shaking your head, you bit at your cheek. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter now ‘cause it didn’t end well. Probably won’t see him anymore.”

If Steve has any reaction, any thoughts or comments or feelings on the matter, you don’t see them. His expression is unreadable. “Is—did he do something wrong?” He finally says.

You laugh. A half-hearted chuckle as you fall onto the edge of the bed, much like you’ve done a million times before. “It’s more like what didn’t he do.” He doesn’t respond, but his gaze does shift over to you. He waits for you to continue; eyes imploring you to do so while he sits there. Groaning, you lie down beside him. “Well I went there to y’know…we were going to…anyway… We’re doing it, right? Like we’re getting ready and then—then he ends up coming like the second he puts on the fucking condom.”

“…Jesus.”

“Right?” You grit your teeth at the memory. All the frustration from earlier bubbles over into word vomit; things you weren’t exactly planning on telling Steve but can no longer stop from escaping. The proverbial cracking dam. “And then, oh, and then the fucking kicker! When he’s done pretty much fucking himself, he has the audacity to ask me if I came. Ya know the whole—“ you lower your voice with a cough. “‘Was it as good for you as it was for me?’ type bullshit.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Steve's grimace. “Gross.”

“Ugh, I know!” You cry, squirming in your spot on the mattress. “Like shit, I didn’t even want to go over, but I was lonely and…and I guess I thought that maybe it would be different?” You let out a sigh, an exasperated sound as you stretch your body out. “But Jesus, if I knew what I know now I wouldn’t have even wasted the fucking time.”

The two of you sit in silence again; shoulders touching with your fingers dangerously close to intertwining with the other. There’s a different kind of strain on the situation—a different feeling that graces both of your equally frustrated selves.

Steve still holds the pillow over his crotch, fingers digging into the corner of it every time he shifts his hips; a gesture that you’re intensely aware of and acutely turned on by.

Except you reason that maybe you lost the moment.

Maybe you imagined too much for tonight, and you jeopardized everything.

Your original purpose for being here was lost to time, mixed up in enough confusion and shock to shadow your moody arousal. And now, you’re just sad. A painfully lonely person who’s just beginning to realize how painfully lonely they are. Pathetic to the point where you have to go to your friend to try and get your rocks off, only for him to not want you either.

You don’t even try to stick around to ask him if he wants you.

Part of you thinks maybe he fell asleep, but then he stirs as you get up and stride toward the door. “Where are you going?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tug at the wrinkles in your shirt. “I’m sorry, I—I just wanted to talk. But I…I should go home.”

Steve’s hand wraps around your forearm pulling you towards him. He doesn’t say anything, though, with the way he strokes circles into your elbow, you consider that he doesn’t have to. “Why are you here, —?”

“I told you,” you sigh. “I was lonely. I just—I needed to talk. But we talked and you’re…you’re clearly busy, so it’s okay. It’s okay, Steve, I’ll see you tomor—“

“Are you still lonely?”

The even pace of your heartbeat stutters. “What?”

He gulps then, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes squint together. There’s something he’s concentrating on or something he’s holding himself back from. You can’t exactly tell. But you can see that it’s bothering him. That whatever he’s thinking is especially troublesome as it hangs in the balance between you. “Are you still lonely?” You frown.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ste—“

“Cause I think you are.” He mumbles, pulling your hand closer to his face, twisting and turning it delicately in his grasp as he inspects you. “I think you need the company, sweetheart.” He places a butterfly kiss on the main vein on the inside of your wrist. “And I also think you need a good fucking orgasm.”

Oh.

The pit of your stomach opens wide at his words. A gaping hole that plummets with the fire of his touch, with the way his hair falls in his face, and with the way he looks at you.

He looks at you like you’re everything. Like you don’t really exist, and you’re nothing but a mirage.

One that is only tailored to him.

You’re still when he stands up, not even moving when his hands come up to your shoulders and his mouth lands on your cupid’s bow. You softly exhale. “…And not just from some rich douchebag…” his knuckles stroke your forehead, face’s already slanting together—an assumed position as your body complies with him. “You need to be fucked by someone who cares, honey.”

You roll your eyes and grumble, a surge of confidence washing over you. “Like who? …like you?”

