Latest Posts by queen-honeybee-stories - Page 5

reblog you know you want to

he’s not even boyfriend material, HE’S HUSBAND MATERIAL

Eddie’s Strength 🧎‍♀️

Steve hasn't cried for years.

Ever since he was a kid, his father has chided him for crying because 'men don't cry, boy, stop that nonsense and grow up.' Even his mother would tell him that if he wanted to be the man of the house one day, he needed to learn not to be such a crybaby.

So he did.

He broke his arm in 5th grade and didn't make a sound, he was left alone in that big house for 2 weeks and instead of crying like the little boy inside of him wanted to do, he invited all his friends over and trashed the place. He didn't cry when his father slapped him for the first time or when they left and didn't come back.

They'd taught him well.

Except now he's crying and he doesn't know how to stop.

He'd come home from Eddie's funeral, admittedly a little tipsy, and the second the door clicked shut behind him, the tears started and they haven't stopped since. It hurts so bad and just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself, he remembers that he's sitting alone in the dark of his empty shell of a house and it all starts up again. He cries for his broken arm and the slap that still stings whenever he thinks of his parents, he cries for Eddie, for Max, and for himself.

He ends up reaching for the phone on the wall and, after putting in the wrong number twice, he calls Robin. She answers immediately, her soft "Hello?" bringing on more tears as Steve remembers everything they went through, everything he dragged her into.

"Robin." He sobs weakly as he lies down on the ground with the phone pressed to his ear. "Robin, it hurts."

"Oh, Steve, what's wrong? What hurts? Are you OK?" He can tell she's trying to stay calm for his sake but he can hear the slight panic in her voice and the tell tale rustling of her putting on a jacket.

"Everything hurts. I-I think I'm drowning."

"I'm coming, hold on."

Robin runs the whole way to his house. She barges through the front door and all the panic and fear that had been written on her face falls away as she lays eyes on Steve, who's curled up on the floor, still in his suit, and crying so loud it echoes through the house. "Oh, honey."

He wails into her chest as she scoops him up in her arms and joins him on the cold tiles. "I'm right here. Just let go, let it all out. I know it hurts now but you'll feel better afterwards. Trust me."

So he does. He let's every little thing that's hurt him over the years bubble up inside him and spill out.

robin: you need a hobby.

eddie: i have a hobby.

dustin: staring at steve’s face isn’t a hobby.

eddie: you’re right. it’s a profession and i excel at my job.

Seeing Joseph Quinn wearing glasses made me think of a typical father, opening Christmas presents in a warm jumper. So maybe Joe is spending Christmas with the reader and their little girl, who has drawn her daddy a picture of their whole family or some other sweet gift? Generally lots of sweets, fluff, cuddling together by the fireplace, watching movies, a blanket and kissing under the mistletoe. I'm already in the mood and I'm sure Joseph would make this Christmas even more wonderful ❤️🥹

Stop this is a total fucking mood and I'm living for it

I went for a Christmas Eve scenario, I hope it's what you wanted 😚 thank you for your request x

🎅🎄 Christmassy Daddy Joey it is

"Daddy, daddy! Look what I got!" Joe moved to watch from across the room, stood in the doorway looking upon his little girl receiving her Christmas Eve box especially sent by Santa Claus himself.

He pretended to look surprised, folding his arms, mouth gaping open. "What's that my darling?"

"Santa sent it for me so I'm all ready for the morning mummy said!"

You sat on the sofa looking back at your husband, totally excited that this is the first of the holiday's you'd spent as a family where your little girl truly understood the magic of Christmas. It made everything so much more special.

"Shall we take a look inside?" you smiled, Joe joining you on the sofa, he snaked his arm around your shoulder and you leaned into him, admiring her open her gift.

Inside were brand new pyjamas, slippers, a certificate which confirmed she had been put on Santa's nice list and a small Candy Cane patterned teddy bear for her to take to bed.

"Oh my goodness!" You both shouted in unison as your daughter's sweet brown eyes sparkled shooting looks at the two of you, just the way Joe's did when he happy. It brought an enamoured ache to your heart, watching your 4 year old practically cheering with pride at her new things.

"Shall we go put them on?" You offered and she quickly ran over, passing the teddy to Joe to hold and grabbed your hand to pull you up out of your seat and into the hallway. "Come on then." you sighed contently.

When you returned, Joe was just putting on her favourite Christmas movie, as promised you would all watch it together before she went to bed. A small bowl of popcorn lay on the coffee table with a a glass of chocolate milk each and a bigger bowl for both of you to share. "Look at my beautiful little angel, all ready for Santa coming."

"Where's Bear Quinn?" she moved along the room, searching for her stuffed toy.

"Bear Quinn?" Joe barked a laugh at her, pointing in the direction of the middle of the sofa, there it was snuggled up under a blanket waiting for her arrival.

"Yes he's part of the family now, so he needs my last name." She showed Joe what only could be described as a teenage death stare, as if he was supposed to know that.

"Of course, silly me." Joe nodded slowly, smirking, his eyes twinkling between you and Y/D/N, their bond was something phenomenal.

Joe sat one side and you sat the other of her, she pushed the blanket over for you all to share and Joe started the movie. The living space had never felt so cosy, the lights were dimmed, the fireplace provided the welcoming heat with your named stockings hung above it, keeping the cold outside where it belonged.

"Daddy, I almost forgot what me and mummy did together for you today, can I show you?" She didn't even wait for his reply instead she escaped from the middle of you, racing to the dining table to collect the piece of paper, a chaotic little busy body, again just like her dad.

She came scooting back in, edging herself between the tight space in-between you. "Close your eyes." she braced herself as she placed a drawing of the 3 of you on his lap. "You can open them now."

Joe looked down, a hitch in his breath as he fell in love with it instantly. "Oh my goodness, look at this! My talented girl" Joe flashed a wink at you and placed a kiss down onto Y/D/N's cheek, she blushed a little looking so proud of herself and fell straight into his side snuggling down into him, her legs laid flatly across your lap, he placed his arm around her and found your hand to intertwine his fingers with. No matter how far apart you were placed, he'd always find a way to caress you one way or the other. Touch was absolutely his love language and it was hers.

You watched half of the movie in complete silence, looking down you noticed she was dropping to sleep, you figured now would be a good time to end the pleasant evening and get her up to bed so you could begin to prepare for tomorrow. You shot a look at Joe and his eyes fell straight down to her. Joe picked her up in his arms, cradling her as if she was still a new born baby and stood up to take her upstairs.

She stirred, waking up slightly when you both got half way up. "Daddy." she let out a huge yawn in-between her words.

"Yes princess?"

"We forgot to do milk and cookies for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph."

"Oh no! Well we must do that before you get your beauty sleep mustn't we." Joe halted onto the stairs, nodding for you to head back down.

He put her down onto her steps that huddled against the countertop so she had enough height to help do her duties. You handed her the carrot and cookies to set out onto a plate and Joe helped her pour a glass of milk into a small cup. She took the plate into the living room and set it beside the tree, Joe placed the milk onto the top of the fireplace which was beginning to burn out.

"There, now he'll have something to keep him going on his long journey." He nodded in acceptance at her and she beamed a sleepy smile so bright. Joe offered his hand back to your daughter as she rubbed her eyes.

"Mummy, will you come up and tuck me in with daddy please?"

"Yes of course I will." you smiled down at her, she reached her other hand to yours so you were both holding one side. A happy family.

You put her to bed, wishing her the sweetest of dreams, stroking her hair and singing her the same lullaby your mum sang to you as a child. Joe watched in complete awe, his heart could burst at any given second with the beautiful view in front of him, you two were his life, his happiness and he felt so lucky, more than ever right in this moment. Both of you kissing her goodnight, you closed the door and headed back downstairs.

"How long shall we give it?" Joe asked, obviously too eager to get the presents downstairs.

"We'll check on her in a little bit Joey. I can't wait to see her face in the morning."

"Me neither. But for now I've got something for us to enjoy."

"What's that?" You scrunched your face up, a little smile rising onto your features.

Joe ran into the kitchen himself just as your daughter had done to bring him her drawing, hiding the object behind his back he mimicked the words your little girl had said to him earlier. "Close your eyes, my love."

You closed them and Joe hung his arm in the air, giving you the all clear to open them once more. You did, taking your gaze from his face up his arm and what was being held above the two of you. Mistletoe.

"Merry Christmas, here's to the best one yet, my perfect wife."

"Merry Christmas, my most amazing husband."

You slowly moved towards one another, closing the gap when your lips magnified together. A slow and impeccably sweet kiss beneath the mistletoe was shared, just like in the movies, this Christmas Eve was joyful and bright and you couldn't wait for the day ahead.

Santa was on his way.

Joseph Quinn at the opening for Tokyo Comic Con

Billy concept he doesn’t know how periods work lol idk I thought it would be funny

Billy was confused as fuck as he stood awkwardly next to you in the feminine hygiene aisle. When you had returned from the bathroom, insisting that you needed to go to the store now, it was an emergency. Billy had been confused and now standing beside you, and he was even more confused.

Him holding a pack of tampons in his hand as he studied them carefully, why did they have different pictures of fruits on them?

"Are these flavoured?" He asked, the confusion evident on his face. "How you would even taste them if they go.." He clears his throat awkwardly.

Sure, he knew what periods were. He wasn't that much of an idiot. But he knew girls tended to keep that stuff away from males, and he didn't ask.

"No William, they aren't flavoured."

"Then why do they have fruits on the box?"

"It's for decoration."

Billy is even more confused now. Why did these things need decoration?

His curiosity got the better of him as he opened the box and pulled out one of the tampons, his eyes widening at the plastic device it seemed to be kept in.

"For easy insertion.. what the fuck." He mutters, shaking his head.

You snatch the box off him and shake your head. "Those aren't good ones."

"What's the difference?"

They all looked the same to him, some sort of torture device that made the suffering even worst.

He'd been with you for a few months, and he'd seen you during this time, which confused him. He saw you cry over baby ducklings once and then momentarily yell at him because he didn't get the correct chocolate ice cream.

"So they aren't flavoured?"

You sigh, grab your usual brand off the shelf, and leave Billy awkwardly behind.

He knew one thing, he was getting the correct type of chocolate ice cream this time.

