Tell My Mom We're In Love | H. Sero

tell my mom we're in love | h. sero

fake dating wasn't on your holiday to-do list—until sero invited you home for tamales and chaos (3525 words)

you regretted this the moment you stepped out of the dormitory and into the sharp chill of mid-december air, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and your dignity already teetering on the edge. trailing beside you was hanta sero, practically vibrating with the smug energy of a man who had just talked his best friend into making the worst decision of her academic career.

and technically, he had.

somewhere between his mother's increasingly invasive matchmaking attempts and his inability to say the word "no" like a normal person, he'd decided the solution was to invent a girlfriend. and of course, of course, he'd chosen you.

"come on," he said now, as a cab idled at the curb, white exhaust curling into the crisp air like smoke from a slow-burning disaster. "tell me this won't be fun. just a little bit."

"i think i'm too emotionally aware to find this fun," you muttered, hoisting your bag into the trunk as he leaned beside you with his usual careless grace.

sero grinned—that unbothered, insufferably pretty grin that always made it harder to stay annoyed with him for long. "emotionally aware, huh? sounds like you're already getting into character."

you leveled him with a look. "if i'm your girlfriend, you're going to need to stop flirting like a golden retriever with a god complex."

"babe," he said, slipping into the backseat beside you with the kind of unearned confidence that should have come with a warning label, "flirting is literally how i survive in social settings. don't take this from me."

you stared out the window, hoping the freezing glass would cool the creeping warmth crawling up your neck. "we're not actually dating, hanta."

"right," he said, and he sounded amused, not wounded. "but we could be really good at it."

you didn't answer. he didn't press.

the cab pulled away from the dorms, and for a moment the silence between you was companionable, like it always had been. you'd known sero for years now—long enough to understand that his laid-back demeanor was as real as it was performative. he was the kind of person who made a room feel lighter just by being in it, but who also knew the weight of silence better than most people ever would.

he didn't make you feel like you had to be anyone but yourself. and that, unfortunately, was the root of the problem.

somewhere along the road from "we're just friends" to "please pretend to be my girlfriend so my mom stops trying to marry me off," things had started to shift.

not all at once. not obviously.

but they shifted.

now he was dozing beside you, his head tilted toward your shoulder, and every bump in the road made him inch closer. you should have nudged him off. you should have drawn the line.

but you didn't.

instead, you studied the soft lines of his face—the relaxed set of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows like his dreams were just a little too fast for his thoughts to catch—and you wondered what the hell you'd gotten yourself into.

by the time the cab slowed, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light over a neighborhood that looked far too idyllic to be real. sero's house was two stories of warmth and welcome: string lights curled along the porch railing, a wreath hung slightly crooked on the front door, and smoke drifted lazily from a chimney that promised something warm inside.

standing at the threshold was a woman with sharp eyes, a kind smile, and the unmistakable aura of someone who could both bake you cookies and emotionally destroy you in the same breath.

sero's mother.

you froze.

he didn't.

without hesitation, sero leaned in, brushing your hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. his voice dipped just low enough for only you to hear. "smile like you love me."

then he reached for your hand.

his fingers, long and warm, laced effortlessly through yours.

you didn't pull away.

and that was the moment—standing at the edge of his childhood, your fingers locked in his, heart skipping in the kind of rhythm you weren't prepared for—that you realized you were in far more danger than you thought.

because part of you didn't want to let go.

the cab hadn't even rolled to a full stop before sero's mom was standing in front of it, arms crossed, eyes already locked onto her target like a seasoned general. you had seen pictures, sure—sero had shown you a few over lunch one day, swiping through images of his mom with an almost reverent fondness—but none of them did her justice.

she was radiant. that was the first word that came to mind. not in some soft, dreamy way, but in the sharp, unmistakable warmth of someone who had mastered the art of existing unapologetically. she had a scarf looped carelessly around her neck, dark hair pinned up with wisps escaping, and that immediate, unnerving energy unique to mothers who know everything before you say a word.

"hanta," she said brightly as you approached. "you took forever, mijo. i was about to call."

and then her eyes slid to you.

her whole face changed.

"qué linda," she said, stepping down toward you without hesitation. "you're even prettier than the pictures."

you opened your mouth to answer—say something polite, maybe even charming—but instead you were pulled into a hug so warm and familiar you forgot how to speak altogether.

she smelled like cinnamon and butter, like café and home. her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, solid and reassuring, and you blinked twice before realizing she wasn't letting go just yet.

she pulled back, hands on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face with curiosity. "how old are you, mija?"

"seventeen," you managed. "ua student. same class as hanta."

"top twenty," sero chimed from behind you, proud and useless.

his mom smiled wider. "good. you'll need that to keep up with him. he talks too much."

"i'm right here," sero said, offended.

"and what's your quirk, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside like she owned every molecule of the house—which she probably did.

"just a luck quirk," you replied. "it's not anything big or flashy."

"flashy's overrated," she said. "flashy gets you on magazine covers, but smart keeps you alive. hanta could use some of that balance."

sero made a wounded noise. "i'm right here."

you stepped into the house and tried not to gape. it was warm and lived-in, with mismatched furniture and soft lights, and framed photos in every direction. you passed at least three different versions of baby sero—one with cake on his face, one dressed as a shark, and one in a tiny suit looking like he'd lost a bet.

you were immediately ushered to the couch, where sero flopped down beside you like he'd done this a thousand times. his arm stretched along the back of the cushions behind you, easy and casual, but you felt the heat of it like a brand against your neck.

his mom sat in the armchair across from you, one leg crossed, hands folded, expression deceptively pleasant.

"so," she said. "how long have you two been together?"

"six months," you and sero answered in unison.

your eyes met. you both smiled.

it was practiced, but god—it didn't feel like a lie.

"how'd you meet?" she asked next.

sero leaned forward like he was telling a secret. "training. she beat up kaminari. i've never recovered."

you tried not to laugh. "he followed me around for a week."

"i was courting you."

"you were loitering near vending machines."

"i was being persistent," he corrected. "it worked, didn't it?"

his mom watched you both, eyes narrowed just enough to make you sweat.

"and what do you like about my son?" she asked you, suddenly.

your mouth went dry.

sero glanced sideways, surprised.

but the answer came easy.

"he's reliable. and funny. and he listens—really listens. like you're the only person in the room."

you could feel sero's eyes on you, and the room felt warmer than it had a second ago.

"he's easy to be around," you said, a little softer now. "i feel like i can breathe near him."

a long silence stretched across the room.

then sero bumped your shoulder with his own, voice low. "you're not supposed to make me blush in front of my mom."

his mom smiled, pleased. "i like you."

you smiled back, because how could you not. "thank you."

"i made tamales," she said, rising to her feet. "sit tight. i'll get you a plate."

"do you need help—?" you started, half-standing.

"no, no. you're a guest. you sit and let yourself be adored."

she vanished into the kitchen with surprising speed.

the moment she was out of earshot, you collapsed sideways onto the couch.

"i blacked out," you whispered. "what did i even say?"

"that i'm amazing and you love being around me," sero said smugly.

you shot him a look.

he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "also, you were adorable. you didn't have to go that hard. i almost forgot it was fake."

you didn't answer.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

dinner came after a comfortable lull in the afternoon—just enough time for you to grow used to the house's warmth, the quiet hum of kitchen sounds, and the sound of sero humming to himself as he helped his mom plate tamales. there was something undeniably domestic about it—watching him lean over the counter, sleeves pushed up, swiping a bit of masa from the corner of a dish with a grin when he thought no one was watching.

you caught yourself watching.

a little too long.

and when he turned around and caught your eye, offering you a wink that made your stomach stutter—you looked away, pretending to study the wall like it had secrets.

the house filled slowly with more noise, more feet, more voices. by the time dinner was ready, the table was surrounded by people—his siblings, all younger, all chaos incarnate. there were five in total, ranging from what looked like barely ten to maybe sixteen. all of them clearly adored sero, and all of them clearly had a thousand questions about you.

"are you really his girlfriend?" one of the younger girls asked, blinking up at you from her seat at the far end of the table.

sero, already sitting beside you, reached for your hand under the table without hesitation. "of course she is," he said easily. "she puts up with me. that's gotta mean something."

you glanced sideways, surprised by the way his thumb started tracing circles into your palm. his fingers were warm, his grip relaxed, like this was a habit and not a performance. your first instinct was to pull away—but you didn't. you let him hold on.

"do you like him?" one of the boys asked bluntly, somewhere between a dare and a test.

you looked over at sero, who was already looking at you.

and the smile that spread across his face wasn't teasing. it wasn't even smug.

it was soft.

"i do," you said honestly. "he's easy to like."

one of his sisters actually swooned.

their mother returned from the kitchen, a stack of warm plates balanced in her arms. "aye, look at you two," she said fondly, setting down the food. "you look like you've been married five years already."

sero snorted. "that's because she already tells me what to do."

"someone has to," you said, nudging his leg under the table.

his knee pressed into yours and didn't move.

the meal began in full, voices rising over each other, stories flying back and forth like birds across the table. tamales were unwrapped, passed down, devoured. rice and beans steamed in bowls at the center. someone spilled horchata and got teased for it for fifteen minutes straight.

sero kept his hand under the table the entire time.

sometimes on your knee. sometimes brushing your fingers. once, briefly, resting on your thigh with a touch so casual and confident you forgot how to breathe for a second.

"so how did you know?" his mom asked halfway through the meal, raising an eyebrow. "that you liked each other, i mean."

you blinked. "um."

sero didn't miss a beat.

"she made this face at me once," he said, totally serious. "during training. right after i got my ass handed to me. and i thought—yeah. i'd let her ruin my life."

you choked on a sip of water. "that's not what happened."

"you raised your eyebrow," he insisted, "like i was both impressive and pathetic. it was very motivating."

"you were bleeding."

"romance is about timing."

the table erupted in laughter.

"you're ridiculous," you muttered, but there was no bite to it. you felt lightheaded from smiling too much.

his younger sister leaned over the table toward you. "you make him less annoying," she said seriously. "he's, like, way less weird with you here."

"he's still weird," someone else muttered.

"hey," sero said, deeply offended. "i'm the glue of this household."

"you're the glitter glue," one of the boys shot back. "unnecessary and all over everything."

the conversation swirled, but it was warm. easy. you felt like you'd slipped into a rhythm you hadn't known you were missing. sero's family didn't make you feel like an outsider. if anything, they treated you like a permanent fixture—like they already liked you, just because he did.

and sero—he kept looking at you.

in the quiet moments between bites. when you laughed at something his brother said. when you wiped your fingers on your napkin and he passed you your drink like he'd already anticipated you'd reach for it.

"you're really good at this," you whispered during a lull, leaning in.

"at what?" he asked, voice low, chin tilted toward you.

"this," you said. "pretending."

his eyes flicked down to your mouth, just for a second.

"what can i say," he said quietly. "i'm something of an actor."

you snickered.

and then his mom called your name from across the table.