He smirks at your quip, at your ability to bite back even in the heat of the moment. Pressing his lips to your mouth, he hums. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Kissing him back, your hands smooth over his chest, down his stomach and to the edge of his Henley. You’re already breathless, having all the air in your lungs been kissed away in a matter of seconds. He has you against the wall, making a mess of your mouth as he sloppily kisses you. “Well then show me…” you nip at his upper lip and sigh into him, taking the time to breathe and examine the solemn look on his face. “Show me how much you care.”

You don’t even need to ask him twice.

Instantly, Steve undresses, guiding you to the bed with wandering pesky fingers tugging at the hem of your own shirt.

His mouth is everywhere, bruising kisses searing into every span of skin; every body part revealed as he removes your clothes piece by piece. Slow. Tantalizing. A mix of having intense control over himself, and none at all.

As though he can’t make up his mind when it comes to you.

His lips are wet, red and raw as they glide over your chin, down your neck and to your collarbone, only to mouth at the flesh above your bra.

Wherever his mouth isn’t, his hands are.

One palm lays flat against your knee, forcing them apart so that way he can nestle between your thighs, legs dangling precariously off the bed. He kisses you like his life depends on it, going back and forth between your face and your chest as he moves the strap of your bra down your arm.

Holding your jaw in place, he squeezes your cheeks until your mouth is wide enough for him to jam his tongue into. His kisses are filthy, frenzied and passionate, yet slow and steady all the same. He’s doing everything and nothing as he works you. The slow start-up of an engine. Preparation for a long fucking night.

Your tongues battle for dominance as your hands card through his hair, holding him in place as you begin your own assault on his lips. Tugging on his head by his roots, he moans loudly before jutting his hips into yours. Pulling away, your spit covers his lips only to be smeared along your neck as he sucks a bruise right below your ear. “You’re so fucking pretty, ya know that? That guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Your heart thrums at his words. At the angsty confession that sounds a lot like what you’ve been wanting to hear, yet being nothing of the sort.

Contrary to popular belief—to the rumours spread through the halls of Hawkins High and what you’ve overheard from a string of dates leaving Family Video—Steve Harrington is a romantic at heart. And part of you has always known that. Has always assumed his hidden desire to have someone need him as much as he needs them. You could see it everywhere you went; in the longing looks he’s sent to couples walking out and about, to Nancy and Johnathon when they get so easily wrapped up in each other on movie night.

The girls that left him all complained to you and Robin about him being ‘preoccupied’; too caught up in the idea of love to appreciate what was actually in front of him. Apparently, too caught up in the idea of another person to truly care about them.

The notion always seemed silly to you. The idea that Steve couldn’t and wouldn’t give his hundred-and-ten percent to the person he was with, when he oh-so-desperately wanted them. It was stupid. Entirely blind on their part to not see how incredibly devoted your friend could be.

And that was never more the case than when you actually started hooking up with him.

It was a random night, one where you both were lonely and a little too pent up to handle yourselves, that you decided on it. At the time it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. Something you could move forward with, without any fears or doubts or worries.

Steve made you feel safe. And somehow, someway that fact only increased whenever you had sex. There was a point, in which Steve had gone down on you for the first time, subsequently pulling two orgasms from you in a matter of minutes, that you realized you would never feel more protected than with him.

It was a daunting thing when you finally decided to become friends with benefits. Part of you knew from the get-go it would ruin your perceptions of other people. But the other part couldn’t be bothered at all, especially not when you entertained yourself. Because you dreamt about it sometimes. You dreamt of another world where you and Steve had no boundaries, where you were free to be as you were, free to be with each other in every way as you wanted.

Your body freezes at that.

Steve hasn’t noticed, too caught up in suckling at your left nipple while his thumb and index finger roll your right one around. Your bra is long gone, discarded to the floor along with both of your shirts.

Your mind, which had been empty other than mulling over your thoughts on the man biting at your breast, has now drifted to the realization.

Did you want Steve like that?

The question sits on your tongue; tasting of burnt ash and trepidation as your eyes roam over his body. He’s crooning into your skin, hips rolling with every whine, rutting his hardened length into your still fully clothed core. The moon shines on his back, tracing over the muscles rippling beneath the skin, veins growing taut in his forearms as he holds your body still.

You love him.