🍂 walk through the orange leaves — blurbs with autumn-themed prompts.

sitting by a bonfire w stevie bc i can just tell already how cute and fluff you’ll make it 🫶🏽

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄.

pairings ; steve harrington x female!reader 

warnings ; female!reader, established relationship, pet names, lumax, steve being a caring and cosy boyfriend, r is tired, cursing, eddie being loud.

word count ; 918

additional notes ; bubba sav, this is dedicated to you <33 you're the best

the radiating warmth of not only the bonfire in front but the length of steve’s chest pressed against your back is enough to send you into a hazy slumber. if it weren’t for his constant moving as he watched everyone.

your head tucked under your boyfriend’s chin, steve’s arms gently encased your frame and had been for the past hour. the small get together at eddie’s ended with only a few of you left. nancy had drove most of the kids home, max staying as she only lived a trailer across and lucas was stuck to her side; steve opting to drive him back later.

eddie was using his hands atop his knees to make some careless noise amongst conversation with robin whilst steve watched fondly as lucas and max bicker, including him every so often with a ‘steve, tell her,’ or ‘stay outta this, steve, don’t listen to this doofus.’

steve couldn’t get involved, too wrapped up in the ambience of your sleepy nature against him. your breath fanned his neck and your hands clutched his jacket tightly, humming every so often when you stirred from threatened sleep.

“fuck you, honest to god, y/n! back me up here!” hands which previously coursed up and down your back with a sickeningly sweet graze freeze when steve glared at eddie munson from his spot. the kids from beside him follow his gaze when steve tries his best to whisper shout, “shut up, holy crap what ever happened to indoor voices with you lot, huh?”

“i know you weren’t the best in school, steve, but it’s basic common sense to know we’re outside right now.”

his glare moves to robin, ready to make another remark when your nose nudges against his jaw with another hum escaping you, stirring to lay your front against his while hands flatten against his chest which is currently alight with love. causing his throat to close and to shut up entirely.

“i’m not asleep, stevie. still here.” your hands move when steve’s chest vibrates with a chuckle, your words saying one thing but your expression saying a hell of the lot more.

your eyes are half-lidded, filled with a sleepiness, your cheeks look oh-so-soft and steve resists the urge to run the back of his finger over so gently like he’d break you. plus the light from the fire doesn’t help how he feels, not when the warm glow makes you look so much sweeter.

“y/n! queen or the beatles?” eddie’s voice interjects and steve leans down to press a long kiss to your head, lips murmuring against yours in the process, “sorry, baby.” you giggle lazily, hugging yourself closer to your boyfriend, knees bending so you essentially look like a koala clung to a tree.

“queen.”

a rapid beat fills your eardrums as eddie slaps his knees to the chorus of ‘we will rock you’ before standing up and leaning towards robin’s face, “told you! nobody beats freddie mercury, man. nobody!”. eddie looks over to you, face hidden in steve’s frame but eddie still speaks, not caring if it’s not really heard, “this is why you’re my favourite, y/n.”

“y/n’s clearly delirious, isn’t thinking straight,” robin starts.

“yeah, she’s like half asleep,” max continues.

you hardly listen to them, the fall air crisp against your back but steve’s quick to keep you warm. the scent of his woody cologne filling your nostrils and working like a charm to make you feel more woozy and tired, entirely safe in his arms.

“y/n deserves extra marshmallows,” eddie announces in retaliation while leaning down to grip the large bag they shared by the fire earlier to throw it in your direction. steve raises his arm to catch the plastic before discarding it to his side while responding, “y/n deserves some well-needed rest.”

you murmur incoherently against steve’s chest and he runs his hand over your head while whispering, “it’s okay, baby. i’ll get you home to bed.” little did steve know you were far more content at the back of eddie’s garden, lame bonfire while pressed against your boyfriend.

“just stay here?” eddie says as if it’s the simplest thing and steve feels you push against his hand, eyes open once again trying to lift yourself up as you start to disagree, “no, no, no. stevie, we can’t.”

everyone watches you ramble tiredly, steve kissing your forehead while his arms wrapped around your lower back comfortingly, “okay, baby—” but you continue as he speaks back, “we can’t stay, gotta drive lucas to basketball practice first thing tomorrow. gotta go home.”

“you’re right,” steve starts, everyone else confused while steve only smiles at you in complete adoration as you both attempt to move from your comfortable position. steve turns to max and lucas, spinning his finger as a signal to ‘wrap things up,’ “c’mon, lucas. let’s get you home, bud.”

everyone makes a move, lucas nervously leaning in to kiss max’s cheek while steve helps swing his jacket over your shoulder before tucking your tired state under his arm. “robin, need a lift?” asks steve, allowing you a few extra peaceful moments to feel the warm fire against your body.

“think i’m staying here.”

“let’s go, bub,” your squeezed while steve kisses your cheek, his affection only making you feel more tired and light-headed, in the best way while you're guided from the warm fire and instead promised to be cuddled to sleep in the comfort of your bed, your boyfriend right by your side like always.

⤸

taglist form . the library . all blurbs

steve harrington; masterlist . blurbs

Joe for of Stranger Things Season 3 [Portraits] 2019

He’s very cool and mysterious, he’s not a sad boy at all, he swears.

Reblog if it’s okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

In The Light

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.9K]

When you’d told Steve you had a bad day, a bad week, you’d hadn’t expected him to do anything about it. Maybe give you a hug, sure, a kiss or five, a soft assurance that good days would come. 

He gave you all of that but you didn’t expect him to pull you into his lap and card his fingers through your hair, thumb pushed to the soft of your cheek and ask:

“How can I make it okay?”

You were so ready to shrug, to try and hide the tears gathering at your lash line because he was looking at you so sincerely it ached. Steve couldn’t make the bad days go away, but he could make the next one better. 

So he picked you up the next morning, the early sun making the summer sky hazy, that pretty pink lilac shade that still hung amongst the blue and Steve Harrington waited for you on the sidewalk like an all American dream. 

He stood by his car, hands in his pockets, leaning against the door, all summer and smiles, tanned skin and a new freckle or two because Steve was June and July and August, the beginning of a heatwave, the end of the longest, lightest night. 

All your stress ebbed away as you walked down the driveway to him, sundress short and flowy, Steve’s favourite colour on you and you acted coy as he gave you a whistle, low and all flirt, eyes flitting over your bare legs. 

He grinned, opened his arms for you to run the rest of the way into, catching you around the waist, kissing you soundly. It was sweet like the early hour, still sleep lined and soft, tasting like leftover mint toothpaste and coffee. Steve made a show of littering your face with kisses, even when you feigned annoyance, hiding your smile by ducking your chin but the boy pulled laughter from you like it was his job. 

And Steve was very, very good at his job. 

So he pressed spearmint kisses to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, over your lashes, your forehead, even an ear. He swallowed your laughter like medicine, gave you it back like a shot of serotonin and sunshine. 

“You ready?” Steve grinned, leaning into your touch as you smooth over his hair, fingers curling into the messy strands at the nape of his neck. 

“For what?” You’d replied, nose scrunched, eyes bright, ‘cause it was barely nine o’clock in the morning and it was already better than yesterday. 

“Only, like, the best day of your life,” Steve shrugged, smile downturned to play off his enthusiasm, all faux nonchalance as he pushed off of the door, turning to open it for you with a flourish. 

You laughed, bright and sharp, leaning over the top of the open car door, pushed to your toes so you could press your forehead to Steve’s. His eyes crinkled in the corners at your touch, your giddy smile, the smell of your perfume, your closeness. 

“Oh yeah? That’s big talk, Harrington,” your voice was quiet and teasing, enough flirt there to make Steve’s cheek ache from smiling so much. 

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Gonna rock your world, pretty thing. Buckle up.”

He drove you out of town with the windows down and the relief you felt as you passed the Hawkins sign was palpable. You left your worries behind, your stress, the nights with little sleep. The car smelled like Steve’s cologne, like takeaway coffee and leftover sunscreen and cologne from pool days last week. 

The boy wouldn’t tell you where he was taking you, would grin and squeeze softly at your thigh when you asked, warm palm curling around the bare skin under your dress, high enough to be almost scandalous, to make you feel as hot as the sun was on the windscreen. He turned the radio up louder, beamed when you sang along, eyes closed, head tipped back, wind whipping at your hair. 

It took about an hour and a half to drive into Indianapolis, the fields and farmland left behind to give way to a bigger landscape, taller buildings, wider roads and a lot less trees. You were leaning forward at each traffic light, looking at the signs, wondering what turn Steve was going to take next, where you’d end up. 

You gasped when Steve turned the last corner, the road bending and leading into a large parking lot, not all that busy. The sign above the big building told you exactly where you were. 

“The aquarium?” You asked, as if Steve was joking, as if he was going to drive away and your voice sounded small, soft and full of emotion. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, pulling into a space and turning off the engine. He turned to look at you, brown eyes as warm as honey, just as sweet too. “You told me your grandfather used to take you here, right?”

You nodded, lips pressed together so you didn’t cry or do something stupid, like ask the boy to marry you. 

“I figured it had maybe been a while since you’d come, but,” Steve tilted his head to look at you, pressed a thumb to your chin in a fond touch, “I thought it’d be a pretty chill day out.”

You hiccuped a laugh, eyes almost turning glassy and Steve would’ve been alarmed if he didn’t know you as well as he did. He leaned in, seatbelt still buckled and straining but he was smiling, that soft, warm smile you swore he only used for you. 

“Good surprise?” He murmured, nose nudging at your cheek. You were warm and it made him feel a little proud, happy to elicit such a pretty reaction from you. 

“Good surprise,” you confirmed, grinning as you let him kiss you, a soft peck of his lips against yours that soon gave way to more, as warm as the sun on the back of your neck. 

Your lips parted for Steve, far too easily considering the public setting but you were leaning over the console to meet him halfway, head tilted, mouth slanting over the boy’s as he kissed you soft and deep. It made you sigh, a sound that Steve swallowed, a contented little noise that Steve swore was his favourite, one he loved to try and pull from you whenever he could. He ran his tongue over yours, pulled back just enough to make you chase him, smiling through the kiss as you tutted at him, at his smugness. 

“If this makes you happy enough,” Steve murmured against your lips, grinning when you moved to kiss at his chin, his jaw, “I’m more than okay to do this all day.”

You snorted a little, a huff of laugh pressed against the line of his neck and you nipped the skin there to make him shudder. It worked and you pulled back, eyes a little darker than before, a shade that complimented Steve’s, both of your lips kiss bitten and rosy. 

“That’s a really tempting offer,” you told him and you weren’t even kidding, not really, not that much. “But I wanna see the sharks.”

Steve laughed, lips pressed together as he looked at you with so much adoration that it hurt your chest. He reached down to unfasten your seatbelt before doing the same to his, smoothing down your skirt and tucking a wild strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb rubbed a soft line over the high of your cheekbone. 

“Yeah? Sharks?” 

“Sharks,” you confirmed. 

So Steve slung an arm around your shoulders as you crossed the lot, two hands holding his as you stood by his side at the front desk, rolling your eyes when the boy refused to let you pay half. But giddy excitement took over as you walked out of the lobby and into the first room, dark except for the lights in the tanks, blue reflections on the floor, the walls, the sounds of trickling water and absolute peace.