"you like dessert, mija?" she asked, already bringing out the plates.

you blinked twice before answering, forcing a smile. "of course. thank you."

sero didn't look away from you for a long time.

dinner had long ended. the noise had faded. sero's house, once pulsing with overlapping voices and clattering plates, now thrummed with a different kind of energy—low, contented, quiet.

his siblings had scattered, full-bellied and sugar-sticky, off to bedrooms and couches and wherever else they disappeared to in the evening. someone had turned on a dusty old playlist in the den, and the soft hum of vintage boleros curled through the walls like warmth that refused to die.

you stood in the hallway between the dining room and the back door, hovering in the in-between of things: of conversations and thoughts, of what was real and what had only started out that way.

you weren't sure what to do with your hands.

or your heart.

sero appeared beside you like he always did—quiet-footed and comfortably close, smelling faintly of soap and masa and something sweet from dessert you hadn't caught the name of. his sleeves were still pushed up, revealing his forearms, and you hated that you were looking at them. not because they weren't worth looking at—they were—but because it meant your guard was down. again.

"come on," he said softly. "balcony?"

you didn't answer. you just nodded and followed.

the air outside was sharp and clean. the kind of cold that wakes you up without being cruel. you wrapped your arms around yourself more out of instinct than discomfort. the balcony was small, with a windchime shaped like a lizard hanging from the overhang, and a view of soft suburban rooftops and yellow windows scattered like lanterns across the horizon.

you leaned against the wooden railing. he did the same.

neither of you spoke.

you were too full of the evening. of tamales and laughter. of too much touch under the table. of words you'd said with a smile that weren't lies—but weren't supposed to be true either.

the problem wasn't pretending.

the problem was that pretending didn't feel like pretending anymore.

you didn't know when it had changed. maybe it was gradual—each time he laced his fingers through yours without asking, or rested his hand on your thigh mid-story, or offered you a grin across the table that was so familiar, so soft, you forgot why you were here in the first place.

but it hit you now, standing beside him in the chill—this unshakable, irreversible knowledge:

you were in love with him.

god, you were in love with hanta sero.

not just in a surface-level, crush-colored way. not just in the i-like-how-he-makes-me-laugh way. it was deeper than that. older. something that had snuck in when you weren't looking and taken root so quietly you hadn't noticed until it was everywhere.

you were in love with the way he held space. with the way he listened without trying to fix you. with the way he let the world land on him lightly, and still carried it in both hands when it mattered.

you were in love with someone who didn't even know you weren't faking anymore.

you exhaled.

"you're quiet," he said, not looking at you. "regretting it already?"

you shook your head. "no. it's just... weird how easy it was. with your family."

he hummed. "they like you."

"they liked that i made you less annoying."

"that is the highest compliment in my house."

you smiled, faint. "they're sweet. loud, but sweet."

"you kept up fine."

"i think i blacked out for half of it."

"you were golden," he said, softer now. "you always are."

you turned toward him slowly.

the lights from the kitchen spilled faintly through the curtains behind you, catching just enough of his face for you to see how relaxed he looked. how present. how close.

you swallowed.

"hanta?"

he looked over at you, brows raised. "yeah?"

there was a beat of silence.

"i don't know how to lie to you," you said.

he blinked once.

then again, slower.

"what?"

"i mean," you continued, hands curling around the edge of the railing. "i've been trying. all day. and i thought i could. i thought i could pull it off—play the part, pretend—but then we got here, and your mom hugged me, and you touched my hand under the table, and i just... i don't know when it stopped being a bit."

his eyes searched your face like he was looking for something he'd already lost.

"hanta," you said again. "i'm in love with you."

his face froze.

the air between you seemed to still. the windchime didn't move. the whole world narrowed into this one pinpoint moment, bright and fragile and terrifying.

he stepped back—just barely.

"you don't have to keep pretending," he said. carefully. cautiously. "no one's watching anymore. you can drop it."

you stared at him.

"i'm not pretending," you said.

another beat. a sharp exhale.

his lips parted slightly. his brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. in the kind of fear that came from wanting something too much and being afraid to reach for it.

"you're serious."

"i've never been more serious about anything in my life."

sero let out a long, shaky laugh. it cracked halfway through.

"say it again," he whispered.

"i'm in love with you."

and this time, you reached for him.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and you felt the moment he melted—slow and overwhelmed, the way something melts that's been cold for too long.

"you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, leaning into your touch. "i thought—god, i thought i was the only one losing my mind over this."

you smiled, eyes stinging.

"you weren't."

"i've been in love with you since second year," he admitted, voice breaking a little. "you kissed my cheek that one time after i carried your books back from the nurse's office, and i nearly died. like, actual cardiac arrest."

"that was a year ago."

"welcome to my long, slow descent into insanity."

you laughed, quiet and ridiculous.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn't rushed. wasn't showy. it wasn't a fireworks-and-credits-roll kiss.

it was the kind that happened in doorways, in hallways, in quiet rooms where hearts beat too loud. the kind that changed nothing and everything all at once.

he kissed you like he meant it.

you kissed him like you'd been waiting your whole life to.

when you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours.

"you're real?" you whispered, breath catching.

"i better be," he said. "otherwise you've just confessed to a figment of your imagination."

you swallowed a grin.

his thumb traced your cheek.

"i thought this would end in disaster," he said quietly. "that pretending would ruin everything."

"and?"

"and now i don't want it to end at all."

you leaned in, bumping your nose against his.

"then it doesn't have to."

he smiled, and kissed you again.

not like he was pretending.

like he was home.

Run Away With Me

Woah, boy! Longest one-shot to date right here. Loved writing it, I hope you enjoy reading it.

Word Count: 9,388

Warnings: injury, angst, fluff, romance, dark thoughts, crying, barely proof-read, mentions of prior relationship and entanglement with another person (no smut). First time writing for Luffy.

Song suggestions are here (primary song I was repeating on a loop), and here (because I wanted to feel more pain). Masterlist here.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you gathered your skirts, sprinting with iron-willed determination towards the docks. Propelled by sheer rage, grief and adrenaline; you continued to sob through your staggered breaths. You heeded no mind to the jagged edges of rocks and stone digging harshly into your bare heals and toes, surely leaving them cut and bleeding in your swift stride.

In the distance, the figurehead of the ship continued to disappear along the horizon; eclipsed by the dawning rays of the sun cascading along the surface of the blue water. Your feet picked up the pace, refusing to relinquish your determination to meet your feet against the polished deck of the ship; holding onto your fruitless dream as the ship continued to flee from your sights.

“Never fall in love with a marine,” you heard echo throughout your mind, “a sailor, nor a pirate. Sea-travelled men will always leave, and you will be alone to bare your shame.”

Another sob fell from your lips as you continued to hold your sights onto the pale white flag of the ship, the logo of the marines waving tauntingly towards you at its retreat. Your eyes had dried up from relinquishment of your stock of tears. There was nothing left but fury.

He had left you.

After spending a night together in the strong arms of your marine: beautiful gestures and spindled words of promises of “forever,” he had left you isolated and humiliated; which he assured you he would never do.

Your feet burned against the harsh coarse sand, propelling you further towards the path of the peer. Many ships, fishermen and sailors beginning to set sail themselves; heeding you no mind as you rubbed your eyes with the back of your forearm, taking a moment to catch your breath.

Heart aching, lips quivering and lungs heavily burdened by sharp inhales and exhales; a growl of frustration and rage fled from your lips as you once again picked up your pace against the wooden, ocean-cracked planks beneath your feet. The ocean air was heavily impacted by the scent of the morning breeze, the ocean tide pulling outwards and into the sea, revealing the hardened sand beneath its retreat.

Hardening your resolve, you brushed your body past a man with a straw hat upon his head, shoving him as you propelled your body further down the dock to bring yourself closer towards the vessel that began its strategic withdrawal from your gaze.

Your bare feet stung as they pressed against the waterworn wood of the docks with sand clinging to the open wounds. Your body ached with overexertion but continued to pitifully drive yourself further towards the end of the peer. You had given everything to him. Your mind, your body, your soul; your heart. You were his and he was yours: only for a single night of passion for him to leave you abandoned and ashamed in your scorn.

Propelling with great strides and paying no mind to the end of the wooden dock concluding its path beneath your feet, a final sob escaped from your lips as you halted your sprint; holding your arms in front of you to steady yourself as your toes clung to the end of the peer.

Dropping carelessly to your knees, you continued to hold your unblinking stare on the ship your marine had sailed upon. The blood from your feet began to dry and cling to your skin as the ship became smaller and smaller in the distance, the tears drying within their ducts and shrouding with a welded seal atop them.

“I will never trust a sailing man again,” you uttered to yourself as your legs began to tingle from their extended hold beneath your weight, “never again.”

You placed your right hand against the wooden floor beneath you, shifting your weight atop your palm while wincing in pain at the damage done to your feet; attempting to raise to stand.

“Woah,” a voice exclaimed from beside you, “what happened to you?”

You looked up, the morning sun shining through the small holes in the yellow straw-hat atop a man with dark hair and mischievous, dark eyes. You were immediately taken by the innocence and sincerity in his voice as he raked his eyes over your legs and feet, assessing the damage your lengthy sprint caused to your broken skin.

“The love of a man,” you confessed darkly, a sinister chuckle falling from your lips as you trailed your gaze towards your stinging and blistering feet.

“Must’ve been some man,” he nodded with a downturned smile and bobbing his head to the side with a shrug. He stooped down to your level, offering his hand out as an added support and an introduction; “I’m Monkey D. Luffy.”

“A pleasure, truly,” you said, a sarcastic nod of your head and roll of your eyes accompanying your words. You looked from his large caramel-coloured orbs to his extended hand and apprehensively reached forward to receive his aid to stand to your feet. You winced under the pain of the fresh welts forming; realising truly only now how dishevelled you looked in the moment.

You were wearing only your white lace, sleeping camisole with a layered white skirt you hoisted to cover yourself in your sprint. Your skin lay peppered with lustful, red marks from last night’s romantic tussle within your bedsheets with the marine; your hair blown out and wild and desperate from the sprint towards the peer; your eyes stained with the memory of dried tears.

“Can you stand?” he asked with furrowed brows as he began to aid your ascension, watching you wince.

“Honestly,” you voice strained under the pain, “not really, but what choice do I have?”

He hummed in thought, examining your body momentarily before immediately squatting to bring himself lower to your body; hooking one arm beneath your knees and the other supporting your back, easily hoisting you upwards and cradle you into himself. A startled shriek fell from your lips as the warmth of his body and comfort of his actions welcomed you into himself.

“How’s this?” he asked with a warm, wolfy-grin. Your eyes widened at his movement, gazing into his innocent face in surprise at his well-natured intent.

“This is fine,” you squeaked out through your lips, clenching your teeth tightly shut in surprise.

“Oh, good,” he nodded in reply, turning away from the view of the ocean and beginning to walk with you in his arms towards the town once more. “Hold up,” he stated, feeling the grip of you within his arms and shifting you with a small hop, “can I adjust you a little bit?”