And it’s not necessarily an astonishing conclusion. If anything, there hadn’t been a point in time where you’ve looked at Steve and hadn’t felt immense love. Because knowing him and not being hopelessly in love with him was impossible.

This was Steve after all. Your Steve.

The one who fights for his friends and loves aimlessly and has a big heart that begs to be nurtured because he’s never had that. He’s the one who cares for Dustin—his friend and his brother. He’s a shoulder to cry on and a lover and a fighter.

But most importantly, he’s quite possibly the love of your life.

You don’t realize he’s stopped until you catch him blinking at you. His thumb which had come up to your cheek, runs along your cheekbone and wipes at your temple in the most tender of ways. “Everythin’ okay?”

You want to say it. You want to tell him everything you’ve just realized. Every conclusion and emotion and thought that he incurs in you. You want to tell him that you see him. That you love him. That you want him and need him in ways he may never understand.

Because with the way his hips jerk forward, practically dry humping you as he looks up at you with the biggest doe eyes—innocence and erotica all rolled into one—you realize you may not be able to control yourself. You need him to fuck you, but you also need him to know how loved he really is.

So you tell him.

“I love you.” He halts, lifting off of you slightly in a daze. He looks you dead in the eye, disbelief and shock shrouding his features. Offering him a lazy smile, you choose to let go of everything. “I love you so goddamn much, Steve.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he shakes beneath you. His breathing is shallow, fingers nervously trembling against your sides. For a second, you worry that he doesn’t feel the same. Mistaking his silence for disinterest, you begin to shuffle up the bed, worrying that this was it. That in moments you had fucked everything over.

“Holy shit, —.” He mumbles, fully sitting back on his knees. His gaze doesn’t meet yours, but it never leaves your body. You can’t tell if he’s happy or upset or scared, and the feeling eats away at you. “…You can’t…you can’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, throat closing up in impeding sobs. “I’m sorr—“

“You can’t…” letting out a groan, Steve crawls back up your body, caging you in between his broad shoulders and the bed. You can see his eyes now, the way he stares you down and the way something darker floods his irises. Though, his expression is the all-too-familiar look he always seems to give you. Leaning down, his lips curl around the edge of your ear, hot breath invading your senses. You take note of how he smells of citrus and mousse, how nice the concoction is as he lets out another shaky breath. “You can’t say stuff like that and not expect me to fuck the shit out of you.”

…Well, fuck…

“I mean…” Steve hops off the bed after planting a kiss on your forehead and walks to his closet. He talks to you as he rummages through his things, determined to find the exact thing he’s looking for. “I mean you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that, baby.” Taking a box from the top shelf he walks it over to you and places it on the nightstand. Then, with just as much ease as before, he swoops down and captures your mouth in another mind-numbing kiss. Except this time, there’s an added urgency behind it. One he’s never had before. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

While nipping at your chin, he opens the box and pulls out a small and colourful cylindrical object. It’s pale purple with a series of buttons on the bottom of it. You frown once you see it.

“Stevie, what’s that?”

He can’t control the wolfish grin spreading across his face. Nuzzling further into your throat, he sucks and licks and bites until you’re too distracted by your own sighs. “It’s um…it’s my surprise for you, honey. Got it the other day. Saw it and immediately thought of you.”

“What…” another breathy moan as he bucks into you. “What does it do?”

Clicking his tongue, he gropes your boob, massaging the tender flesh. “Something fun,” is his only reply.

Placing it beside your head, he leans back and begins to unbutton your pants. You stiffen a bit, as he works wordlessly to relieve you of your other clothes. Your interest only seems to spur him on, make him work quicker as he pushes you down flat to the bed. There’s a sudden string of melodies that escape then, as though he’s fucking singing to himself. Content and relaxed as he pulls your jeans down your legs.

You think it’s Wham!, maybe Careless Whisper if you tried to listen hard enough. But you can’t particularly focus when he looks up to you and beams like that. Evident excitement making his body stretch upward and his dick twitch in the tent of his pants. “God, you’re gonna love this, baby. Need you to relax though. M’promise I’ll make you feel good.”

Whining, you grab his shoulders and pull him down to your level. “Why don’t you just fuck me already, Harrington?”