Steve followed a little behind you, smiling fondly as your face lit up and lavender and fuchsia lights painted your face. It turned you cheeks a deeper colour than normal, lavender lips, barbie pink eyelids, eyelashes casting shadows. 

You touched the glass gently with your fingertips, everything about you soft, Steve noted. You watched the jellyfish float up and down, dreamlike in their motions, their slow dance reflected in your eyes. Steve was looking at you again. 

“I could stay here all day,” you told him quietly, a small smile on your face. 

Steve believed you, had watched the tension soften and ease from your shoulders, the weight of the world crumbling away as you watched the light dance off of the water. 

Steve leaned against the tank, a shoulder pressed to the glass so the lilac light scattered itself across his cheek, the slope of his jaw. His brown eyes looked black in the dark room and he was still watching you. You made his heart thump, a little harder than normal, just a little faster than it should. 

“But what about the sharks?” He asked and he grinned when you smiled, body leaning into his to indulge him. 

Steve’s fingertips caught yours, a soft touch, a beckon, a silent: ‘wanna come with me?’ You let him tangle your hand with his, fingers linked. He tilted his head and you followed, both of you walking past the few kids that were silently watching the stingrays float at the bottom of a shallow pool, noses almost touching the water. 

“I think I needed this,” you told Steve, voice sticky with emotion. The week had been hard, sleep not coming all that easy. You leaned into his, cheek pressed to his shoulder as you walked through the dark corridors, posters of sea creatures and underwater plants lining the walls. “This is nice.”

Steve smiled, turning his face to press a kiss to your temple, hand squeezing yours a little tighter. You seemed less tired, eyes a little brighter than he’d seen them in a while. 

“Yeah?” He murmured, pleased by your words. His cheeks were pink but you didn’t dare tease. “Good. I just want you to be happy, babe.”

It felt like your chest caved in at his words, so soft and so kind - so sincere - that your heart hurt. You stopped and tugged him back by the hand, a look of surprise in Steve’s eyes as he gazed at you. 

“C’mere,” you asked quietly, uncaring that you were in front of a tank, a shoal of pink seahorses swimming across coral behind you both. 

You anchored yourself to the boy, hands gripping his waist, fingers twisted into his cotton t-shirt. You pushed onto your toes, chin tilted up and you didn’t need to ask before Steve was leaning down for you, a smile already on his lips, eyes fluttering closed. 

“I’m here,” he whispered and you could hear his happiness in those two words, you could taste the joy. 

“Need to kiss you,” you told him, matter of fact about it and before he could reply, you were pushing your lips to his, a soft sound of delight coming from his chest. 

It was chaste, considering the few people that were milling around, too entranced by the animals to really take notice of two young lovers in the navy shadows. But you took your time with it, caught Steve’s bottom lip between yours, nudged at his cheek with your nose so he would indulge you a little more, leaning down further so you could trap his top lip too. 

He was grinning when you pulled away, a smile that matched yours, pink in the cheeks and the ultraviolet lights in his eyes. 

“What was that for?” Steve asked, before quickly adding, “not that I’m complaining, like, at all.”

You smiled, shy, shrugged and crinkled your nose as if the boy was asking a silly question. “You make me happy.”

You got another kiss in return, just as sweet as the first. 

Steve followed you around the aquarium, almost losing you to the shadows before finding you in the light, your buttercup yellow sundress turned orange in the red spotlights, each one illuminating a tank of deep sea creatures, spindly and strange looked, your nose pressed to the glass and your eyes wide. 

The boy was happy to linger, watching you light up, the quiet of the aquarium easing the crinkle that had lived between your brows for a week or two. You looked pretty, like you always did, but almost too pretty under the glow, the refractions from the water dancing across your bare legs. It was the most innocent kind of joy and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at you when you walked through the shark tunnels, hand in hand and naming each species. 

“This is an almost odd fascination,” he said fondly as you told him all about the dwarf lantern shark, which was apparently as small as a goldfish. “And its belly lights up?” He repeated. 

You nodded, eyes still scanning the roof of the tunnel, the glass glittering against the water and the light. A large nurse shark swam overhead and you grinned. “Yup. Like a glow stick.”

That’s how it went, Steve letting you tug at his hand, holding onto his arm as you pointed out this fish and that shark. You both watched as a small octopus, bright red in colour as it opened a jar, both of you enraptured and heads touching, staring through the glass. 

The aquarium was close to closing as you sat on a bench at the last attraction, a huge domed room that was mostly glass, the only light trickling in from the inside the tank, warm and dim. It lit up the shoals of fish, slow swimming and brightly coloured, the coral on the sandy bed just as pretty. 

Every now and then something big would swim past, casting shadows over the floor, you and Steve, a giant turtle, a stingray or two. It was peaceful, dark and quiet, both of you lit up in navy and green. 

You were watching a fish, something long and flat looking, as it bobbed across the tank floor digging at the sand and rocks. Steve was watching you. 

“Did you know, coral produces its own sunscreen?” you told Steve. You didn’t wait for a reply, eyes on the moving plants, a sunset scene of coloured under the water. “They make their own algae to protect them from sun rays.”

Steve didn’t answer so you tore your eyes away from the clownfish that was darting in and out of the bright pink anemone to look at the boy. 

He was smiling, eyes soft and fond, already looking at you. There was small freckles of light on his cheeks, dancing the same way the water moved, disappearing when a fish swam in front of him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said. 

His words swallowed you whole, sticky like honey, warm and sweet and his voice was so full of affection for you that you almost didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was never shy with compliments and you were well used to them after being with him for so long, even before you were officially together. 

But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made your heart thump, a solid beat beneath your ribs that you swore could be heard out loud. 

You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard and completely enamoured by the boy beside you, with his wild hair and pretty eyes, all soft lips and sharp lines. He had new freckles, tiny dots you could see even in the shadows, ones you were sure he’d received from the day he spent with you out by his pool.

They made him look a little younger, boyish and achingly handsome. 

So you hid from him, cheeks warm and bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you pushed your face to your shoulder, hands covering yourself as you made some strange noises of protest, as if you’d ever dare argue with Steve about it. 

You heard rather than saw him laugh, and then, his fingers wrapped around your wrists, tugging gently. “Don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he chided. “S’all mine.”

Steve pulled and you followed, onto your feet as he took your hands in his and towed you towards his lap. He settled you between his legs, tucked to his chest with his chin on your head, a kiss pressed there as you both watched the underwater world go by. 

You were grinning, beaming, that cheek aching kinda smile that you knew would last until bedtime and when Steve wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you a little tighter, it only grew in size. He made you dizzy with happiness, turned you into a greedy, little thing that ached for his touch and attention, but oh my god, you’d never experienced joy like it. 

Steve was summer and sunshine and pool days and trips to the aquarium. He was long drives, messy hair, stolen kisses in the shadows and absolutely everything you needed. 

Everything you wanted. 

“Thank you,” you whispered and you wondered if he’d heard, if he could tell just how much you meant it. You felt weightless leaning against him, relaxed for the first time in days. 

But then he was curling down to you, lips on your cheek and you turned so he could catch the corner of your mouth, another kiss there for good measure. 

“Nothin’ to thank me for, baby,” he shrugged but you could tell he was smiling, you could tell he was happy that you were happy. “Jus’ doing my job.”

no one:

joseph david keery: ☺️✌🏻

somewhere only we know

a/n: i accidentally made this so long & ran with the request in whatever way my heart desired! hope this is enuf hurt/comfort for all ur needs <3 word count: 5.6k summary: You haven’t seen Steve in a few weeks, barely a couple phone-calls keeping your relationship beating. You assume the worst. Steve does his best to make it up to you. [hurt/comfort + miscommunication + established relationship]

It’s hard to not think he’s avoiding you.

Steve never seemed the type of boyfriend who would be foolish enough to ice you out without so much as a word about something being wrong. He wears his heart on his sleeve — more than anyone you know.

You’d also like to think you would know. That by now, all these months together, you’ve would’ve somewhat memorised the twists and turns of his emotions. But if he’s dropped any clues about being upset with you, you certainly hadn’t picked up on them.

You think you’d prefer his iciness to this odd avoidance.

It has to be that he’s upset, you reason. You would prefer he’s upset; that’s fixable, doable, and completely normal for a couple. The alternative is harsh, a cruel thread of insecure thoughts; perhaps Steve has suddenly decided he doesn’t have time for you.

And it’s a lot harder to pretend that thought doesn’t sting terribly.

Keep reading

OMG YES YES YES.

he was so bold for this

hello!! im such a big fan of your work, your joe fics makes me feel soft and loved 🥺 i was wondering if i i could please maybe request something about him dating a shy reader who has a stutter and tends to get frustrated about her stutters when she's trying to talk or tell a story? i'll be starting therapy for my stutter next week and i'm feeling a bit nervous 😅 thank you so much! i hope you have the loveliest day ! 😄💖

aaa baby thank u so much i love u :(( good luck with the therapy next week! sending kisses mwah mwah!!

the gentle dialogue from the low volume of the tv makes him laugh, though you think he only he does that because there's this obnoxious laugh track that follows after a lame joke. albeit you smile at the sound of his baritone giggle, closing the door gently behind you.

you see his head pop up from the couch, the vibrant abstract of his happy socks padding across the floor once he sees you. he smiles brightly, opening his arms, and you meet him halfway.

he grunts when you gently tackle him with a hug, your arms around his torso, swaying gently. he presses his lips on the crown of your head, his warmth radiating through your cold body.

"hey, baby," joseph greets softly, pulling away but keeps his hands on your biceps. "how are you? how's your day?"

you swallow thickly, the words at the tip of your tongue. "i- it-it was good! um- uh, it was a bit b-boring and–"

his eyebrows raise. a silent go on.

you try to speak again. "um- they– were g- this is stupid,"

"hey, baby, no!" joseph bends down lightly, lips twisted into an empathetic pout. "come on, baby. it's not stupid. tell me, come on."

the words refuse to cooperate with your mouth, apparently. your lips clamp shut, hands clenching into a fist and bunches up his shirt. joseph senses your frustration and slowly brings his hands to your shoulders; eyes sympathetic rather than pitying, his lips into a frown.

when you sigh in irritation, removing a hand to place your wrist against your forehead, he speaks up. "you can do this, love. just rehearse it in your mind, yeah? gotta speak slowly so you can enunciate it better. can you try for me, baby?"

you refuse to meet his eyes, suddenly nervous with your cheeks burning in embarrassment. you stare at the button of his nose instead, focusing on the feeling of his hands that move to cup your jaw, and wonder how he's got this very long patience for you.

joseph's always too kind to you. and although he's like this with everyone, it leaves you lovestruck. it's a silly feeling that makes your belly swarm with butterflies to see how patient he is to hear you speak, how bright and happy he gets when you get through your stutter and tell him something that gets him just as excited as you are.