You furrowed your brows and reluctantly nodded your head. As soon as you bobbed your head in affirmation, a wider grin dawned on his face as he threw you into the air; a shriek falling from your lips as he hooked his arms beneath your knees, your body falling to land against his back as he caught you. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around the front of his neck and clung to the shoulders of his brass-buttoned shirt, hooking your knees over his waist and falling your ankles to his back.

“That’s better,” he commented with a laugh, beginning a brisk pace towards the heart of town. He effortlessly walked with you clutched tightly against the back of his red waistcoat, as he walked over the peer towards the dunes of the beachfront.

“Hey back there,” he called over his shoulder to you, prompting you to look at his cheek and the corner of his eye. “You reckon you could show me where the library is?” he asked you, maintaining his pace into town, “my navigator needs a book and I’m not sure where to start.”

You gleefully laughed at his question, adjusting your arms around his neck to ease his carry of you and gesturing towards the tall, washed sand-stone building to the left of the town.

“You’re in luck,” you smirked into him, placing your chin on his shoulder and your cheek flush against his own beneath the broad brim of the yellow straw hat, “I’m the resident librarian here.”

“You don’t say,” he chuckled warmly, looking at you through his long, dark eyelashes out of the corner of his eye; before turning to follow your extended gesture towards the building.

You hummed against his cheek, enjoying the company and aid he was providing to you on your way back towards your building. You ignored the throb of your feet under the pain and the burn of your body. Your rage had dwindled to a slow smoulder the longer you spent clutching the back of the man beneath your thighs as he carried you towards home, swinging your ankles with each step he took towards the building.

As you approached the large wooden door, Luffy stooped his back down to allow you to reach forward and use your thumb to pull the large leaver of the brass-hooked nob down and shove the door open. You couldn’t help the laugh falling from your lips as he continued to chaperone you on his back through the doors to your library.

“You can just set me down now,” you smiled at him, gesturing to a small desk and chair at the foyer of the large room, “and if you could please make sure the sign is flipped over to read ‘closed’, I would really appreciate it.”

Luffy walked you over to the foyer, opting to sit you down atop the tall desk rather than the chair; unhooking his arms from behind your legs and stalking back towards the door and looking at the sign. You sighed in relief of his relinquishment of his hold of your body; instinctively reaching towards your feet to assess the damage of the heels of your feet and the spirited wounds clutching to your ankles with your fingers.

“Yeah, that looks pretty bad,” the man who carried you to your home spoke suddenly. You realised his close proximity to you as you tore your gaze away from your wounded feet towards his awaiting eyes. You sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear as you readjusted yourself under your skirts, brushing the dried sands away from your feet.

“Nothing compared to the number he did on my heart,” you chuckled darkly, hooking your right knee over your left and lacing your fingertips together expectantly; “you said something about a book your navigator needed. Does that mean you’re a sailor?”

“Something like that,” he confirmed with a nod and a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’m a pirate.”

“A pirate?” you asked through baited breath, halting at the title he bestowed onto himself. Although the town you were currently residing in was welcoming to all travelling individuals of colour and creed; piracy was still a taboo occupation amongst the townsfolk.

“And one day,” he confirmed, leaning in towards your body, “I will find the One-Piece and be King of the Pirates.”

Your eyes widened at his proclamation before holding an air of surprise over them, absolutely believing it be possible with his hardened resolve and playful attitude.

“And what book did you require?” you asked him, tilting your face up towards him and quirking your left brow upwards in question.

“You know what?” he began, halting his words as he gawked at the sheer number of books located in your library, “I’m not sure. I think it was something to do with translation? Looking for stones? A way to bring us closer to the All-Blue? I dunno-,” he scratched his chin thoughtfully, “-all I know is, it was important.”

Your face dropped, eyes narrowing as you shook your head and tilted your chin downwards.

“Well, while you figure that out,” you sighed, a small smile falling to your face, “do you think you could pour me some water into that bowl over there,” you gestured to the sink, “and bring it over to me with a cloth?”

He followed your gaze, locating a blue and white terracotta ceramic dish in the corner or the room by your sink. He walked over to the dish and began to fill the container to the brim, waddling over towards you with liquid splashing over the edges with each step he took towards you. You creased your brows at him in response, but your smile remained plastered on your face.

“Okay,” Luffy said, placing the dish down beside you atop the bench, “now what?”

“Now, I’m going to wash my feet and assess the damage,” you nodded down to the blistering welts, purple hued bruises and slices of flesh peeled back under your harsh, barefoot sprint, “and you’re going to focus your thoughts on what book you were looking for.”

Looking down towards your bare feet, Luffy winced a little in empathy. His eyes then widened in thought, floating his gaze back up to glance into your face once again.

“Tell you what,” he declared with a joyful expression adorning his cheeks, “if you talk with me about books to help me remember,” he stepped closer towards you, “I’ll fix your feet up for you. Does that sound okay?”

You were taken aback, yet again, at the thoughtfulness of this complete stranger; as he immediately moved to gather your chair and place it in front of you and sat atop it.

“Lay it on me!” he declared with a loud, smiling voice; patting his thigh and gesturing to your right foot. You quirked your brow upwards and hesitantly hooked your right leg over your left knee in front of the hat-adorned pirate in front of you. He firmly gasped your ankle and pulled your foot towards his face. You winced in pain and shrieked again at the action, prompting him to look back up at you again.

“Sorry,” he grit his teeth and softened his eyes up at you. Reaching his hands towards the cloth, he dampened it in the water and began carefully wiping at your skin to remove the dried sand and blood from your foot, ankle and calf.

“Take my mind off it,” you stated through your own clenched jaw, “tell me about the conversation with the navigator, or where you’re journeying to. Might give me a hint on helping you find the book you need.”

He smiled at you, continuing to swipe at your tender flesh of your right foot; checking it over for any serious injury and removing the stains of pain from you.

“I can tell you about my crew if you like?” he smiled down at your foot, focussing his attention on a particularly deep puncture wound on the ball of your foot, “I have Nami, my navigator. She’s really smart,” he removed a piece of stone from your foot, you wincing at it with a small yelp. He again looked up at you, eyes full of sympathy as he rubbed his thumb over the wound to sooth it with his pressure.

“Nami sounds wonderful,” you smiled down at him, quirking your head and softening your eyes.

“Oh, she is,” he confirmed with a broad grin, “and then there’s Zoro. He’s the First Mate, an ex-bounty hunter. Best swordsman I’ve ever known.”

You nodded along, actively listening to the words falling from the man in front of you and imagining what life must look like for him.

“And there’s Usopp,” Luffy tapped your right foot gently to indicate for you to switch your legs over for him to pay equal attention to your left, “he’s our sharp-shooter.”

You unhooked your right leg from atop your left knee and switched over to your left hooking atop your right; smoothing your skirt over your thighs to keep yourself gracefully shrouded from unintentional exposure. He whispered his fingertips over your shin with his right hand while reaching behind your calf with his left to hold it firmly in place.

Breath hitching in your throat, a warm blush rose to your cheeks at his touch. He set to smoothing over your foot, dampening the cloth once more and rinsing your wounded heels and toes with the rag.

“Then there’s Sanji, the chef. He’s amazing at cooking,” Luffy continued, “I especially like the way he prepares pork,” he hummed, eyes glazing over in thought; “I love meat. Meat is my favourite.”

You giggled at his utterance, biting your lip to halt the rise of emotion up into your chest.

“And where do you fit into the crew?” you asked him breathily, “you made no mention of your captain either.”

“That’s because I am the captain,” he tilted his head to look back into your eyes, “and like I said, I will be king of the pirates one day. Gotta start somewhere.”

You gasped at the thought; a pirate captain humbling himself before you and taking care of your wounds after your heart was shattered by a lowly marine cadet. Maybe you had been too hasty in your decision of swearing off travelling men. You shook your head at the thought, softening your gaze down at him as he focussed on cleaning the dried blood from your feet.

“And where are you travelling to, captain?” you asked him softly, watching how carefully he picked at the rocks imbedded in your flesh to rid them from you.

“The Grand Line,” he stated nonchalantly with a shrug. You sighed out sharply with a laugh at him, prompting him to playfully grin up at you.

“You’re really doing it, then?” you asked him, leaning your hands against the desk you were sat atop and shifting your weight onto them, “travelling dangerous waters in search of Gol D. Roger’s One-Piece?”

“Yep,” he confirmed. He hesitated at releasing your foot from his grip, looking down at your feet and tilting his head to the side in deep thought.

“You’d need some knowledge about volcanic activity below sea level and how to navigate the cross,” you nodded before tilting your head back to look at the roof of the library, “probably changes in weather impacting the sails and steering of the ship as you travel. You might also need direction on edible weeds and plants on your journey. Again, lucky for you; I adore reading up on the subject and well versed in-,”

“-Come with me,” Luffy uttered suddenly, holding firm his gaze at your feet, “be my historian. You have everything I’m missing and I want you on my crew.”

You furrowed your brows, snapping your gaze back from its hold on the roof and back towards the stranger in front of you. You gawked at him as he continued: “well, I don’t have a musician or a doctor yet, but I also need a historian,” he shrugged, adding a simple: “be mine.”

You quivered, your eyes flittering between his caramel orbs in awe as he floated his eyes up to join with yours.

“I-I,” you stuttered, unhooking your knees and leaning towards him, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll run away with me,” he leaned forward with a playful grin, “be my historian, join my crew.”

You shut your eyes tightly in thought, imagining what your life might look like sailing the seas as a pirate; fleeing from the embarrassment from last nights’ overexertion and lustful activities and hiding from baring the brunt of your shame. You breathed out a long exhale, reopening your eyes and jumping slightly in surprise to see the captain standing incredibly close in proximity to you now; his body situated to stand between your knees with a broad smile.

“What do you say?” he asked you, grinning wider in question and leaning in closer.

You searched the sincere eyes of the brunette captain in front of you, finding only sincerity in its wake. He truly meant every word falling charismatically from his lips, persuading you with his genuineness and positivity.

“Who will take care of the books here?” were the only thoughts falling, truly reaching for any reason to remain behind.

“Bring them with you,” he shrugged, “we’ve got room. C’mon, I need you. You’ll love the crew, and they’ll love you.”

He brought his body away from its close proximity to you and began to turn away from you to make his way towards the door.

“We’ll be docked for another day to restock the kitchen,” he opened the door, turning his back once more to you, “we’re leaving the following morning. If you’re coming, let me know tonight at the tavern and I’ll help you bring your stuff.”

He waved, before turning back around and shut the door quietly behind him with a small ‘click’.

Astonishment overcame you in all aspects. You fell your eyes to your cleaned and tidied feet, no longer aching nor stinging from the impact of your hasty sprint towards your marine ex-lover. Your body became overwhelmed with emotions. You had no more tears to flee from your ducts at the thoughts of the military man; the only remnants of your time together were the marks littering your collarbone, neck and chest from his passionate ministrations. He used words to get what he wanted from your body physically, fleeing once you had given yourself willingly to him before you woke.