“Patience is a virtue, babe.” Grabbing the device he presses the button, triggering a high whirring sound to emanate from it. “Besides, gotta loosen you up first.”

And with that, he presses the head of the object to your cunt, reeling in the way your eyes widen and your jaw falls slack.

The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It isn’t the comforting feeling of your fingers gliding over you or of Steve’s tongue flicking at your hood. Instead it’s a steady vibration that rumbles your entire body, catching your arousal in its grasp instantaneously.

There’s a sharp gasp lodged in your throat, fighting to be released as you grapple for oxygen. Steve’s body still hangs over you, eyes transfixed on the way your face contorts with every movement he controls.

Sometimes when he flicks his wrist, moving the massaging head of the device to your already fluttering hole, you let out a long strangled moan. But the other times, when he presses the device right into your clit while his mouth wraps around your nipple and his other hand massages your lower belly, you can’t help but whine repeatedly.

Your thighs have begun to quiver as he slowly increases the pace of the object (which you didn’t even think was possible to begin with). Your hand flies to his shoulder, nails digging into the muscle as your head falls back.

“You like that, honey?” Steve growls into your chest as he hitches one of your legs over his hip. “‘Course you do. My little slut likes anything I give her, don’t you?”

You nod erratically, back aching as he presses the beating device harder into you. “Just…oh my god, Steve, please, I…”

“Look at you… Can’t even fucking talk, you feel so good.” A broad hands runs down the expanse of your stomach, running over your hip before slightly smacking the curve of your ass. You fly forward, sitting up completely as you try to trap his hand in between your thighs. “Told you this would be fun.”

You cry out, heart pounding against his as you press your breasts into his chest. “Stevie, please. Wanna cum so bad.”

He chuckles, resting his chin on the top of your head as his hand continues it’s descent down your body. “I know, baby, I know.” His knuckles circle your entrance before two thick fingers jam themselves into you.

“Fuckfuckfuck—“ you whimper as you bite at the tendon in his neck. Your toes curl in tandem with the fingers he moves along your walls, continuously hitting that sweet spot within you.

“Come on, baby, come for me… Come on.”

Your orgasm slams into you at what seems like new heights. Gripping his body tightly, you arch into him body rocking on the device with every wave of your high. Coming and going, back and forth until your knuckles are white and sweat lines your back and the sheets beneath you.

You shake violently in his arms, heavy pants racking your chest as dizziness clouds your mind. Your gaze stays stuck on the ceiling as you try to come to, your own feeble attempt to ground yourself. You feel the bed dip as rough hands smooth over the bones in your hips, rubbing small, tight circles in the skin above your mound. “That was—that was good, baby. Did so good for me.” His voice draws you back to reality, your gaze drifting around the room to find his. He peeks over your body, messy hair and hooded eyes that darken as he stares ahead.

Your hand—which feels limp hanging in midair—flies to his skull, gripping the roots of his hair and tugging him forward. “Steve, I…I want you to…please, want your cock.”

“Mhm,” he inhales the scent of you, nose just hitting your swollen clit. “And I want this pretty pussy of yours.” Deep brown eyes flash up to you, a powerful sneer morphing the lines of his mouth. “Good girls wait their fucking turn.”

Your head lolls back the second he begins to lap at your core. A shrill sound, something close to a cry but still not quite, escapes you. He mouths at the space between your clit and your hole, groaning into your folds as he adjusts his grip on your legs.

A puff of hot air hits you, spine trembling as his lips tug at your hood. “Oh my—fuck, Steve. Steve, please—“

“Please, what? I’m doing what you asked, pretty girl.” Another lick—a smooth and slow flat press of his tongue. “I’m fucking you like you deserve, so just…” he groans, removing himself from you before spitting on your cunt and diving back in. “Just. Fucking. Take it.”

Dammit, this man was going to be the fucking death of you.

He eats you out like he’s starved. Like he’s been locked away for days, weeks—shit, years—and is just finally getting access to a good meal. A bountiful feast, all for him and only him.

His stubble burns you as you jump his face, gnawing at the inside of your cunt and thighs until they’re raw. The pressure builds yet again, deep within your gut and permeating your bones. You hold him there, smothering him entirely as he either gulps for air, or for more of you. Regardless, he’s tasting every inch of you and soon he’s sucking at you even faster.