"i..." you look up at him, see his raised eyebrows, the curves on his forehead and the anticipation across his face that makes your heart warm. "my day was o-okay. i saw- i saw a stray dog outside. he- he's so cute, joey. he s-saw me, and his tail star- started wagging, right? a-and he made thes- these small whines and i j-just felt so bad not being a-able to give- give them some food,"

"uhuh,"

"and i w-was gonna ask if it's o-okay with you if w-we– we can take out some food for- for him?"

joseph smiles proudly, leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead; a long, doting one that singes beautifully against your skin. "atta baby. did well for me, yeah?" you giggle. "we can take food out for him, honey. give me your bag and i'll get my shoes, 'kay? then we can go visit the dog."

your heart aches, feeling proud of yourself for the success of finishing a sentence. but mostly because joseph's thrilled. his kiss tingles against your skin. and when he comes back from the bathroom, your bag gone and a pair of shoes that contrasts rather horrifyingly against his socks, your can't help but smile.

"let's go feed that dog, yeah?" he slings an arm around your shoulder, pressing his lips against your hair and pulling you closer to him. hips flush against one another. "now, why don't you go tell me more."

Yes, maybe your regular Steve Harrington one and if you have one for Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson? Thank you!

Can I be added to the Single!dad Steve Harrington taglist?

P.S. I love your writing! It's so good!❤️

of course!! would you like to be added to any other taglists or just single dad!steve? 🫶🏻

joe please

I love you Joe Keery. Thank you.

it takes me between 1-4 hours to write a fic and 2 hours of that is me trying to think of a damn title

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue the movies, nachos, cherry cough syrup, and a couple of moments of clarity. [10k]

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

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has the most peculiar curl tucked up by his neck. Where most are frizzy and loose, this one falls in a perfect shiny ringlet below his ear. He shifts and it's out of view, a curtain of dark hair falling forward and hiding his face as he puts your car in park. 

"Remind me why you had to drive?" you ask, ducking down to look at the glaring white lights of the movie theatre across the street. 

"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel." 

For once, Eddie might not be exaggerating. He grins at your lack of rebuttal and throws an arm behind your shoulders, twisting in the driver's seat to set his sights on Junie. 

"Are you ready?" he asks her. 

She wiggles. It's an ecstatic movement. Her clothes are prim and sweet if you do say so yourself, a long sleeved shirt under a pair of the world's cutest dungarees. They crinkle as she moves, pressed to perfection. 

You and Eddie open opposite doors in tandem and step out into the brisk, early night. The sidewalk shines with rain, a black slickness stretching in every direction. You shiver and pull your thin jacket tighter to your torso as you turn back to the car, intending to retrieve Junie and rush into the theatre before you can freeze on the spot. 

Eddie's already swung open the door and rescued your daughter from the confines of her car seat, neatening up the hem of one of her socks with her face pushed over his shoulder. 

She giggles about something and Eddie says, "Sorry, June. 'M tickling you, am I?" so fondly you have to avert your eyes. 

He locks the car and hands over your keys with a smile. You smile back, heart flipping like a spinning coin. Head over tails, over and over. 

The big, ring-heavy hand he holds to Junie's back reaches for you suddenly enough that you flinch.

"I'm sorry," he apologises, suppressing a laugh, "your necklace is twisted." 

He moves in a second time and you raise your chin, chest aflame as his fingers glance off of your bare skin. He slips the chain over his index and pulls, encouraging the links around until the clasp is hidden again. 

"Thank you." You huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.

"You owe me," he says, mock-severe. 

Your laugh is much more genuine as you follow him across the road. 

You're squinting as you approach The Hawk movie theatre. The title cards are hard to look at, aggressively white with black capital letters that read, 'The Great Mouse Detective 7'. 

There's a small line of families waiting by the front. You realise it like a shock, that the three of you must look like a family too. 

Eddie carries Junie with the surety of a dad that's carried his child a hundred times before; he strokes the back of her head with the affection of one, soothing the mess of flyaways she'd acquired by squirming in her car seat. Junie responds with familiarity, hands tucked into his hair and tugging. She's trying to be nice but his hair won't allow it, all his long curls tangled at the ends from a day at work. 

Still, he says, "Thanks, baby. Make sure you get the back, okay?" 

"Okay," she echoes. 

You look down at your wringing hands. There's ink smudged up the side of your writing hand. You scratch at it half-heartedly, blinking against your fatigue. 

You're exhausted tonight and it's only Wednesday. You can't imagine how you'll fare tomorrow considering how little sleep you're expecting tonight — there are a thousand things to do when you get home. Laundry to wash and press, cleaning to do, dinner to make. 

You'd been writing cheques for due bills when Eddie had come knocking, well-dressed, stupid-handsome, and announced that tonight you would be accompanying him to the movies. He'd actually said 'accompanying'. 

Despite a full agenda, you'd said yes. You're not very good at saying no. At least, not to him. 

It takes you a moment to realise you're at the front of the line. You pay for the tickets before Eddie can try it, and with his hands full he can't really stop you. He whines about it all the way to the concession stand. 

"You can buy the snacks," you say. His face lights up, and you amend, "If you're reasonable." 

"I'm always reasonable…ly over the top," he says, chided by your hard stare. 

"Yes, you are." 

He follows you down the two steps to the concession and cuts in front of you. "How did you do that? What face was that? I felt my soul leave my body." 

"That's my disapproving mom look. I'm disapproving." 

"Ah." He pats Junie's side sympathetically. 

She pulls her head from over his shoulder and smiles at you. Her arms vy for your hold. You steal her from Eddie and kiss her all over her tiny face, uplifted by how much she loves you, how happy she is to be in your arms. 

"What snacks do you want? Do you eat popcorn with butter? Without?" Eddie asks, his newly emptied arms already posed thoughtfully, a hand under his chin as he thinks over his options. 

The theatre has a huge array of jellies, an even bigger array of candy bars. There are more brands of soda than there are glasses in your kitchen cabinet. 

You're daunted. 

"Whatever you want," you say.

Eddie groans and tips his head back. "Don't play with me like this. Butter or no butter? It's an easy question." 

"I don't know. Without?" 

"You are so weird," he says happily. 

You pout and pull Junie closer. 

Standing at the side while he gathers concessions, too many things, you watch in awe as Eddie stacks it all against his chest with the sure confidence of someone who's done it before.

He grins at you from between two huge cups. "Are we ready?"

If you could, you'd leave him here in the foyer with his jumbo deluxe popcorn. As it stands, you like him too much to leave him behind. You juggle Junie and your bag to push open the doors for him outside of screen two. 

"Thanks, babe," he says outside of screen two. You bite your lip, surprised by his easy tone. 

You climb up the stairs and into your seats. You're high enough for Junie to sit in her own chair between you and Eddie and see the screen comfortably but she adamantly refuses, stretching out in your lap like an alley cat hungry for affection. 

Eddie moves into the ragtag velvet seat beside you, a million things in his lap and at your feet. He's pretty enough under the theatre lights to dull the panging ache at the back of your head. "If she won't sit here, I will. I got you a lemonade, is that cool?" 

If it weren't you'd hardly tell him. 

"She's being extremely well-behaved," Eddie notes, an inkling of pride in his tone. 

You could sucker punch him. Why does he do this to you? 

"I know," you say with a shy smile, "it's suspicious, isn't it?" 

"I don't know. If I were in your lap I might be well-behaved too." He raises his eyebrows, an over-exaggerated show of flirtatiousness. 

You reach over the arm to take a handful of popcorn. Eyes on Junie, you offer her your stolen goods and say, "I've got two thighs." 

"Don't tempt me." 

Junie all but snatches the popcorn and tilts her head back. A kernel falls from her hand and disappears between the seats. You make a mental note to pick it up afterward, ears full of her chomping. 

You'd worried she might be a little loud for the movies but there's a bunch of kids and none seem keen on keeping quiet, a cacophony of childish complaints to hide your conversation. 

"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?" 

You freeze up. "Oh- I don't know," you say, turning Junie toward you so you can watch her swallow. 

"I thought I read that somewhere, but-" 

"No, I think you're right. Um…" Junie looks at you with obvious confusion. "Was that yummy?" you ask. You hide your concern with a strained bubbly attentiveness. 

"I guess she's old enough." 

Eddie's being very casual – it is casual. He's just thinking out loud. You know he's not criticising you. He never has, though sometimes you think he should. 

It must show on your face anyhow that you're having a 'I'm a bad mom' crisis. A mean stroke of insecurity.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says suddenly, brows pinched, "it's alright. It was just a thought. And she had no problem eating it, I'm sure she's gonna be aces. Better than aces." 

Junie climbs out of your lap and into his. He sets the popcorn on the floor to take her, and when her hands reach for his drink he holds the straw to her mouth. All the while his eyes move between her and you. 

"Okay," you say, because you're being silly. 

Junie is fine. Eddie was only saying something that's very well true. Babies aren't supposed to have popcorn, but June's not a baby, really. She knows how to chew properly. It's unlikely she'll choke. 

Eddie has to keep his focus on her to avoid getting soaked – she barely knows how to use a straw and keeps trying to turn the cup upside down. 

"Not like that, trouble. Right way up. You got it." 

You pick at the loose stitching at the end of your shirt and have to change the subject before the embarrassment of it all swallows you. Such a small thing. 

"Can I try one of these?" you ask, grabbing the first bag of candy you can find. They're a bag of Super Sour Suckers. 

He looks at you over Junie's head, startled and hiding it poorly. Then, a smile so bright it increases the embarrassment you're feeling tenfold.

"You have to! Robin said they're even worse than the normal ones, I don't wanna go through that alone," he says urgently. 

Robin is one of his friends. You're not jealous that he has friends (though you are, because you want your own, but not jealous that he has friends that aren't you). He's mentioned her in passing before. When you'd asked as bravely as you dared if they were anything more than friends he'd laughed maniacally.

"We're definitely just friends," he'd said.

You fight to stay smiling and pull open the bag of candies. Ironically, the jellies inside are shaped like pacifiers. Covered in sugar packed densely and looking almost wet with what you suspect to be citric acid, you shake the packet wearily and search for a candy that won't ruin your tongue.

Eddie holds out his hand. You drop a green one into his palm. Your fingertips ride up the curve of his thumb. 

He's unflinching as he eats it. After a few seconds his eyes screw up and he clutches June tight to his chest, raising an unhelpful hand to his jaw. 

"Holy sugar," he says, wincing. 

You bite into a pink pacifier unfortunately layered in sugar and wait nervously for the sourness to kick in. Sure enough, it comes quick and torturous. It's a knife cutting through fog. 