Now here comes this pirate, no expectations falling onto you a part from a place on his ship and a welcome into his familial crew. He was giving you the ending you so desperately desired from your marine lover; to be whisked away from your town and romantically swept into the horizon aboard a mighty vessel.

The only aspect halting you from readying yourself and your supplies and running into servitude aboard a pirate ship were two things: your feet, legs and body ached under the earlier sprint: damage truly impacting your ability to walk.

The other inhibition is the purpose for your travel. You would move the heavens and the earth to feel true, open and honest love for an individual; the true purpose you clung so tightly to the marine. You desired love: to love and be loved in return. Romanticism clung to you like the scent of baked goods wafting from a baker’s door; filling the fibres of your being with the desire of deep, relentless devotion and adoration.

Luffy offered you no such relentless devotion; friendship and kinship being the only things he truly offered to you. There was no romantic notions of love and affection; just truly alliance through acquaintanceship and comradery. Sucking in a sharp inhale, you jumped down from your place atop the desk and planted your feet against the ground firmly. Expecting more pain in anticipation than you truly felt, you shrugged at the dull pain and began to slowly limp up the spiral staircase towards your sleeping area above the large library.

You looked down at your collection from the balcony; your shop being relatively small in comparison to the great libraries of old; but beautiful none the less. You were unsure whether you would’ve truly left it all behind for the marine, only wanting to reach the peer to demonstrate your absolute fury towards him in front of his commander and servicemen. Were you prepared to leave it for a man who promised you nothing than friendship?

Shaking your head, you looked down at your feet which began to heal over with rapidity. The memory of the way he tenderly held your skin and tentatively brushed his hands over your flesh to care for it overcame you, your heart swelling at the feeling.

With no family to impart their thoughts and wisdom onto you, you rolled your shoulders back and glanced down towards the variety of shelves of your beloved books before a ghost of sorrow fell over your face. You will miss their pages, but the notion of belonging to the seas as they carried you from place to place enchanted you. You will join them, and hopefully romance will find you on your journeys.

Wolfing down plate after plate of smoked brisket, honeyed hams and braised lamb shoulder; Luffy’s brows furrowed in thought of his encounter with the librarian. Zoro’s frown deepened at his Captain’s expression, noting his usual cheeriness was missing from his aura.

“What happened?” Zoro grumbled through his lips, reclining against the wooden chair and raising a brown-stained glass bottle to his lips and taking a swig.

“I mwet uh raidy,” Luffy attempted to relay through a full mouth.

“Try again,” Zoro ordered, eyes rolling at the display the captain was offering him, “swallow your food first.”

Luffy nodded, shutting his eyes with a flutter of eyelashes and wincing at swallowing the large quantity of meat in his mouth, before uttering; “I met a lady.”

“A lady?” Zoro asked, narrowing his eyes at him in question, “what kind of lady?”

“A really smart one,” Luffy nodded, reaching for a large roasted turkey leg with a citrus glaze oozing from the crisped skin, “I want her.”

Usopp choked on his food, spluttering a little at the uninhibited thoughts falling from the lips of his captain without filter.

“In what capacity?” Zoro asked with a quirk of his brow, not acknowledging Usopp’s choked action nor the captain’s unfiltered expression.

“As my historian,” he said, biting into the meat and rolling his eyes back at the flavour, “uhnd ash mai feund.”

“Swallow your food,” Zoro ordered, pausing between each word as he spoke them slowly, “then speak.”

Luffy nodded, waving his hand dismissively in front of his face as he chewed and choked down his food enthusiastically, “as my historian, and as my friend.”

Zoro nodded, taking the glass neck of the bottle and tipping the amber fizzed ale back between his lips and draining the remainder of the contents from within.

“She’s so pretty,” Luffy whispered beneath his breath to himself, “even when she’s sad, she’s pretty.”

“Why was she sad?” the orange-haired navigator said as she took a seat beside Luffy, her plate containing a small portion of crème brulee with fresh berries and whipped cream atop it, “and did you manage to get the book on volcanic plate shifting?”

Luffy turned to her with a small smile, “some marine left her here, I think.”

“Marines are assholes,” Nami confirmed with a nod, sinking a small teaspoon into the bowl, breaking the solidified sugar layer and scooping a portion of the custard-cream beneath it, “and the book?”

“I don’t want the book,” Luffy nodded, turning back to the tray of meat in front of him, “I just want her.”

“And if she doesn’t want to come?” Usopp chimed in, looking at Nami’s dessert longingly, “not everyone dreams of sailing the seas, you know.”

“I don’t know,” Luffy shrugged, reaching for more of the shredded, smoked brisket and spooning a large portion onto his plate with a large ‘slap’, “something tells me she might.”

You had changed into some light travel clothes; choosing to bandage and strap your feet and ankles beneath laced and comfortable shoes to aid in the healing of your cracked and damaged feet. You showered, changed and arranged a cohesive arrangement of clothes over your body to meet with your new captain together with his crew for the first time. Holding every intention of travelling with the assortment of pirates, you decided to meet with them at the tavern to inform them of your intentions of travelling with them as their historian.

Walking down the stone path slowly, wincing a little at a subtle wrong step which aggravated your injured feet; you made it to the tavern and smiled as soon as your gaze fell to the straw-hatted captain sitting at a table with four others; who you assumed were members of his crew. You examined each of them, first starting with Nami; the only woman Luffy made mention of in the prior conversation.

The best part about being a book-smart individual was the ability to remember knowledge at a rapid and ever expanding capacity. Your eyes fell to a sword at the hip of a green-haired, tall man; your mind informing you ‘Zoro’. You travelled your gaze over to the bandana-clad man in front of Luffy, noticing placed beside him on the table was a sling-shot; “Usopp” rolling over in your mind. All that was left was-.

“Hello, beautiful,” a voice called at your side, prompting you to shift your focus to a tall, blonde man with a tailored black suit jacket fastened with brass buckles, a dark tie upon his neck.

“Sir,” you nodded your head at him, a polite smile rising to your face. You travelled your gaze over him, his air of confidence and flirtation rolling off of him in waves. Noticing his proximity to the travelling assortment you were planning on meeting, you determined this was the chef Luffy mentioned earlier.

“I’m S-,” he began, halting only as you spoke over him.

“-Sanji,” you smiled warmly now, reaching out your right hand to meet with his in a friendly welcome, “Luffy told me about you earlier.”

Sanji shook his head, taken slightly aback at your acknowledgement before promptly reaching down and grasping your fingertips within his right hand and rising it to his lips; placing a small kiss atop your knuckles.

“A pleasure,” he said, falling his grip from your hands while mirroring your smile, “unfortunately, I’m yet to join my crew for the evening meal, so I have no context surrounding you. Who might you be, love?”

“Your new historian,” you giggled, falling in a heavily sarcastic curtsey; prompting him to laugh in response, “and the pleasure is mine.”

At the large laughter, Luffy turned around from his seat at the table; his gaze falling to Sanji before floating his dark eyes over to meet with you.

“There she is,” he stated in a low tone, eyes widening before a cheery and triumphant laugh fell from his lips, “I knew she’d join my crew!”

“Where?” Usopp said, turning around and noticing Sanji interacting with you; his eyes equally widening, “she’s beautiful.”

“Right?” Luffy stated more in confirmation rather than question, turning back to Zoro, “isn’t she pretty?”

Zoro raked his eyes over your body, assessing the threat of you joining amongst the crew and noticing below your collar, red marks peppering your neck above your pulse and trailing down towards your clavicle. Nami noticed Zoro’s fixation and turned to acknowledge the interaction falling between you and Sanji.

“She’s stunning,” Nami said with a nod, “and you said she’s the librarian here?”

“Uh-huh,” Luffy nodded his head broadly, “she’s got so many books at her place, huge collection.”

“What were you doing at her place?” Zoro asked a little too quickly, his eyes falling from the red marks on your neck back to focus on the captain in front of him.

“Her feet were all cut up from running to catch the marine ship,” Luffy nodded again, reaching forward to take another glazed turkey leg into his hands and raise it up to his lips, “so I carried her back home and took care of her.”

Zoro hummed, turning his sights to the empty beer bottle in his hands and looking at the bar, “I’m gonna get another drink,” he declared, rising to his feet with a small grunt, “be back in a minute.”

“Sure thing,” Luffy said with a large toothy grin, “can you get me a juice while you’re up there?”

Zoro sighed, nodding in confirmation before turning away to walk towards the bar.

Sanji escorted you with his hand hovering at the small of your back, steadying you in your wincing hobble towards the table with the Straw-Hat pirate crew; sans swordsman.

“Hello Captain,” you nodded shyly, prompting Luffy to turn to face you; immediately rising to his feet at your approach.

“Hello historian!” he declared, placing his hands atop your shoulders and pulling you into a warm embrace, “I’m so glad you decided to run away with me.”

A warm blush rose itself to your cheeks at his unbridled declaration. You apprehensively placed your arms around his back, arching them up to cradle his shoulders beneath his circular grip. He sighed as he held you close to him, overjoyed at your acceptance of his offer.

“Meet the crew,” he whispered in a low hum into your cheek, slowly releasing you from his embrace, “this is-.”

“Nami,” you nodded to the orange-haired woman, “the navigator who wanted a book, I’m only assuming here, was about pressure plates on the ocean floor and volcanic activity close to the grand line?”

“Yes on both accounts,” Nami smiled, watching attentively as you reached into your satchel and retrieved a large journal for her.

“Then this little baby,” you began, reaching out your hand containing the book, “is specifically for you. Enjoy charting!”

Nami sighed a large release of air from within her chest, “finally, competency and intelligence. I am so glad you’re coming with us.”

“Me too, believe me,” you giggled before noticing the captain still remained one arm around your shoulders as he turned you to meet with Usopp.

“Usopp the sharp-shooter, I presume,” you smiled at him with a polite nod.

“That I am,” he grinned widely, basking in his acknowledgement and title.

“You really pay attention to everything, don’t you?” Luffy gawked at you in awe, before lowering his voice; praising you with, “so smart.”

The blush returned and held itself firm against your cheeks, nose and upper ears.

“All we’re missing now is-,” Luffy began, cut off by a cup being placed in his available hand by the green-haired swordsman, “-ah! Zoro! This is our historian.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” you politely nodded your head towards him.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he nodded in return to you and rose the brown bottle of liquid to his lips and took a quick swig of the liquid contents within.

“You hungry?” Luffy offered, unhooking his arm from your shoulders and reaching for a chair to pull out for you, “have some meat.”

You giggled before wincing as you shifted your weight uncomfortably atop one of the painful cut on your right foot, a hand immediately reaching up to catch yours to usher you to sit.

“I got you,” Luffy grinned at you, helping you to sit atop the wooden stool against the table, “just sit down and meet the crew. You’re family now!” he grinned widely and took a seat directly next to you, piling meat onto both his and your plate and began consuming it passionately.