“Ste—Steve, just—oh my god, right there. Right there, please, please, please!”

Your second orgasm slaughters you where you lie. The pleasure is blinding, almost intangible as you ride his mouth. An endless slew of moans and sharp intakes of breath accompany your convulsing body. Somehow he’s still breathing, still soldiering on as he eats up everything you have to offer him.

It’s incredibly dirty. Raw and pornographic. A purely sleazy sight of him enjoying himself on the orgasm he just pulled from you.

Eventually he lets go of you, leaning up on his forearms and wiping away at the dripping cum on his chin.

He licks his lips then, a free hand trailing up to his messy hair and pushing it out of the way. Steve licks his lips, like a murderous predator eyeing its next prey; toying with its meal as it rolls in delight. “You taste,” he sucks yet another hickey into your breast. “So good.” He moans out the words, rolling his bare hips into you. He’s completely naked now, having taken off his pyjama pants sometime between unfurling his fingers in you and latching his mouth to your clit. He completely engulfs you, member sliding between your slick folds; twitching at the wonderful tension he’s been building. The friction is unbearable, deliciously combining with the taste of yourself on his tongue.

He kisses your mouth in the same way he kissed your cunt. Slow and lazy, an attempt to devour you whole.

“I love you so fucking much, y’know that?” Taking your hand he kisses each finger, your palm, the back of your hand and then your knuckles. “Loved you for a long time. A long, long time.”

You sigh into his chest, tears of relief burning at the corners of your eyes. There’s a gaping feeling within you, deep in the pit of your belly that carnally craves him. Despite already having had two orgasms, you’re hungry for another; for whatever he’ll give you.

You want his cock, want to feel him fill you to the point where you’re breaking in half. You need to feel the burn in your pelvis and the cured ache in your core.

You need him.

So, so fucking bad.

“Want you,” you grumble. Your throat is hoarse, pained from all the whines and the screaming and the moans of pleasure. You’re clawing at him, yanking and pulling at his limbs until he’s impossibly close. “Please, please, please, want you.”

Steve is unfazed as he keeps kissing you. Nearly every spot on your body is touched by his mouth, caressed by his tongue and bit by his teeth. Somehow, as much as he’s been grinding into you, as much as you can tell he wants to fuck your abused hole, he controls himself.

Tapping on your nose with feather-light touches, he gently kisses your eyelids. “Want what? Gotta use your words if you want my cock, baby.” Pumping himself above your stomach, he presses the underside of his dick along your belly and drags it, right above the spot where you want him most. “You want my cock, hm? Want me to fill you up like the good little slut you are?”

You don’t even nod. Instead, you just widen your legs and open up to him even more, pouting as you blink at him. “Want your cock so bad, Stevie. Wanna be yours. Please, please give me…just, fuck me hard.”

Smirking, he runs a hand up and down your thigh. “Are you mine?”

Your feel your face contort, confusion twisting your features as you gasp for air. And though you’re partially confused, a little curious and a little too far gone to fully understand his request, you simply smile.

“Yes. Yours. All yours.”

Steve growls, actually growls before taking two fistfuls of your hips and flipping you over onto your stomach. “Up, pretty girl,” he gestures to your lower back.

You do as he says, unable to stifle the smile of elation as he manhandles you. Pressing your head into the pillow, you push your hips up only to feel him directly behind you. His hand rests on the globe of your ass, tenderly stroking the curve of your spine as he gets you into position. He’s up on his knees, adjusting himself to fit your slit as he pulls you back into him.

“Wanna know what I was thinking about before you caught me earlier?”

You groan. “Jesus Christ, Steve, just shut up and fuck me already.”

He laughs, then lays a smack on your bum before shoving the fat head of his dick into you. Crying out you fall forward, frantic to feel him further. “You need to learn to stop being so impatient, —.” Pushing himself by another inch, he stops and stays there. Him stretching you out is a torturous event, one that pains you as your hands ball up the sheets. “Anyways, as I was saying…” his hand smooths down your back and to your neck, holding you in place by the nape. “I was thinking about this. ‘Bout you underneath me.” He kisses you in between your shoulders. “…Was thinking about fucking you from behind… Like this.”

With those words he slams into you, the tip of him hitting your cervix while his hips remain flush with yours.