It's hard to feel tired when there's something this sour in your mouth.

"You can't spit it out!" Eddie says.

You stop with your hand halfway to your mouth. "What?" you ask incredulously, trying not to dribble. 

"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!" 

You chew miserably. He laughs at your expression – a warm and hyper sound, practically giggling. Junie joins in as she always does. His joy can't be overstated. 

The lights go down while you're still fighting for your life. Your eyes water and you have to smother the taste with a quick drink and a gasping breath. 

"You're sick. I can't believe you let me eat that," you whisper. 

"You saw me eat mine! You knew what you were getting into… Think June wants one?" 

Your outrage has him laughing again. It's a magnetic sound. Every time he does it you want to touch him, his arm one pole and your hand another. 

Junie gets comfortable on his right leg, head tipped expectantly against his chest and eyes drawn to the screen as the trailers begin. You don't bother with jealousy; in ten minutes she'll be climbing over the arm to sit with you again, or want to sit in her own seat. She may even try to walk around. Toddlers are indecisive and easily distracted. 

Even if she weren't. Even if she sat there in his lap for the next hour and a half and didn't look your way, you're not sure you could harbour any envy against him. His hand spreads over the front of her torso with fingers splayed against her ribs, stroking thoughtlessly through the fabric of her thick clothes.  

He tips his head toward your chair. "There's nachos." 

"I saw." 

"Wanna eat some before they get cold?" 

"Subtle." 

He snorts. "Yep. That's what they call me. Eddie Subtle Munson." 

You reach over the dark floor for the tray of nachos and balance them carefully on the armrest between your two seats. Eddie digs in without fuss, you fret over which ones have jalapeños on them, and Junie gets mad that nobody's sharing with her. She puts her hands straight in a mound of orange cheese. Her face is a picture when she brings it to her mouth. She's discovered molten gold. 

"Junie," Eddie says lightly, carding hair away from her ear so she can hear him properly. "Don't get cheese on your pretty clothes. It took your mom a week to get the rocky road out of your strawberry jammies, you know?" 

He doesn't care that she's mauled the food. He's worried she might stain her dungarees. Your heart goes crazy, another sudden surge of clarity.  

Junie climbs back into your own lap as the movie begins. You whisper to her about proper theatre etiquette in your mommy voice and she doesn't do too bad a job at listening. She finds the appearance of the Great Mouse Detective himself quite funny, and laughs at his grave features and expressions every now and then. It's a golden sound. 

Try as you might, you can't keep your eyes open. Junie's having such a good time and Eddie whispers funny commentary beside you, but eventually your eyelids creep shut and Eddie squeezes your arm, skin braceleted by his thick, warm fingers. 

-

"C'mere," Eddie prompts, hands vying for your daughter where she's perched in your lap. 

"Why?" Junie asks. 

He's surprised at her inquisition. "You don't want a hug?" 

She nods voraciously. Eddie lifts her off of your lap before she can use you as a climbing frame and into his own.

"I think mommy's sleeping," he tells her. 

Junie looks at you curiously. You've got a wet wipe in your limp hand, which he takes and discards, and your head's fallen to one side. You'll have an awesome crick in your neck when you wake up.

Junie gives him a hug. He loves her hugs. They're so small and sweet, she's genuinely an extremely loving little girl. Her smile when she hugs people is beautiful as yours is, though her affection is less hesitant. 

Everything's going well until she catches a look at the huge, scary bad guy Professor Ratigan somewhere in the middle. 

Eddie's crunching through a greedy mouthful of popcorn and almost chokes as she turns around and hides in his chest. He brings a hand up to her back protectively though he doesn't know what happened, eyes moving between her and the screen at lightning speed. 

"Aw, June," he murmurs sympathetically. He really is a scary looking guy. 

"Eddie," she says, dangerously close to tears. 

"Sweetheart, it's okay! He's only on TV." 

She says something that might be, "Don't want." It's not quite there but Eddie thinks she's doing a great job lately with her talking, patting her back in a silent well done as he attempts to reassure her. "Basil's gonna outsmart him, Junie. The Great Mouse Detective is gonna save the day, scout's honour." 

"No," she whines softly. 

He covers her unhappy face with his hand. 

"It's okay," he murmurs, melted and bemused. "It's okay, junebug. I swear." 

Despite his best efforts, she starts to cry. Eddie freezes up because she doesn't cry often, not with him. When she does you're always there to find a solution. He supposes the novelty of being a new person has long worn off, and that he's going to have to make more of an effort than just tickling her or petting her hair to make it better. 

Her volume increases. He shushes her, clumsy and awkward but earnest, trying the best that he can to make it up. He offers candies and drinks, he rummages through your baby bag for Mr. Bear. She takes it all but none of it lasts.

Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly. 

Eddie turns to wake you up. He gets one good look at your face and can't follow through. 

You're sleeping deeply, at the movie theatre of all places. How tired are you, and why hadn't you said? He'd known to some extent — it's why he'd offered to drive — but with the movie blaring and all the kids and noise and now Junie's crying, he realises you must be exhausted to sleep through it. Why hadn't he noticed? He kicks himself.

He lifts her up with his head angled down, giving your shoulder a swift squeeze and then bumping down the steps with Junie until he's out into the lights of the hallway. The door swings closed. 

It's oddly quiet and extremely bright. Junie stops crying to blink, and starts to cry again once she's adjusted. 

Eddie does not know what to do. It's a kick to his ego that he quickly accepts, though he does murmur a rueful, "Babe, I thought you liked me." 

Lost on deaf ears, his comment hangs in the air. 

He pats her back some more, wracking his brain for how you take care of her when she gets like this. Mostly, you're patient. You hum and you wait. Eddie tries to emulate you and your kind heart, walking her up and down the hall as he taps the bottom of her spine. 

"It's okay," he repeats. The more he says it the easier it feels. It is okay. He has to find a way to help June understand that, is all.

She grizzles. It's a long process. A couple of times he wonders if he's in over his head, if it's even his place, if he should wake you up and admit defeat. 

But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something. 

He works Mr. Bear out of Junie's iron grip and pinches his back taut so that his face and arms wiggle when he wants them to. 

"Baby June," he begins, in as gruff a voice as he can manage. He tries to channel his uncle's sternness, and his fondness. "Won't you quit crying? You're getting tears on the neck of your t-shirt and all over your cheeks." 

Junie quietens. She still cries, but the severity of the situation noticeably shifts. 

Eddie keeps on. "I got just the thing," he says, pushing Mr. Bear forward and making smacking sounds as he kisses both of her cheeks. "Gotta kiss these tears right off a'you." 

She laughs as Mr. Bear kisses her face dry and laughs some more when Eddie kisses the top of her head.

Eddie loves Junie. 

He knows it for a fact. 

She's very easy to love. She's beautiful as you are, she's loving, she's sweet. Her laugh is adorable and her smile is more. When she cries, Eddie finds he's never annoyed. Grated by the repetitive sound, maybe, but he can't find it in himself to be mad with her ever. He wants to help her work through it. To get you both through it. Eddie wants to be good at this.

He has Mr. Bear kiss Junie all over her face. 

"See?" Mr. Bear asks. "Isn't that better? No more tears, little girl, or we'll never see the end of the movie!" 

As Eddie says it, he wonders if taking her back into the theatre is a good idea. 

"Hey, junebug?" he says, all drama set aside. 

Junie lifts her flushed face. 

He smiles gratefully. "Do you wanna go back inside? Go check on mommy?" Leaving you by yourself doesn't exactly sit right with him.

Ah, there's the face he was expecting. Puzzlement, surprise. Junie frowns at him and looks over his shoulder, her own, searching the empty hallway for you and finding only reflective floor lights and patterned carpet. 

Eddie starts back into the screen room before she can cry over your being missing, chatting quietly but in a way that commands her attention. He's effective in the art of distraction if nothing else.  

The mouse detective and his friends have defeated Professor Ratigan, though Eddie shields Junie's head from the screen in case he's thinking about making a comeback, finding his way back to you in the dark. He picks over other people's snacks and then the abundance of your own, finding you still sound asleep. The sight doesn't spell good tidings. 

"Here she is," Eddie tells Junie, "here's mom. You wanna give her a kiss?" 

He sits down in his seat and squishes a bag of gummy worms under his boot. Junie immediately bends over the armrest and grabs at your front. You'd worried to him once that she had separation anxiety, and Eddie didn't know anything about it to agree or not. This display makes him think she might. She's clinging to you, desperately wanting your attention. 

Eddie winces as she grabs your face. She's obviously not trying to be cruel, hand stroking over your cheek as you'd stroke hers. 

"Mom," she whispers, the action itself enough to get Eddie laughing. Her version of whispering is almost like a character in a pantomime. 

He doesn't laugh for very long. You're not easy to wake up. Junie squishes your cheek and tries again. "Mommy," she says.

You groan in your sleep and your eyes scrunch together. "What?" you murmur finally, voice scratchy. 

"You're missing the movie," Eddie says, patting your thigh. 

Your arms come to life before you do. You wrap them around Junie's short torso and encourage her up your chest until you can nose at the top of her head. You rub slow lines, a steady back and forth. Eddie would bet money you don't have a clue in the world where you are. 

"S'loud," you complain. Your voice is weak with sleep. 

Junie looks at Eddie weirdly. He suspects it's her way of asking him to help out without asking. 

He tenses his hand where it rests at your thigh. "Do you wanna go home?" 

You don't answer. You go limp under his touch and Junie's weight, nose and lips set in a frown but otherwise near languid. 

Eddie's small (and alarmingly ever-present) worry for you multiplies by a hundred. 

He grabs up a bag of chips and entices your daughter back onto his thigh. She digs through half the bag as the movie draws to a finish, distracted if not happy, her face and fingers swiftly flaked in corn dust. The lights are thrown up and the noise is immense, a hundred pairs of shoes over tipped popcorn, babies and young kids unsettled, their parents eager to head home and watch their own movies no doubt. 

Eddie can't say he'd really watched the film besides precursory glances, his focus on you and your fidgety offspring. He'd been excited to tell you about his Junie success, but now he just wants to get you home.

He says your name as clearly as he can, his hand finding its way to your thigh for the third time. He rubs down toward your knee and gives your leg a shake. 

Junie climbs off of his own. Now the lights are on she can see the grand assortment of snacks laid out before her, and she seems eager to try them all. 

You eventually, thankfully rouse, you drag a palm over your eyes and cross your legs, squishing his hand in the process. He steals it back.

"Babe, you gotta get up. The attendants are looking at us funny. I think they think I've run you ragged, and while the dad tag doesn't bother me, 'cruel husband' doesn't suit me." 

"What?" you ask. 

He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants." 

Your eyes open, lashes parting clumsily. You move like the air around you has turned to glue and moan in a quiet display of agony as your neck clicks. "She leaked through?"