Sanji noticed the dynamic immediately falling between you, arching his brow upwards towards Nami; who mirrored a similar expression on her face at the interaction. Whether Luffy noticed or not, he was absolutely smitten with you, and you looked similarly cursed with infatuation towards him.

Over the following few months, your feet had healed of their afflictions and the marks on your skin from the passionate encounter with the marine cadet had all but faded into a distant memory.

Although apprehensive to leave all of your beloved, aged books behind; the mayor of the town appointed an apprentice librarian to overtake your duties under the promise that it would always first and foremost be home to you should you desire your return. You managed to pack all of the necessities and a small collection of your favourite romance novels, and useful travelling information for your navigator alongside botany and herbal remedies for the chef.

You enjoyed sitting above the deck after completing chores and ships maintenance duties, reading whatever you so desired under the rays of the afternoon sun; basking in the warmth and truly relishing in the waves clashing against the hull. Although it took a few days to adjust to the sway of the ocean, you managed to make yourself comfortable enough to sleep atop a hanging bed within your crew quarters.

One thing you still remained missing in this sea-bearing adventure was the romance you so desired. You noticed first Sanji and how flirtatious he truly was, the first who you viewed as potential suitor; but you shot down the thought immediately as it crossed over your mind, his presence and demeanour reminding you too much of the marine who swindled a night from you.

Zoro was the next on your list, but you found his aura much too intimidating and harsh in his exterior. Although he eventually did warm to you, he felt like an older brother who perpetually looked out for you and the remainder of the crew as the loyal knight; a quality that you absolutely enjoyed.

Usopp was another story entirely. He spoke so highly of his first love, a noblewoman by the name of Kaya at Syrup-Village. He remained completely taken with her, relaying tales of his encounters with gusto. The tales were what smothered the developing feelings within your chest; lying was not a quality you particularly enjoyed, especially after the tussle with the marine.

Nami was a wonderful option to you, but she immediately made it clear to all around her that she was absolutely happy to flirt a little here and there; but never take it further than just that. You enjoyed flirtations, sure; but romance was what you were truly after.

After your assessments made of your entire crew, you began to apprehensively release your dream of romance on the high seas and attempt to find a new dream to cling to.

“I have another one for you!” your captain declared to you gleefully, waving a book in the air. You smiled, turning towards him and placing your novel on the wooden bench beside you.

You had been at sea for the past week and desperately required a layover to replenish your kitchen supplies. Each time you would dock at a new port, Luffy would bring you a book to add to your collection. Every book he brought you was completely different than the other; some were romance, some were collection guides to precious metals and mineral stones, some were even children’s books.

“Thank you, Luffy,” you beamed at him, rising to your feet and approaching him and the new book he had brought to you, “what is it this time?”

“I’m not really sure,” Luffy nodded with a downturned smile, “but Sanji said it was a good one for you. The pictures look nice?”

You nodded at him, looking into his wide caramel orbs with appreciation and adoration, before turning your attention to the book within his hands and immediately shrieked in complete shock. You were unsure how both the colour could drain from someone’s face but a warm, heated blush could also rise: yet here you were; a place somewhere between bewilderment, embarrassment and complete shock at the object he had brought to you.

When the small gifts started, it was almost apparent that Luffy was not completely illiterate; just blissfully ignorant of a few things, particularly when it came to the way he acted around you. He was beautiful, his soul was sincere and his expression was without inhibitions or restraint. You always knew exactly how he was feeling, him always approaching you if he needed clarification on a subject he wasn’t well versed in.

He would always find a way to touch you, reassuring both you and himself. Whether it be: under a gentle brush of your shoulder, taking your hand within the crook of his elbow to lead you around town, steadying your hips above the deck under particularly choppy waves, taking you by the hand and bringing you over to the mast of the ship if he saw a creature jumping above the sea to greet you. His touch was a comfort to both of you, and very welcomed in its receival.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t harbour feelings of romantic notions for your captain, but under his ignorance on the subject; you chose to not pursue engaging in anything more than comradery.

And now, he has brought you a graphic guide on intimate entanglements from the North, East, South and West Blues with accompanying pictures beside their written descriptors.

“A-and you said,” you stuttered, trying to collect your thoughts, “you s-said Sanji picked this out?”

“Yeah,” he nodded with a large grin, “although, I do like some of the pictures.”

Your eyes continued to get wider at the notion that he’s looked at the explicit material within the pages; “Luffy, this is-,” you caught yourself, attempting to choose the next words as carefully as you could, “vastly different than anything you’ve brought to me so far. The last one was a children’s story about a small mouse, and now-,” you inhaled, bringing your hands together in a palm to palm clap and raising your fingertips to your nose and the crease in your brow, “-you’ve brought me an in depth guide to intimate relations.”

Luffy quirked his head to the side, with a small “Hah,” sound. He turned the book to the side and furrowed his brows in thought, “I thought it was some kind of wrestling.”

“It is in some cases, Captain,” you sighed out a shaken, slow breath and rolled your shoulders back.

“You don’t say,” he said thoughtfully, bringing his free hand to his chin and scratching it deep in thought before asking suddenly, “so, you don’t want it?”

“I never said that,” you said all to quickly for your liking, shocking both yourself and Luffy, “I’m happy to add it to my ever growing collection of gifts from you, sir.”

“Oh, okay then!” he said, thrusting the book into your arms. You lifted your shaking hands up towards the book and clasped it gently within your fingertips; Luffy’s hand meeting with your two in the process.

“Thank you, captain,” you smiled through gritted teeth, still caught in your fluster while your captain remained delightfully ill-informed to his most recent gift’s implications.

“You’re welcome, historian,” he smiled warmly before turning back on his heal and walked away.

The first time that he kissed you, you were unsure if it was intentional or truly accidental.

You were walking along the coastal shore back towards the Going Merry, his arm hanging around your shoulders, while yours clasped lowly around his hip. He was relaying a small memory of his childhood, a man named Red-Haired Shanks often spoken amongst the happier memories. You giggled at one comment, Luffy puffing up his chest in perfect imitation of one of the members of the Red-Hair Pirate crew.

At the conclusion of your melodical laugh, Luffy arched his face into yours and pressed his lips affectionately against the apple of your cheek, uttering compliments of; “you have a great laugh.”

Your face drew into a beet-red colour as Luffy continued to chaperone you along the sandy shore. You couldn’t ignore the rapid pace of your chest, your heat beating irregularly in rhythm and a small tingle ran up your spine and coursed through your chest.

“Okay,” he declared gleefully, “now we’ve got the Red-Hair Pirate stories out of the way, let me tell you about Buggy the Clown.”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied shyly, holding firmer against his waist as he relayed memory about a blue-haired pirate captain who also happened to have similar Devil-Fruit abilities to Luffy.

After that first small taste of affection offered freely from your captain, you began to actively seek it out from him to test whether he did harbour romantic intention toward you or whether it was truly a hoax. You quickly found that, alongside his other need to feel you beneath his fingertips, that his lips also required your skin beneath them.

Cheeks, hands, shoulders, temple, forehead; everything apart from the one place you truly desired was met by the lips of your captain. It seemed he wished to remain platonic in friendship; which was slowly driving you to the brink of insanity. You were smitten, completely overtaken by the thoughts of romanticism with the Devil-Fruit user; yet not readily approaching him with the same manner of unbridled affection as he had been over the past few days. The way you decided to show him affection was to be a willing recipient to receive all of his needs and requirements to fill his cup of his need of physical touch and quality time.

This particular evening, he was reclining against you, laying his straw-hat covered head in your lap as you read one of your novels. He appeared to be resting his eyes, a small snore would fall from his lips every now and again, to which you responded with a small teetered giggle and absent-mindedly rested your hand upon his chest and soothed over the skin beneath it.

As you completed the final chapter in your novel, you closed the book and sighed in contentment; fantasising about meeting a romance such as the one you were just engaging with. You were wrong to seek out a marine: that was stupidity manifest on your part. Of course he was going to leave you, sailors always do. Pirates, however? None had yet betrayed your trust as much as the cadet had with empty promises of romance.

You groaned and brought your fingertips to your brow, smoothing over the headache in an effort to rid your subconscious of all memory of him. Your bleeding, hopelessly romantic heart yearned for that closeness; to feel it truly and deeply – that love you so craved and was met by complete emptiness: lust being the only mutual feeling shared between you and the military trainee.

“You okay?” Luffy asked you, peeking up at you through one of his eyes.

“Of course Captain,” you smiled at him, eyes always soft for him behind the melancholy you were feeling. He noticed the shift in your tone and sat up immediately, turning to face you with his legs crossed.

“You finished your book? Is that why you’re sad?” he asked you, his brows furrowing in the middle of his forehead while his beautiful brown eyes deeply searched yours beneath his long onyx eyelashes. You sighed and shook your head with a smile, “no captain, I’m not sad.”

“You’re not a good liar,” he said with a small smile, turning his eyes towards the wood below you, “you should save that for Usopp, although he’s not very good at it either.”

You chuckled lightly at that comment, Luffy instinctively seeking out your hands to grasp within his own as he continued to hold his gaze to the ground. His thumb circled over the skin on the back of your hand, carefully ghosting his digits along each of your knuckles slowly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked you, quirking his head up slightly to look shyly up at you, “my ears are yours.”

You sighed with an overburdened breath, feeling the weight release itself from your shoulders as you began to formulate the words within your mind.

“When you found me, I was at my lowest,” you confessed, “I don’t think I truly told you, or anyone, about what happened that night.”

Luffy chose not to speak, just nod in curiosity at you while you continued to relay your thoughts.

“Your dream is to be King of the Pirates,” you allowed yourself to freely express the words from within your chest, “and mine is just to love,” you nodded along in your confession, “and to be loved in return.”

Luffy circled your knuckles with the pads of his thumbs and inched himself closer to you, knees brushing against each other’s in the process of his closer proximity.

“I was looking for it, actively searching for it the way that we are searching for the One-Piece for you,” you continued, tightening your grasp around his fingertips as he held you within his own, “and when I fell for him,” you grit your teeth, “I thought I had found it. He was my knight, my rescuer,” your lips quivered at the thought, again opening your rage you hadn’t dealt with since the beginning of your quest.

“He was meant to be my love, Luffy,” you confessed darkly, “but he was just a channel for my lust, a syphon of my happiness, and nothing but an arrow to my heart.”

Luffy released your right hand from his left, hooking his right thumb to encase all eight of your extended digits within his firm grasp; falling his left hand to rest against your knee to further comfort you as you expressed your sorrow.

“I-I just,” you continued, fighting the pit forming actively within your throat, “I want it so badly, Luffy. When I think about it, I can’t breathe; I can’t speak. I want nothing more than to give my heart and have it cherished and to love passionately with every fibre of my being.”

You were searching all around with your eyes, avoiding meeting his gaze at all costs; truly relishing in the company he was providing to you, actively listening and hanging onto every utterance and confession that fell freely from your lips.