You gasp, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex as you shake around him. “Oh my god, Steve, I—holy, fuck, that’s good, feel so good. Fucking me so good, Stevie.”

He takes a minute to breathe, to collect himself before completely bottoming out and shoving back in. Your walls clench around him, the heavy drag of his length making you shiver as he starts off at a slow pace.

Steve’s always been big. You had assumed as such from the rumours spread around school that there was something a little extra special about Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. But it wasn’t until when you first had sex with him when he had rid himself of his pants and stood before you entirely nude that you realized that he definitely had something to show for it.

At first, you were nervous, weren’t entirely too sure that you could take him in the way you wanted so much.

But then when he finally entered you for the first time, and every other time after that, you came to the conclusion that you wouldn’t want anything—or anyone—else.

He stretches you out perfectly. An amazing fit that only increases every time you feel his bulge in your lower abdomen. “Faster.” You pant. “Harder, fuck, harder.”

His hand fully circles your neck, gently pulling you back with just enough pressure to make you see stars. The harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling, obscenities spilling out of you as your third orgasm comes and goes. It all happens so quickly, to the point where you can’t even process the fact that you came yet again.

And although it feels good—fucking great, even—it’s still not enough.

You’re incredibly sensitive, eyes rolling into the back of your skull with every thrust. The sound of balls slapping against your ass fill the air, a medley of noises—just like the ones coming from the tv earlier—keying you higher and higher.

“Christ, you feel so good, honey. So good… I’m so fucking in love with you.” Another thrust rattles your body. Your bones are weak, muscles so sore that you can’t even keep yourself up. And Steve can tell, has half a mind to help you out.

Hooking one arm around your stomach, and with the other still, on your neck, he pulls you up into his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his thighs as he bounces you up and down on his dick. His back is pressed tightly to you, allowing you to hook your arm around his neck until his chin hangs over your shoulder. “Steve…Steve, I’m gonna cum. Fucking me so good, so, so, so good.”

He roughly kisses the side of your face, mouth hanging wide open on your cheekbone. “I know, baby, I know… No one fucks you this good, huh? No one—no one makes you cum on their dick like I do.”

“Oh…ohmygod, ohmygod. No, no one fucks me like you do, Steve. Please. Please, fuckfuckfuck.”

Pushing his hand into your abdomen, he holds you in place as he spears into you. Fire, an aching burning passion, licks at the base of your spine as heat pools in the knot of your belly. It feels so good it hurts; so numbing that you can’t do anything but sit and wait for your climax to crash over you. Because, painfully, you’re right on the edge. Steve strains behind you. “Gonna’ cum too, baby. Gonna fill you up, fill you up until I’m fucking spilling out of you.”

You’re babbling into the air as your head falls backward. With your eyes screwed shut, your hand falls to Steve’s knee while a fourth orgasm rips through you. You scream at the feeling of him annihilating your insides and sending you into orbit. It’s almost like you’re in space, gravity falling from your weightless body as Steve rams into you in a brutal rhythm.

“So, so beautiful, baby. Look even prettier with my cock in you.” At this point, he’s rotating you down onto his lap instead of thrusting up into you. Sweat beads down his forehead and onto your chest as his groin tightens. His dick grows bigger, swelling inside of you while he grunts and growls and lets out the prettiest sounds into your ear.

“Gonna make you a mom one day, baby. Fuck you until you’re round and full and everyone, even fucking Rick, knows you’re mine.”

He moans ‘I love you’s’ into your shoulder, biting down onto the junction of your neck as he empties inside of you. Ropes of warmth spread throughout your cunt as he fucks you through his orgasm.

His chest heaves as he falls forward with you, collapsing onto the bed in a frenzied mess of aching limbs and satisfied hums.

He catches his breath quicker than you do, contended sighs and soft kisses along your spine as you both settle down. He moves down your body until he lands on your hips, before gliding his mouth back up to your cheek. He kisses you for the millionth time that night. “…Were you serious? Ya know, did you mean what you said?”

You smile into the blanket, using what little strength you have left to roll over onto him. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you mouth at his neck and collarbone, kissing Steve tenderly in the way he truly deserves.

“Every word.”

•••

Steve Harrington Taglist (+18)