"Nah, I'm messing with you. Movie's done. Getting some weird stares." 

You're quiet, but you shrug on your jacket and Eddie packs what he can of the leftover candy into your bag. He swings it over his shoulder. 

"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie. 

She raises both arms. 

You stand on shaky legs. Eddie stations Junie on one hip with one arm wrapped around her and holds out the other. You let him fold you up into his side.

"You okay?" he asks. 

Your face drops into his shoulder. "I'm so tired." 

"You're alright to walk out to the car?" 

His worry is like a rubber band. You snap to attention, disengage from his hold. It's a foreign and really uncomfortable feeling to see you out of sorts. 

Eddie walks behind you with a hand nearly but not touching your back. If you topple, he's not sure how he's gonna save you. Determined anyways, he guards you down the hollow stairs and through the hallway, one step behind you. 

It's a cool, crisp night outside. 

The smell of rain sticks around. You lift your chin. It's much colder now that night's fallen. The breeze kisses your damp skin. When did you start sweating? 

He presses his hand to your shoulders and guides you across the road. 

Junie starts her lovely babbling in his ear. "Mouse 'tective," she says at one point. You don't react, affirming his theory: you're more than tired. You're sick. 

"Mouse detective," he agrees, arm around your shoulder to assuage his own worries as he gives Junie the best of his attention. "You liked that one, huh?" Besides the evil Professor. "Better than the Muppets in New York? Junebug, you little traitor. How easily your favour changes." 

"Are you surprised? She took to you like," — you yawn wide enough that Eddie feels it under his arm, a full body thing — "a duck to water." 

He beams, relieved to hear your voice. "Yeah, well, I'm special." 

"That's true."

Eddie walks you around to the passenger side and opens your door. 

"Flirting! Awesome. You're not too sick to forget how much of a catch I am. Watch your head." 

"I gotta do Junie's straps," you say. 

"I think I can do it by now."

He's only sort of bluffing. It takes him much longer than it would've taken you. He celebrates his win by pinching her cheek lightly and then whacking his head hard on the roof of your car. 

"Fuck," he mutters as he jogs around the hood, scrubbing at the back of his head. 

You're staring at him as he opens the door. 

He puts the baby bag in your lap and shoves the key in the ignition, trying not to buckle under the weight of your gaze. He cracks quicker than he should, hand paused in its action.

"What?" 

"You tryna give yourself a concussion?" 

"Kiss it better?" 

You kiss the tip of your finger and touch it to his head. It's an instant healing potion. 

Getting you both home is easy enough, it's the trying to leave that's hard. You collapse heavily into the couch, Junie drapes herself over your lap and begs for her clothes to be taken off. Your second wind has worn away to nothing, leaving you plainly exhausted. 

Eddie can't go home, not until he knows you're alright. 

He slinks into your bedroom and tries not to look around too much. It feels like an invasion of privacy despite having made it in here a couple of times, always with his hip to the door as you search for something. He fails spectacularly and straight away, always hungry to know more about you. These days especially. 

Your bed looks like you shook out the duvet but never tucked the corners. Your pillow's on the floor, your thin throw blanket is screwed up in a ball. There's a bunch of Junie's stuffies against the headboard. He grins at their straight backs.

He makes for your wardrobe, a cheap bit of cherry wood with one sagging door. As much as he wants to outfit Junie in her goodwill band t-shirt, he pulls a soft pair of cotton pyjamas out from a neatly folded stack, thumbing the blue fabric fondly. There's a noticeable disparity between her clothes and yours. One work skirt and one work shirt hang from two lonely hangers, accompanied only by your infamous 'best jeans'. He frowns at a small stain at the knee and scratches it fruitlessly. Not her best jeans, he thinks in horror, picturing your unhappy face. He can see it so clearly, the pinching of your brows.

Junie squeals happily from the living room. Eddie remembers himself and follows the sound, finding you both on the ground. You're kneeling, blowing raspberries into Junie's naked stomach where she lays on her changing mat, a discarded diaper and her dirty clothes to the side. 

There's a big break between raspberries where your eyes drift shut sluggishly. Junie whines for another.

Eddie sits next to you. Stupidly close, his crossed leg kisses your thigh. He could wrap you up in a hug easily right here, and he wants to. Your tired face has his stomach aching with guilt. 

"Sweetheart," he says to you firmly, "get back on the couch. You look like you're gonna fall asleep right here." 

You don't argue, leaving Eddie the impossible duty of dressing your baby. Junie hates the shirt more than he can describe, loathes the fabric as it covers her face. He has to pick her up to get her into her pants, another fury. She forgives him easily once he's done, lingering by his side with Mr. Bear in hand. She pinches his back and imitates Eddie's low growl, laughing at herself as she does. She finds it very funny. Eddie can't help giggling with her. 

"Eddie?" you ask. 

He turns. You look miserable. 

"What?" he asks softly, startled by your intense expression. 

"Thank you." 

"Oh, baby," he says, loud and brash as he twists where he is to grab both of your knees. He practically throws himself at you, at your feet, ducking his cheek to your leg. "You really are sick as a dog." 

You look visibly embarrassed.

"Listen," he says, insistent, "If we start saying thank you to each other, we won't stop. We'll be a loop of thank yous." 

"I think I have more to say than you do," you murmur. 

He shakes his head, exasperated at your inability to see him for what he is even now. It's funny. Eddie thinks you've a better view of him than anybody else, that you see him more generously than anyone has ever seen him, and you still haven't noticed he's a boy in love. 

You must feel his grin as he kisses your knee, his thumb stroking over the ridge of the cap. 

"If I started to say thanks for all the things you've given me I wouldn't stop. I'd talk myself hoarse," Eddie argues. 

You laugh at his dungeon master dramatics, but reaffirm, "I haven't given you anything." 

"You don't know what you've given me," he says into your leg. 

Eddie lifts his head, weary of his chin digging into your leg. 

Now isn't the best time to declare devotion, or drop kisses into you when you can't offer any in return. Not that he's expecting you to. Not that he wouldn't receive them gratefully. 

"I should go home." 

You reach for him. Your hand moves slowly like you've a weight around your wrist, but your fingertips curve over his cheek; you move from the corner of his lip, under his eye, and then finish your circle at the skin beneath his ear. 

"Can you hug me?" you ask. 

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't waste any time.

He gets up, slides a knee between your knees and rests his full weight on the couch between them as his arms curve around you and his hands feel for the dip of your lower back. He clutches without any hesitation. 

"Can I? Did you mean it like that? My arms work fine." 

You curl your arms around him and groan. "You're gonna crush me." 

"Really?" He pulls you closer. "How 'bout now?" 

"Ow," you whine. 

He laughs and pushes his face toward your ear. "Liar," he whispers. "No way that hurts." 

"Why's everybody always on top of me?" 

"That's your issue?" He pulls back. "You want to sit in my lap?" 

"No!" 

"Aw, my poor girl. You totally wanna sit in my lap. Alright, get in it." 

He sits down beside you and waits, one arm still behind your back. He gives you an encouraging tug. 

"I'm not sitting in your lap." 

"I didn't think you would, just- Just c'mere," he prompts, pulling your face into his chest. 

Your arms slide around his waist. He can feel the scratchy skin on your left index finger, a scar of a recent kitchen accident, against his hip where his shirt has ridden. 

"You're really handsy. Has anyone told you that before?" Eddie asks, trying to cover the entirety of your back with his arms alone. 

You push your face as far as it'll go into his chest. Eddie keeps you there, and soon a little body has found its way onto the couch next to you both, demanding to be included. Eddie quickly drags her in. 

Long minutes of quiet hugs. 

"Wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere. If you were worried." 

He massages over the slope of your shoulder, a tight looking muscle. You sigh inaudibly, a hot patch over his heart. 

"I wasn't," you say. 

Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page. 

-

You get really, really sick. 

"On my days off!" you croak, the injustice too much to handle. 

Eddie laughs from the end of your bed, a bandana tied around his face like a doctor from one of his awful horror movies, though the bandana is far from a clinical white. "That's exactly why you're still sick. Your body sensed the weekend." 

Hadn't it? You'd been achy and awful on Friday and Benny had sent you home at lunch, citing a need to keep his patrons from infection. Which sucked, because you'd really wanted to stick around for the very beginning of the Friday night rush and get some payday tips. People are generous when they're high on the buzz of a forthcoming weekend, especially to over obsequious waitresses.

It had sucked worse when Junie came out of daycare in the best mood ever and demanded kisses. You'd had a headache the size of a tennis ball behind your eyes and didn't want to pass anything over, and the crushed look on her face had made you cry in the car on the way home. 

Eddie dropped in particularly early that night with soup. "I had a feeling," he'd said. 

And now here he is again the day after. 

"At least one of us is enjoying this," you say. 

"You think I'm enjoying this?" Eddie asks. 

You give his precautionary outfit a once over. "Yes." 

"This is just something I had lying around." 

"Shut up! Shut up, no it wasn't!" You're voice cracks, giggly and giddy even with the spikes of pain to your tender head. 

"It was. We did a campaign, I was a plague doctor-" 

"That is in terrible taste." 

"It was perfectly appropriate, thank you very much. You're determined to vilify me. Need to slow down with the cold medicine, I think." 

You shriek as he tries to take the bottle. "No! No, please, my throat hurts." 

He takes the bottle. It is a hurtful defeat. You curl your fingers around nothing and sulk, slouching down into a sanctuary of pillows and blankets to hide from him. Extra pillows provided by Eddie. With fresh covers, duh. They smell like him anyway. You turn your nose into it indulgently. 

"You've had too much to safely be responsible for any further consumption." 

"Further consumption," you echo, eyes closing in defeat as he leaves. 

"You okay, June?" you hear him ask, voice occluded partially by the sound of the TV. 

"Okay, Eddie?" she asks. 

You grin to yourself. 

"I'm great. This looks very fun. I'm gonna make mom a cold pack for her head and then you can help me make dinner, okay? Does that sound fun? Tell me, June." 

The 'Tell me, June,' isn't a command so much as a gentle reminder that she can answer the question if she wants to. 

"Fun," she says.  

"Hey, great. Oh, thank you. Thank you." 

They better not be cuddling without me, you think bitterly, grin swiftly replaced by a self-pitying frown. 

You cough into your hand, roil in your own misery for a second and then grab the big glass of water Eddie had insisted on from the night stand. You tip it down yourself in your hurry. 

"Missed your mouth," Eddie says, appearing at exactly the wrong moment. 

"Don't baby me." 

He pads into the room with a cold pack wrapped in a hand towel. "For your head." 

"This is silly. I don't need to be in bed."