“And when I tried it with him,” your voice hitched within your throat, halting your thoughts. You gulped down the dryness in your mouth and continued to formulate the words, “I felt truly broken. There was nothing there, only emptiness and suffering.”

“What happened that night?” he asked you, quietly prompting you to speak the words you were trying desperately to avoid, “please. Please tell me.”

You released a stifled growl of anger, directed not at your captain but at the memory of the cadet, “I don’t particularly want to spell it out for you.”

Luffy rose himself to his knees, kneeling over you while removing the hand on your knee upwards to cradle your face beneath his warm palm.

“I don’t care,” he uttered darkly, “you need to tell me, and I’m waiting to hear it.”

“It was lust, Luffy,” you growled, still avoiding his gaze but welcoming his palm against your cheek with a small lean of your cheek against it, “lust disguised as love. Disguised as the beauty and purity of a lily, but truly the monster lurking beneath it ready to strike and devour in its wake.”

“And how did the monster strike you?” he asked, moving his palm down to your chin and rising your eyes up to meet his.

“It stole my dream from me,” you whispered against his flesh, “and left me blistered, bleeding and broken; all alone in the world with skin peppered with yearning marks openly displaying my shame.”

“I’ll tear it apart,” he uttered darkly, his eyes holding true to that promise, “I’ll help you reignite your dream.”

You felt the corners of your eyes begin to prick with the first tears you hadn’t felt overwhelm you since welding them shut all of those months ago. This was your captain, holding your body close to his and promising you with complete sincerity and truthfulness that he was going to help you achieve your dreams as you were searching to achieve his.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered bringing his face closer to your own, “I-,” he halted his words as they formed in his throat, “-I want to help you.”

You creased your brows in confusion at his statement, as he had already declared to you that he was actively going to help you achieve your grand, romantic dream of finding your greatest love.

“I don’t under-,” you began, halting your words as his lips were brought down to meet with your own. Your eyes were wide as you felt the gentle caress of his lips atop your own, his hand smoothing itself over your cheek and begin to lace within your hairline over your ear. Both of you were as shocked as the other, him immediately tearing his lips away from yours and pulling back from your embrace and close proximity.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide with concern, “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Captain,” you addressed him in a whisper, your eyes now releasing a small trail of emotion from the corners of your eyes. He brought his eyes back to meet with your own, floating his gaze between your irises and looking down to your lips once more.

“I want to be that,” he said, bringing his body closer to yours once more, “I want to be that for you.”

“Luffy,” you whispered again, your bottom lip quivering as your heart began to swell with emotion.

“From when you first touched me on the dock,” his smile returned to his face, “you bumped into me, you know.”

You shook your head with a small smile clinging to your lips once more, reaching your hands out to seek out his own.

“You bumped me when you ran towards the end of the peer,” he nodded, taking your hands within his once more, “and you tickled my interest. Your ferocity, your beauty. I wanted that.”

You giggled sorrowfully, looking down to the wooden deck. Luffy chased your gaze by lowering his head to be within your sights; a small laugh fleeing from both of you as he did so.

“Can we do that?” he asked, nudging your chin upwards with the top of his hair before pressing a small kiss against your nose, “can I love you?”

“I don’t know what to say,” your earlier words repeating from your lips, the memory of him asking you to join his crew eclipsing over your mind and memory.

“Say you’ll run away with me,” he whispered lovingly to you, echoing his words back to you with a wide intimate smile made just for you, “I’ll never let you go.”

Sucking in a final breath of determination and becoming overwhelmed with emotions, you propelled yourself forward into his arms; releasing his hands from within your own and lacing them around his neck. The sheer force of your jump pushed his body back and had you falling into him.

The knocking clumsily of teeth within the overwhelming joy of your embrace was the happiest you truly felt. Your heart swelled as your captain circled his arms not only around your back, but elasticising themselves to constrict your bodies together; lacing around his own back, wrapping around yours in the process. You squealed in delight as he held you closer, your smiles prohibiting you both from deepening the kiss further but enjoying the feeling of nearness all together.

Hoisting you into the air, he rose to his feet and spun you gleefully in a circle, continuing to press his lips firmly against your own in a passionate embrace. He placed you down carefully on the ground once more; unwrapping his tightly bound, elastic arms from your body as you trailed your fingertips beneath his straw hat and clutched at the curls at the nape of his neck. He groaned against your lips at the feeling of you massaging his scalp and pressed further kisses feverishly against your mouth.

He trailed his mouth over your cheek, down to your jaw and looped his arms around your waist, pulling you to rest flush against his stomach and chest as you accidentally knocked the straw hat from his head. The drawstring successfully held his hat dangling firmly from his neck and down between his shoulder blades, prompting another laugh to escape your lips.

Grabbing a hold of his cheeks and relinquishing his assault against your neck, you brought his face once more up towards you and trailed a warm and welcoming caress of your lips against his own. His brows furrowed at the intensity, choosing to suck in a sharp inhale of breath through his nose as he motionlessly held you against himself; choosing to feel every emotion rolling from you onto him.

Breaking from the kiss, you both gazed through half-lidded eyes at each other; true adoration and love being completely shared between the two of you.

“How’s this?” he asked you, pressing his forehead against your own and closing his eyes once more as he felt your breath and heartbeat echoing his own.

“This,” you began, closing your own eyes and feeling his love and adoration falling from him in waves, “is fine.”

“Oh, good,” he whispered, removing his forehead from your own and replacing it with a gentle kiss, “now let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

786 notes View Post

vitzi9

2 years ago

It truly is perfection

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]

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, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie.

Toddlers like cookies, right?

He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time.

He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.

You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird?

"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue.

You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.

"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one."

He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past.

He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour."

You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."

You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.

Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking.

It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!"

He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening."

"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her.

"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?"

"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf."

"I brought cookies."

"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets.

Your bravado makes him laugh.

He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one.

Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting.

He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout."

"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something.

Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you.

"She loves the floor,” he says.

"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch."

"Yeah? What's the tab?"

"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed."

"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies."

"I think those might help me out."

After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos.

"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks.

Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them."

"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."

You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever."

"I like sugar."

You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends.

He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.

Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?"

You pass it to him.

"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip.

"You don't think it looks cruel?"

"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?"

"How many babies do you know?"

"One."

You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it."

Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies.

He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it.

When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"

He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite.

"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done.

Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh.

She has to like Oreos. They're a staple.

"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it."

She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze.

"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely.

Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite.

"Yummy?" you ask.

She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.

You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.

"Do they taste like you remember?"

You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively.

"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together.

One oreo, twice the cream.

You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh.

You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another.

"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them."

"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies.

"Oh."

You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure.

He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure.

Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught.

You could ruin them completely for all he cares.

Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.

“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie.

Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do.

“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks.

You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”

He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”

You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over.

“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”

He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?

“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish.

“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?

“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.

“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”

“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain.

He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip.

There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him.

“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?

Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.”

“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”

“What?” he asks.

“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”

“Are you saying my head is made of wood?”

Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended.

When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click.

He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.

"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?"

He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles.

"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?"

Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started.

Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?"

What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm.

Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.

"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father."

You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.

He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this."

Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom.

He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world."

Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!"

You're clinging to sanity.

It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic.

Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress.

You're terrified.

You've found yourself in tears, too.

"Just tell me, baby," you plead.

It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital.

You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.

He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack.

"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.

There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt.

"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books.

You take a ragged breath.

"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?"

Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say.

"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer.

You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over.

"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown.

"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything."

"She was like this when you picked her up?"

You nod.

He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.

"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise.

He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe."

"Yeah."

Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen.

His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in.

You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it?

Eddie stands by your side, waiting.

“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."

You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock.

You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood

You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe.

"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.

Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?"

"Yeah. A hair."

A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer.

"Stay there," you say without any explanation.

You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees.

You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear.

You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.

"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.

"A hair remover."

You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit.

"How long does it take?"

"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital."

Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.

Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues.

The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.

You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks.

You take the hair between your nails and pull.

"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you.

Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen.

You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully.

"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out."

"I don't feel well."

"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."

You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?"

"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself.

After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see.

Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know."

You're trying very hard to calm down.

"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right."

He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it.

You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.

She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest.

Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this."

"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically.

Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it."

You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to.

"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears.

Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching.

"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.

"Don't be."

"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own."

"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.

"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth.

His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring.

"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.

"I got so freaked out, I just…" You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.

Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh.

You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"

"No.” Your chest burns.

"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast."

Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum.

Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now.

You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears.

"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today.

"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."

You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.

Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can.

"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas.

Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss.

"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel.

"No socks," she agrees.

Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world.

Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence.

Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm.

"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk.

She sighs. You sigh too.

Eddie hums from the kitchen.

He kissed my knee.

You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.

"I think he likes me," you tell Junie.

She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion.

"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers.

You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird."

"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot.

Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices.

"You can cook," you say, surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross."

"I doubt it's gross."

You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.

"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon.

It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained.

He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.

"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look."

"So don't look. Eat."

You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.

He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?

He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth.

“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater.

Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh."

On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin.

You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows.

Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head.

Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson.

You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful.

Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it.

“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you.

Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.

“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”

“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.

He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.

“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe.

You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”

“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company.

He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no.

“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest.

“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to.

He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.

It's embarrassing in its intensity.

You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes.

He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about."

He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible.

“If you’re sure,” you say.

“Positive.”

Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him.

He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly.

“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks.

You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty.

Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing.

Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you.

You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek.

You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin.

You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings.

“I’m great.”

He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?”

You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware.

“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie.

“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”

You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn.

Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily.

One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.

Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter.

"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask.

She looks at you curiously.

You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy."

A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile.

Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.

"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.

He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip.

He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently.

"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut.

She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring.

You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair.

"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye."

Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off.

If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement.

“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.

“Eddie.”

“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”

“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”

He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”

You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”

“You first. Where’re her shoes?”

You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge.

“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.

The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride.

“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour.

He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist.

You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said.

I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.

Don’t patronise me.

You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare.

“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“

“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud.

“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real.

He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”

You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”

“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”

You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”

He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”

You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore.

Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away.

You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly.

“What?” he asks.

"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”

“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.

“Is there a way around?”

“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”

“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”

He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”

Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot.

“Maybe we should find another way.”

“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”

You blow air out of the side of your mouth.

Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”

You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress.

You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.

He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”

You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real.

“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms.

“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”

“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.”

Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs.

You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically.

“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek.

She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like.

“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”

He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same.

She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”

You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”

“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely.

You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”

He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”

“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.

“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”

You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh.

Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric.

You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.

He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”

“No. I don’t deny it.”

“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”

You nod happily, warm under his touch.

Wait. “What?”

“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly.

“Eddie!”

“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion.

“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko."

“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you.

You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same.

“Can I get in on one of those?”

You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”

“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.

Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion.

He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."

"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."

"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.

"Whatever it's called."

He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need.

"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow.

"If you're sure…" you say, following him in

The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow."