"Obviously you do. You're sick, did you notice? Stupid question," he adds regretfully, gesturing for you to lie back. He sets the pack to your forehead. "You wouldn't notice a hole in your stomach. You'd be dripping entrails in the freezer aisle wondering if Junie wants corn on the cob or mashed potato with dinner tonight." 

"What does she want for dinner tonight?" 

"Boo! Exactly my point." 

"I'm gonna go ask her-" 

Eddie puts an unapologetic hand in the middle of your chest and pushes down. "You will do no such thing." He lowers his face to yours. "I'm willing to get physical. So behave." 

You flush with heat because you're sick and not because he says it a certain way, dropping back down into your fluffed pillows without another word. 

Eddie's hand climbs up to your collar, your neck. His fingers slide one after another behind it. It's a blessed cold. You can't find a comfortable temperature today, moving between chills and hot flashes at the drop of a hat.

Or a bandana. Eddie unties the dark fabric from his neck and leaves it where it lands, staring at you without saying anything. 

His thumb presses into your sore throat carefully, the barest hint of pressure, and his lips part. He doesn't say anything for a while. It looks like he wants to. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.

"Of course." Anything to feel useful right now. 

"Take it easy." He again lowers his head, talking to you with a private smile. "The sooner you chill out, the sooner you'll beat this thing." 

"Don't say that. Like I have something serious." 

"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-" 

"Mild-" 

"-affliction." He strokes quarter-circles into your neck.

"I don't need to lie down. There's things I have to do." 

"On a Saturday?" 

"Yes. There's things I need to do everyday." You clear your throat. It's useless, the lump remains and your voice stays scratchy. "I have- I always have laundry. So that first. Gotta wash it and put it out and bring it in and press it. I gotta make sure Junie has lunch for daycare this week 'n if she doesn't I have to go get it, I gotta," — you cover his hand with your own thoughtlessly — "make sure her rash is getting better. And I promised we'd do a tea party tomorrow, I have to make sandwiches!" 

"We both know she doesn't remember the tea party." 

"I promised." 

"And if I… If I tried to get all those things done, would you stay in bed?" 

"You can't." 

"But if I tried it? I can do laundry. I'm good at it. Get oil stains out of Wayne's coveralls every Sunday." 

You slump into a lump of sadness and achy arms. "Don't do my laundry. Don't do any of that stuff. I'll punch you if you do." 

Eddie bursts into laughter. "You'll punch me? You horrible woman." 

"I will," you promise, fingers curling around his arm to hold him in place. 

"Why don't I believe you?" 

"I don't know. 'Cos you're a know-it-all who dislikes me." 

"I far from dislike you." He grins at you, all dimpled and pretty. "I don't believe you'd hit me because I know you, idiot." 

"Name-calling." 

"Uh-huh. Are you sleeping or am I helping you out onto the couch?" 

While you're happy for the compromise, you have one problem. "I don't think I can move." 

Eddie lets his face fall amicably to your collar. "No, I bet you can't. More reason for me to get you on the couch. I think you've genuinely had too much cough syrup," he worries, warm breath fanning over your skin. 

You bring your spare hand to his head. He has so many curls. 

He lifts his head and you're close enough to kiss. There's no other reason anyone has ever been this close. 

"I can see your beauty mark," you say, hushed. You don't wanna breathe on him too much. 

"Freckle." 

"Your freckle." You lift and drop his curls, fingers toying through the softness towards his roots, the frizz at the ends. 

"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."

You abandon his hair to clap a hand over your mouth. "I'm sorry." 

He covers his own mouth. "It's okay," he says, similarly muffled. "I like the sweet stuff." 

What the fuck does that mean? Your stomach doesn't flip — it leaps right up into your throat. "You're an idiot," you breathe, caught off guard. 

"What was that?" he asks, taking away his hand. "Didn't catch it." 

"I said, 'You're an-" 

"Amazing friend and confidante?" 

You try to talk and he says, "A real stand-up guy?" 

You try again and he says, "A total rockstar? Baby, if you really think all this you should've said." 

You flop completely onto your back, away from his hands, his jokes and his lovely brown eyes where they bore into your own. Eddie hums and rubs brashly over the top of your arm until the skin glows with heat. 

"Please stay in bed," Eddie says as he stands. 

Medicine or his touch, you're feeling pretty tired. You pull up your blankets and sink like a stone, head disappearing into a mess of pillows and throws. 

-

It's much later when you wake. You move into the land of the living abrupt as whiplash. 

Eddie seems very sorry. "Sweetheart, June's past due for a new diaper, and I-" 

"Oh, right," you say, sounding much more alert than you feel. You're a girl made of sandpaper. 

"I would've, I mean. If it wouldn't make you uncomfortable, I would've tried. But I've never changed a diaper in my life." 

You scratch your flaky eyes, disorientated and head like a boiling saucepan with the lid glued on. 

"That's okay," you say. Your voice refuses to cooperate with you, gruff and too quiet. "It wouldn't bother me, but it's also not your job, so… Um." You yawn wide and cover your entire face. 

You spend a minute rubbing your eyes. 

"Fuck, what time's it?" you ask, squinting at him and bringing your hands to either side of your face.

"Like, seven. Ish." 

"Eddie…" 

"I know. I thought you could use the rest. I knew you could. And it's not urgent, you know? Come around, first. Everything's stellar." 

You peel back the sheets. You're a clammy, too-hot mess with weak legs. 

Eddie sees you wobble and rushes to wrap an arm around your waist. Completely unnecessarily, heart-achingly kind. You wince at the dampness of your shirt under his touch.

Junie sits on the couch in her jammies with a yellow-green soup stain down the front. She's propped up like a princess, a pillow behind her head between the armrest and her blanket covering her legs, cheek pressed to the cushions. Eyes trained on the TV and her bottle propped in a slackening grip, your baby is peaceful, near luxurious. 

Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.

You part from Eddie's side and sit down beside her, the seat warm. She doesn't even look up. 

"What, no hi for mom?" you ask tenderly, hand falling to the top of her head. She's lovely. 

She gasps, little lungs fit to burst. It's pure excitement, her bottle dislodged and the blanket pushed away immediately. She doesn't bother getting to her feet, throwing herself into your lap and assuming you'll do the rest. Of course you will. You pull her up and kiss the top of her head, though you quickly hold her at arm's length. 

"Sorry, mommy's still sick," you tell her, sympathetic at her crushed expression. 

"Mis'd," she says. 

"Yeah? You missed me?" you ask hopefully. 

Her lips part in comprehension. "Missed you," she confirms. 

You throw your gaze over your shoulder to Eddie. He stands by Junie's changing station with a smug smile. "What?" 

"You're not very convincing." 

"I'm not trying to convince you, thanks," he says, holding up two hands in surrender. 

"She didn't learn that herself," you argue. 

"She might've. You tell her enough." 

You go back to your girl, pleased at her own smug smile. "I missed you, too, I missed you so much. Missed you millions. Sorry I've been sleeping all day, you've been such a good girl. She has, hasn't she?"

Eddie sorts through a nearly empty bag of diapers and brandishes one with fish printed on the back. "Oh, yeah. Junebug's been amazing. She came in with me to see you earlier, took your temperature." You frown. "From a distance. Kind of. I held her above you. It was… acrobatic." 

You close your eyes at his absurdity, your laugh prompting another spike of pain. 

Junie forces herself closer and gets both arms around your neck. 

You sag into the contact, defeated. "Aw, June," you mumble ruefully. "M'trying to make sure you don't get sick too. Wasting my time." 

"Mommy," she says into your neck. 

"That's me." 

You know she has something she wants to say. You can't wait for the days where she can. Exciting, to think that one day she'll be able to share all of her thoughts. 

Right now, she's probably thinking, Woah, mom, you smell weird. And you look weirder.

You feel her back with your hand and cringe. Definitely time to get her changed.

Afterward, you sit with your back to the open front door on one of the porch steps. Physical exertion of any kind seems to be inadvisable; you're sweating up a storm. Junie sits beside you at her own insistence, her hand clasped in your hand and her head on your arm. You look down at her thighs next to your own and marvel at their small size. The evening breeze is a blessing. 

Eddie stands in front of you with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a checklist. 

"Tea party sandwiches are badly made and saran wrapped in the fridge. Junie doesn't have lunch for Monday but I can go tomorrow if you want me to. Her clothes are folded in the hamper. Uh, some stuff got left out, you might need to press them. Not tonight though, please." 

"Thank you." 

He talks around a smile. "Soup's on the stove. I'll come back later, if-" 

"You don't have to." 

"I want to. I wouldn't actually leave, but-" 

"Eddie-" You cough into your shoulder. He waits for you to finish. "You- You didn't have to take care of me." 

"What does that mean? Of course I did." 

He hikes his backpack higher up his shoulder and pads back up the steps, not all of them but enough for him to lean down and stare at Junie. 

"Thanks for the best day ever," he says seriously, looking out of the corner of his eye at you. "Almost. See you later?" 

Junie nods voraciously and reaches up with her empty hand. Eddie takes it and kisses her temple. He does the same to you, lips brushing soft as downy-feather over your skin. 

"I'll come back around ten? Is that cool?" 

"Don't knock too loudly," you mumble, very aware of his proximity. 

He backs up and bows like an idiot, hand moving in circles. 

You and Junie wave him off. 

"To work?" Junie asks.  

Your eyebrows jump as you pull your gaze from his retreating figure. "Huh?" 

"To work?" 

You play with her fingers. "No, he's not going to work. He's going to take care of someone else, now." 

Wayne, Eddie said, in a fondly exasperated tone that explained everything you needed to know. His uncle's self-preservation must come in similar disinterest to himself as yours does to you. 

"We'll see him tomorrow," you say. It's not even a lie, you will both see him tomorrow. 

But apparently he's coming back tonight. 

-

True to his word, Eddie Munson knocks your door carefully at nearing ten o'clock. 

Wayne's dismissal chases his heels. He'd spent an hour worrying about you at the dinner table with his uncle, fingers curling anxiously in his hair. 

Wayne had been talking about some gab the boys in the shop had heard about killer mice or killer lice or something when he'd suddenly cleared his throat and snapped Eddie to attention. 

"You're a good kid. Notice how I said good, and not smart," Wayne had said. 

"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a guy feel loved, Wayne." 

"You don't wanna be here." 

Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do." 

"Kid, what I mean is, you gotta," — he'd nodded his head hard to one side and raised his eyebrows — "you know." 

"Haven't brushed up on my mysterious gestures lately. Translate that one for me?" 

Wayne had flicked up his newspaper and sighed. "Don't be dumb." 

"You keep saying that." 

"You keep being dumb, boy." 

"I don't know what you want me to do." 

"Think you better go look after your girl, don't you?" Wayne had asked finally, clearing his throat. 

So here he is to look after you. A tad early, worried you'll be sleeping on the couch with a misbehaving baby in your lap or passed out in the bathroom after an impromptu cleaning. 

Thankfully, you open the door in different clothes than he'd left you in, the neckline dark with run-off and face damp under your eyes and by your ears. You dab at your tacky skin with your index knuckle. 

"You look better," he says. He wishes he could take it back instantly, though you don't take any offence. 

"Hot shower," you explain. 

You step back to let him in. Eddie closes the door behind him without turning, eyes glued to your fresh face. He's depressed by the lingering fatigue he finds lining your darling features. 

"You okay?" you ask him, perturbed by his silence. 

Eddie's better than okay. 

He steps close. You look like you might step back, make room for him he doesn't want, so he reaches out for your face and holds it in one hand, the other landing in tandem on your arm.

Your cheek lists into his hand as he wipes away what's left of the dampness on your face. He's not sure you know you're doing it. 

"Did you take any more medicine?" he asks quietly, rubbing under your eye carefully with the tip of his thumb.

"No, I- I think you fixed me, Munson. Me and Junie had your soup, and after a shower I felt way better. It was really nice. She slept easy." 

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. "You don't feel too hot." 

"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero." 

He looks over your shoulder at your life — at his life, or at least where a majority of it seems to take place. All his favourite parts these days happen right there on your couch, or at that table, or knee to knee with a baby that isn't his but- but-

"You said that to me the first time we met," Eddie recalls, shaking his head. It's like there's water in his ears. A few strands of hair drift into his eyes. 

You catch his elbows in both hands. "It feels like a really long time ago now." 

Months. Only months. "I feel like I've known you for years."

He strokes over your face, chin to cheek, the tip of his thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth. 

"That's how I feel, too," you whisper. Utter. Hushed, your words ring loud anyway. "You're my best friend." 

Eddie doesn't take it for a door closing because it isn't. It's a door kicked wide open. Split on its hinges. You and Eddie stand on equal ground, and, for once, the same page.

"You know I don't mind taking care of you?" he asks, hand passing over your ear to hide behind it. He wants to see all of your face. 

Predictably, you drop your eyes to his neck, pupils wobbling as you search for somewhere to plant yourself. "I know. I'm not sure I deserve it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it? Everyone deserves taking care of." 

"Even murderers?" 

"Maybe not murderers-" 

"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?" 

"They're not all evil." His left palm skirts up the curve of your neck, encouraging your face back to his. "Don't change the subject." 

You press your lips together, caught.

"I actually…" — he gathers as much bravery as he has — "want to take care of you." 

"You do." 

He holds your face in both hands. "You know you- You know you started it, right? You know it's- that without your-" He cringes internally at his stammering, but he has to get this part right. "You have gold where your heart should be." 

"Y/N The Golden Hearted. Doesn't have the best ring to it," you muse, hands clinging to the crooks of his elbows like twin pooled teardrops waiting to fall. 

Eddie stares at you, floored.

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" he asks. 

"What's your name?" you demand, grinning. 

"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."  

You huff a laugh. "That's a cop-out."

"Maybe." 

"How about…" The air feels thick as jelly. Light from under the bedroom door stops short of your legs, your toes almost touching. His rubber soles, your socks. "Eddie the Indomitable?" 

He crinkles his nose. "I'd almost think you were trying to flirt with me, that's how bad that is." 

Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften. 

"What if I was?" you ask. 

A stock-still silence pervades, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the droning of the bathroom light, left on. He could tell you the contents of this room by its sounds alone. 

His hand moves of its own accord, up and down the slope of your neck. "I'd say you needed a better pick up line."

"Like what?" you ask, chest rising too fast. 

Eddie takes a step and feels his jacket zipper cut into the cotton of your shirt. It's your matching band t-shirt. 

Eddie drags his gaze slowly to your widened eyes, your lashes as they move almost imperceptibly upward. Taking him in as he inches closer. 

"You're so fucking pretty," he says. 

He leans in. He closes the gap. Eddie Munson takes the leap. 

Your hand comes quickly to his upper arm and you turn your face just enough to force his lips, his kiss landing a centimetre shy of your nose. 

He struggles to keep his eyes closed. His heart thrums like a blown amp. 

"You can't kiss me," you say. Eddie struggles to discern your tone. 

His nose presses to yours. Not desperately, but almost. "I can't?" he asks, throat thick with emotion, a stickying, cloying taffy. 

"I'll make you sick." 

He turns your face with his palm, lips hovering above yours, a hair's width. Close enough to feel their heat. 

"Can I trust you'll nurse me back to health, in the event that that happens?" Would you take care of me? His hands tremble where they're touching you. He's too scared to open his eyes. 

You don't answer. 

You cover his hands and the seconds stretch endlessly, a thousand moments of terror and pining and want suddenly flattened into one as you kiss him.

He exhales against you. His relief is a palpable, viscous thing as he pulls you in and his nose digs into yours. Lips soft as he'd imagined, as he'd known they'd be, you kiss back tentatively. Sweetly.

You're kissing him like he's something that needs a careful touch. 

Eddie screws his eyes shut tight enough to see stars, firecrackers, a shattering bouquet of colours as you move beneath him. He can't believe he's kissing you. He can't believe there was a time where he wasn't.

He yields, leaning back just enough to see your face. You keep your eyes shut, your eyelashes kissing the delicate skin beneath. They move like blades of grass in the breeze as Eddie tries to catch his breath, regaining some of his composure. It's hard while he's here, this close. 

You make a small sound, a breath like a barb. The shaky demarcation of tears. 

"Okay?" he asks, more movement than sound. His lips skip over your own. 

You have to feel it. 

A laugh bubbles up through your parted lips like a hiccup. "I'm definitely gonna make you sick," you mumble regretfully. 

"Make me sick, sweetheart," he says, begs. Whatever. 

Whatever word you want to use. He doesn't care if he pays for it afterwards, he wants to be close to you now, unapologetically close. And kissing you — kissing you like this, your reciprocation, it's everything because it means you feel the same as he does. 

Or a fraction the same. He's reassured either way. If you felt a fraction of what he felt, that's enough. 

It's a lot. To be touching you, finally. He grabs at the nape of your neck and kisses, kisses, kisses. He goes slowly, not quite sweetly. He's never been as sweet as you have, never as soft or patient.

It doesn't feel like it matters. 

You pull his hands from your face, press his and your own, all four hands to the collar of your shirt. 

"It wasn't just a, uh, pick up line, was it?" you ask breathlessly. 

"Wh- No." Eddie massages the back of your hands. "No, you're the fucking prettiest girl ever. I think you're aces. Killer. Everything." 

"Everything," you say, an almost indecipherable glassiness to your eyes. 

"Everything," he says. He spreads his hand over your heart. 

You don't throw yourself at him, but you move alarmingly quickly. Arms over his shoulders, hands crossed and buried in his hair. Your laugh is magic, a bright and exuberant sound loud in his ear and then the skin underneath. He's barely got an arm around the small of your back when you start to kiss him, repetitive, chaste pecks over his pulse. It capers under your lips. 

"I don't know what kind of girl you think I am-" He begins deadpan and breaks abruptly, your second wave of laughter impossible to ignore. 

Your arms tighten at his laughing, palm cupping the back of his head. 

"You're my best friend, too," he says. "But you knew that." 

"Maybe," you murmur, your smile wide against his skin. You're uncharacteristically mischievous. 

He lets his back bend under your weight until your heels lift and you're scrabbling to stay on your own two feet and is rewarded by your shrieking laughter. 

Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic. 

"Wait," you say, bargaining for freedom as he squeezes you hard enough to make you laugh again, and again, "wait, wait! Wait, let go. I have something to tell you." 

Eddie sets you down. He's reluctant to let you go, almost desperate to hug you now that he knows he can, but his curiosity gets the better of him. What could you have to tell him now that isn't confessional? It's like being promised something good. 

You stand sure and sweet in front of him.

"It's…" You look shyly at his lips. 

"What?" 

"I…" 

He shakes his head gently from side to side. "What? Tell me." 

"Nothing," you say, beaming. Act dropped, you take his face into both hands and kiss him soundly. 

Eddie's barely got his hands on you before you're pulling back. 

"Just wanted to do that," you say. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

if you enjoyed (i I really hope you did), please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

im just gonna leave these here…..

IM INTERNALLY SCREAMING 😩😩😍😍

just hold me (e.m.)

Eddie Munson x reader

summary: Eddie comforts you after your best friend moves out of town *fluffy fluff*

word count: 1.2k

a/n: one of my best friends lives over 4,000 miles away from me and she facetimed me today crying because she misses me. so now i’m sad and i miss her like crazy and i wrote this super fast before bed because i desperately need a hug.

——————

“you’ll call me every week?”

“every Thursday at five o’clock.” your best friend promises, hugging you tightly as both of you try your hardest to push back tears.

“i can’t believe you’re leaving me.” you whisper, pulling away to hold her face in your hands. trying to show her you understand why she’s going. “but i’m so, so proud of you. i know you’re going to do great things.”

Keep reading

i think my favorite thing non-writers say is along the lines of “well if you’re writing the story can’t you just make the characters do what you want?”

oh, my sweet summer child. you have the naivety of a newborn baby. i love your adorable ignorance. let me lay this out for you, friend:

i am no puppet master. i am merely the person who tippy-tappies on the keyboard and hopes that something legible comes out. the characters run the show and i am at best an exhausted stage manager trying desperately to get through tech week. no listens to me. i’m a documentarian hoping to nab a good shot, you know? just…Trying My Best while the characters set the scenery on fire even though i just told them we’ll need that in act three. they do not care. and i just have to roll with it. i have never once been in control of this circus.

your post just made me think--ok so Steve's ready with foods for every part of your cycle. he comes home from grocery shopping a couple weeks later with tampons and chocolate and is like "ok we're ready for the storm" and reader's just going "...what storm?" and he's like uhh your period should have started today, right? but it did not start today and

bada bing baba boom it's baby time

you’re so right anon!!! steve short circuits at the new info too!! cw: a couple poor period analogies and 1 bad impregnation joke

he’s come in the house whistling away with bags of groceries for your period.

“steve, did you rob a store?” he’s got way too much food for the two of you.

“you’re funny, though i might have the slight of hand for that.” he really doesn’t, “this is for shark week.”

steve jingles the bags as you polish off a glazed donut. “shark week?”

“yeah, the bloody battle between you and your uterus.” your eyebrows pinch together, “it’s supposed to come today.”

“i haven’t gotten my period at all.” you say and steve’s confused, dropping the bags to the counter unceremoniously.

“you’re pregnant.” he says with finality and you scoff.

“i’m a day late harrington, not a week.” you go to reach for another donut.

“alright, i’ll give it a week, but i’m telling you, they’re swimmers baby.”