"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook.

You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed.

Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes.

Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves.

You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both.

"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately.

You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page.

Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book.

The further you read the closer he gets.

Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters.

"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy."

Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her.

She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. .

"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh.

He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet.

"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later.

Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat.

“And they were awesome."

“Eddie,” you complain softly.

He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers.

You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”

“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky.

“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”

“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”

Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag.

He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.

“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours.

Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.

Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin.

When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.

"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly.

Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts.

After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand.

"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process.

Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly.

Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?"

You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say..

"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls."

It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway,

When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle.

Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile.

And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why.

"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return.

He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs.

"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting.

"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?"

"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose.

He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside.

It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?"

"Okay," she says.

"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you."

You kiss her cheek.

Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe."

Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"

Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds.

"Grand," Eddie praises.

"What did you want to come here for?"

He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there."

'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys.

"Why'd they have so many?"

Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."

"So these are knock-offs?"

"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though."

He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side.

You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time.

Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck."

He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit."

"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck.

"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new.

It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more."

"Who's that?"

You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her."

"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.

You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?"

"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you.

"It would be sick, if you liked them."

He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap."

You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully.

"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?"

It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt.

"You want?" he asks.

You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents."

He gasps. "What?"

"I can afford that one myself."

He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?"

"They won't."

"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match."

Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick.

You see your saving grace across the way.

"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?"

Junie perks up.

"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage.

"What?" she asks.

"I saw… teddies!"

"Mr. Bear?" she asks.

You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?"

She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.

Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.

She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games.

"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe.

"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.

You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her."

He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness.

"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says.

"And if she gets dermatitis?"

His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."

"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash."

"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath."

You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly.

"Shit, really?"

You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk."

"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved."

Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away.

You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose.

You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other.

After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two.

Best day ever.

"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies."

Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever.

She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.

You can't afford all three.

You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one."

"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."

"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."

It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.

"Eddie," you say again, quietly.

He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."

"Really?"

"Only for the rabbit."

You purse your lips to fight a smile.

Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.

"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.

"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"

You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."

Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.

"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.

Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"

"A rash."

"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.

You laugh. "Poor baby."

"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.

"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."

"He thought you were hurting yourself?"

"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."

"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.

You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.

"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."

"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.

"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."

You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.

"You are pretty funny," you say.

"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."

You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."

"Yeah, you should've."

Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.

"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.

You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.

You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"

"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.

He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.

He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"

You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.

"You want me to drive?" you ask.

"No, sweetheart. You're good."

You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.

"Eddie…"

You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.

He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

You waver.

"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."

You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.

"I'll crawl."

You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.

Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."

"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.

The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.

The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.

Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.

"Eddie," you start.

"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."

You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.

"Now you're getting it."

He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.

You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.

Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.

You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?

I didn't force him. He likes me.

He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.

He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."

You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.

"Of course you can."

You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.

"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.

"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."

"Eager to get back?"

"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."

"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.

"I'll try that one after you."

You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.

"Leave some for me."

"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."

He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.

He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"

"I think so."

"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."

"What?"

"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."

"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"

"A long time ago."

You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.

He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.

You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"

"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."

"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"

You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.

You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.

"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.

"Cake?" she asks.

"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."

You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.

"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.

"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.

There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.

"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.

"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.

Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.

"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"

You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

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vitzi9

2 years ago

𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝 | 𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡 (𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: at ralph’s birthday party, you feel the need to apologize for what you’ve done.ralph, meanwhile, has a question to ask you. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ralph (timewasters, 2017) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none! cuteness with ralph, maybe kissing? if that’s a warning? 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is so short i’m sorry but it’s fine (also the surname penbury is courtesy of @mypoisonedvine hehe thanks jd <3)

“Don’t you think you’re a little mean to Ralph sometimes?” you asked, looking down into your glass of champagne. The party was raging all around you, the jazz quartet having moved into some slower songs after the fun of their first song, and Victoria had dragged you to sit and gossip about the “drippy” musician that she planned on asking to dance.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time you had ever posed the question to Victoria. You had known Lady Victoria Penbury since you were in nappies together, and you had known Lord Ralph for just as long— Ralph had a habit of trailing after his twin like a lost puppy, and, while Victoria had always treated her brother as a brother, teasing him and all, since moving into adulthood, her teasing had become more than that.

“What do you mean?” Victoria asked, her pencil-thin eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “He’s Ralph.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said. “You talk over him all the time, you dismiss him constantly; he doesn’t deserve that.”

“And since when do you care?” Victoria asked. “You’ve done it too.”

“I used to,” you corrected her. “And I feel bad about it. But he’s your brother, you should treat him better.”

“Why do you suddenly care about how I talk to Ralph?” Victoria asked.

“Because it’s his birthday too,” you said, gesturing across the room to him. “And he’s sitting all alone over there.”

“If you’re so concerned about him, you go over to him,” Victoria told you, lifting her nose up. “Go apologize for the way we’ve treated him.”

“I was never as bad as you,” you said, gritting your teeth. “At least I act like I actually care about Ralph.”

With that, you got up from the table, gathering your purse in your hand, and you scowled once more at Victoria before taking yourself across the room to where Ralph sat all alone, nursing a glass of champagne. He looked pitiful, although Ralph often looked pitiful, his big eyes wet and owlish and his shoulders slunk in on himself. You knew that Ralph had the capacity to be lively, and seeing him look so forlorn only tugged on your heartstrings.

“Hi,” you said gently, and he looked at you with his doe eyes. God, he really was gorgeous, especially in the multicolored suit jacket that he wore. His hair was slicked back, small fashionable waves sculpted, and you watched his entire demeanor change at the sight of you.

Ralph straightened up, a smile breaking on his face, and he cheered your name. “How are you?” he asked, and he gestured at the empty chair next to him for you to sit. The beads on your dress lightly clacked as you sat, and Ralph looked like he couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “How are you, though, Ralph? You look… Sad.”

Ralph shrugged. “I’m merely gathering energy,” he told you. “For the next dance! Would you dance with me?”

“Of course I will,” you told him, but you struggled to swallow. “Ralph, I wanted to come here to say, um… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Ralph asked, his eyebrows furrowing, much like his sister; for twins, they didn’t look anything alike, but often they had the exact same expressions and mannerisms. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I have, though,” you protested. “I’m so… I’ve been so mean to you. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t been mean,” Ralph said. He played with his tie, his fingers lightly stroking the silken fabric, and you sighed heavily. He was anxious and uncomfortable, you could tell, and you reached out and took his hand.

“Yes, I have,” you told him. “I-I’m rude to you all the time, I never listen to you, I feel proper terrible about the way I’ve treated you these past few years. And here we are, your birthday party, and you’re all alone. If I’ve done anything to hurt you, please, let me apologize.”

Ralph was quiet, his chest heaving as he sighed, and he mumbled, “You’ve done nothing bad to me. Victoria is your friend, and I, her little brother. If anything, treating your friend’s little brother like dirt is common, and you’ve not nearly gotten there yet.”

“Ralph, you realize how bad that is, right?” you told him, holding his hand tightly. “I’m sorry for treating you that way. I-I feel awful.”

Ralph was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking, and he took his bottom lip between his teeth. “Dance with me now,” he said simply.

“Dance with you?” you repeated. “Why?”

“Because I want to dance, there’s a good song playing, and I have nobody to dance with,” Ralph told you. Then, grinning, he added, “You promised me. And it’ll help me accept your apology quicker.”

“Oh, so you’re manipulating me?” you asked with a light laugh, and Ralph nodded quickly.

“It’s what I do best,” Ralph told you, and you were glad to see his smile back. Ralph was a typically happy guy, always giddy and smiling, and you loved to see it. Truthfully, if you could find it in yourself to admit it, you loved to see Ralph.

He was such great fun, always chattering away or playing his ukulele, and, over the years, you had grown a fondness for the slightly younger Penbury sibling. He was a handsome man, those big eyes and pink lips and sweet smile, and his chirpy happiness was intoxicating; that is, when Victoria wasn’t dissing him. There might have been a time when you would have said that you had a crush on Ralph, but, now, as adults, you had locked those feelings away.

Ralph stood from his chair, his hand still in yours, and he pulled you to the middle of the dance floor, his shoes making an odd tapping noise as he walked. “Are you…” you started with a giggle, and Ralph’s smile grew. “Are you wearing tap shoes?”

“Yes!” Ralph exclaimed. “Aren’t they wizard?” His face fell for a moment, almost as if he expected you to interrupt him or shout his name to get him to quiet down, and your heart hurt.

“They are wizard,” you told him. “Exceptionally wizard, Ralph.”

“A-And my hair?” Ralph asked next, his hand drifting up to lightly touch the finger waves in his hair.

“Handsome, as always,” you said, and that cute smile spread across his lips again. One of his hands came down then to touch your waist, the other capturing your free hand, and you laughed at the tap-tap-tap of his shoes as he stepped to dance with you.

“You look beautiful,” Ralph told you, and, when you looked up at his face, you were mesmerized by those eyes of his. If you were just a little drunk, you might have even tried to kiss him. You felt the pull in your belly, but your confidence is what you lacked. You didn’t care what Victoria thought, or any of your other socialite friends— you were terrified of Ralph. Sweet Ralph scared the hell out of you. If you kissed him and he rejected you, you had no idea what you would do with yourself.

“Thank you,” you told him anyway, and you clenched your back teeth to keep in any confessions of admiration.

Ralph, it seemed, had other ideas. A moment passed, those big eyes fixed on your face, and he whispered, “Please don’t hate me.”

“Why would I—“ you started, but Ralph leaned forward before you could finish your question, and he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was objectively simple, nothing more than his mouth meeting yours, but fireworks exploded in your chest all the same. Ralph was kissing you, and you loved it.

The kiss broke, and you couldn’t control the warm flush that invaded your cheeks. Ralph gave you a shy smile, and he said, “Do you hate me?”

“I could never,” you told him, and your hand lifted from his and fell to the back of his neck, and you kissed him again. You could almost feel Victoria’s beady eyes lock on you as you kissed Ralph, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything; only Ralph.

Ralph said your name against your mouth, and you pulled away from him with hopeful eyes. “I…” he started. “I wanted to… I have a question for you.”

“Anything, Ralph,” you told him, your eyes softening at him. “What is it?”

“I’ve wanted to ask you for years,” Ralph confessed, and your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiled at your simple affections, and he cleared his throat, like he was nervous. “But do you… I…”

“”Ralph?” you asked gently, cradling Ralph’s cheek in your hand. He nuzzled his face into your hand for a moment, his eyes closed as he breathed, and he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you.

“Marry me.”

“Ralph,” you gasped, and your heart sank into your stomach. “Oh, darling, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Ralph asked. “We’ve known each other our whole lives, and I love you, and I know that you love me too. You don’t have to tell me, because I know.”

You liked how Ralph just seemed to know, that you didn’t need to tell him anything. Despite him knowing, though, you needed to tell him. “I do love you,” you confessed. “I think I always have. But we can’t just get married, darling, there are things we need to do first.”

“Like what?” Ralph asked quickly. “I’ll do them. Anything to be yours.”

You took a deep breath, and you mumbled, “At least take me on a date first before you marry me.”

“I’ll do it,” Ralph told you. “What else?”

“Ralph, darling, it’s just not how things are done,” you uttered. Despite everything, you stayed in his arms, and you leaned forward and touched your cheek to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat under his jacket, quick like a rabbit’s, and you added, “I need a ring, and we’re not even courting. I adore the thought, I do, but we can’t just get married.”

“Says who?” Ralph asked. “I’ve loved you since we were little. And, knowing how you feel, it only makes me more anxious to start my life with you.”

“You have a life—” you started, but Ralph cut you off.

“Do I?” Ralph asked. “Trailing after my sister is not a life. My life means nothing without you, my love. You bring me meaning and happiness.”

“You do the same for me,” you said softly, and you looked up at his face. “I… Alright, Ralph. I’ll tell you what: I’ll marry you tomorrow if you want, but you have to tell Victoria.”

Ralph pouted, and it made you smile. “Must I?” he asked, like the tortured little brother that he was.

“It’s like you said,” you told him. “If you’ve known me your whole life, so has your sister. Tell her that you intend to marry me tomorrow.”

Ralph looked over his shoulder to Victoria, who was, as you had suspected, staring right at you. “One more kiss before the dragon breathes fire and slays me?” he mumbled as he turned back to you, and you giggled.

“Of course, my darling,” you whispered, and Ralph leaned down to kiss you one more time.

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vitzi9

1 year ago

eddie brock is the og loser boyfriend and i can’t stop thinking about venom just like completely bullying him when he’s in a relationship like his partner is like this drop dead gorgeous person and eddie wears the same sweaty jacket all the time and eats frozen tater tots haha

"There are crumbs on your shirt." Venom observes, and when Eddie nods with a noncommittal grunt, he continues, "And it is not a shirt. It is a sweatshirt. A sweaty sweatshirt, Eddie. And you wore it yesterday."

"That I did," Eddie crams another handful of chips into his mouth, salted and straight from the bag. His attention remains solely on the television in front of him, and Venom's goopy form shakes its head.

"Y/N is coming over later." He reminds the human, watching with disdain as Eddie chokes slightly on his mouthful because of the way he's slouched in his seat. He swallows regardless, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff from the irritation in his throat.

"Yeah, she'll be here in a few minutes," Eddie nods, "Hey, do you think they fake this show? The drama, and all."

Venom has no interest in whether the trashy reality show that Eddie is so enraptured by is fake or not. He cares that you'll be here any minute now, and Eddie looks like a corpse that's been rotting for a few days.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie moves to get up. Crumbs begin raining onto the carpet and he groans as his lazy joints ache, so Venom shoves him back into place with a strong tentacle and uses another to stretch and open the door for you.

You're clearly expecting a person on the other side, but you're quick to recognize the tentacle you're met with instead. It wraps greedily around your waist and you place your hand over its sticky form, grinning as you're barely able to shut the door behind you before Venom yanks you over to the couch.

"Hi, baby," Eddie greets, tipping his head onto the back of the sofa to grin upside-down at you, "How are you?"

"Good," You lean down to kiss him upside down, and Venom is appalled that you're willing to put your lips on Eddie's crumb-coated ones.

"Sour cream and onion?" You guess, and you're rewarded with the near-empty bag of them that Eddie had been demolishing.

You settle happily onto the couch by Eddie's side with the chips in your hand, and when Venom begins to let go of you you hold his tentacle in place. The symbiote watches you silently for a moment, observing your behavior and thinking a whole host of unsavory thoughts about humans and their disgusting tendencies.

"I do not understand," Venom interrupts your gushy sentiments with Eddie about how terrible the acting is on so-called 'reality' shows, "Eddie is disgusting."

The man's nose wrinkles and you let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Thank you, Venom. That's very kind of you. Did you forget you're made of slime?"

"Slime does not sweat. And I do not have crumbs stuck all over me."

"Venom, being in a relationship with someone means that you need to be comfortable with them. We don't have to dress up all the time, Y/N knows what I look like in pajamas and I've seen her hair unbrushed in the morning."

Venom, too, recalls the rather impressive tangled mess of hair that you sport after a night of deep sleep.

"You do not mind that he smells?" Venom turns to you, his milky-white eyes blinking with a squelch.

"He's smelled worse," You give a half-shrug, only one of your shoulders moving as you squirm closer to Eddie beneath the blanket he's draped over you.

"You're both too good to me," Eddie grins, batting his lashes sarcastically, "Careful not to flatter me too much, don't want my head to get too big to fit in my helmet."

Venom regards Eddie for a moment, then thinks of the motorcycle helmet the man breathes into every day. It's repulsive.

"Your head is already abnormally large," Venom observes, settling into Eddie's shoulder opposite from you, "I will keep insulting you so that it does not get bigger. You are repulsive."

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vitzi9

1 year ago

the thing that gets me about about barbie is that barbie land wasn’t even purposefully a matriarchy, barbie land came about because of the way little girls were playing with their barbies, it wasn’t created by mattel it was created by the people using the toys, so the fact that the barbies ignored the ken’s and had girls night every night wasn’t because they had some bias against him, it was just an accurate depiction of how kids play with barbies. I had some ken dolls as a child and they were essential to the plot in the sense that of course my barbie has a boyfriend because that represented the world i saw around me, but also he didn’t have any purpose in my dream world because i was only interested in what the girls were doing because they represented me and how i wanted to be, I wanted girls night every night I wanted the girls to be president and austronauts and not because of some inherent feminist idea but because I was a girl and I wasn’t thinking about boys, ken was an accessory. this movie wasn’t made to change the world but it showed a different perspective than what we usually see which I thought was fun. Men don’t have to be the centre of all our stories and its not even because we hate them, sometimes we’re just not thinking about them

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vitzi9

2 years ago

being bold and deciding to make the first move by kissing his rings before you push his hand up your skirt 🤭

Distracted

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

You're a friend of Robin's whose been in his world peripherally for a while. Like you've gone to the same parties and you've hung out at Family Video and seen him when he brought the teens in to see Steve after Hellfire sessions. You've only hung out in groups and your conversations, though extremely flirty, have been pretty surface level.

But you've got a thing for the quirky metalhead. Not only is he a fucking babe, but he also seems genuinely sweet and is very funny. When you bring this up to Robin, however, you aren't prepared for how she lights up, telling you that Eddie's been asking about you, too. Ever the matchmaker, Robin pushes you into a plot that makes it so that you and Eddie end up alone at his place on a Saturday night (initial group plans are bailed on last minute by all the teens who were threatened within an inch of their life not to actually show up).

Eddie seems unfazed by this turn of events and takes it in stride, cracking open a six pack for the two of you to share and throwing on a horror movie.

"If you want to bail, too, that's cool," he lets you know, even as you plop down beside him on the couch, beer in hand. He's got a self-deprecating smile on his face. "I'm sure hanging out alone with the town freak wasn't exactly on your agenda this week."

"Don't presume to know my agenda, Munson," you tsk, feigning a frown that is already curling around the edges into the smile you can't suppress. "You know how type A I am. I won't have you questioning my to-do list."

You apply the innuendo lightly, but the way his eyebrow quirks lets you know that it lands as you'd intended. Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth while appraising you.

"I wouldn't dare get in the way of your efficiency, sweetheart." There's a dare in his eyes, but you lean back against the couch and watch him over the top of your bottle as you take a sip. You've got time.

As the night goes on, the two of you drink and laugh and tease one another. One movie ends and he puts on the sequel immediately. Some slasher where kids are running around screaming in the woods. The two of you discuss what your own strategy would be if you found yourselves in a similar situation. At this point, you're feeling loose and floaty - combination of the alcohol and the sound of Eddie's laughter. It's got bubbles fizzing in your bloodstream. Your bodies have shifted closer on the couch as time has gone on, and as he emphatically describes something, his hand comes down to press onto your knee. Seemingly just as a matter of emphasis and to ground your attention in his point, but you notice that his hand doesn't lift up when he finishes his monologue.

A thrill of possessive pleasure runs through your body at the realization.

"You know, you'd probably die somewhere around the halfway point of the movie," you challenge suddenly and Eddie's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"I'm sorry, princess, but what?!"

"You know because you're all..." you gesture to his body. The denim vest he's still wearing over his band tee even though he's relaxing at home. The tattoos. The heavy rings on the hand that's still resting on your knee. His fingers flex against your skin when you point at them.

"I'm a badass, you mean? What about my badassery makes you think I'm dying at all?"

"The cool guys always die at the midpoint," you argue. "They get distracted having sex with the hot girls and that's when the killer guts them." Exactly as you say this, as if the universe is trying to bolster your argument, a young man on screen is stabbed through the back mid-thrust, falling down bloody upon his shrieking lover. You glance away from the screen and back at Eddie with a satisfied smirk. "Case in point."

"All I got from that is the fact you think I'm cool," Eddie says with a smug smirk. You roll your eyes at him but shift a bit closer.

"I also said you'd die fucking a bimbo."

"No, you said I'd die fucking a hot girl," he corrects, also shifting infinitesimally closer.

"Oh, so you were listening," you tease. Your hand rests on top of his hand on your knee and you start fiddling with his rings.

"Yeah, and I guess that means you should be concerned," he says flippantly, his fingers splaying out on your knee so that yours have more space to move between them. You're now distracted by the attention you're focusing on his hand.

"Why should I be concerned?"

"Because the hot girl getting fucked by the cool guy dies next," he says, nodding his head towards the tv you had all but forgotten about just as a young woman running topless through the woods, her breasts swinging and covered in her dead boyfriend's blood, is cut down by the killer. You both laugh.

"All I got from that is the fact you think I'm hot," you say turning back to him and mimicking his prior comment. His face lights up with a grin.

"Guilty as charged, sweetheart."

The moment feels right. The electricity between the two of you is palpable and you lift his hand up off your knee and towards your lips.

"They only get got, though, because they get distracted," you posit, pressing a kiss to each of Eddie's rings. His eyes are trained on your lips, his own parted to let his suddenly shallow breathing pass through. "Do you think you could keep from getting distracted?"

"Uh...yeah," Eddie says, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Yeah I'm sure I could stay focused. Vigilant."

"Oh yeah?" you ask, smiling at how he's already so distracted. Suddenly you're lowering his hand and bringing it to the top of your thigh, right at the hem of your skirt. He takes a sharp inhale. "What's that? Losing focus?"

"No. Never, sweetheart," he says with a laugh, though it's shaky. Without even losing a beat his fingers flex in your hand, the pad of his thumb caressing at the skin of your thigh that he's never touched till now.

"What about now?" you ask, abruptly pushing his hand up your skirt to rest on your clothed pussy.

Before you can even process the next heartbeat, Eddie is on you. His mouth is capturing yours in a soul searing kiss and you can't help but gasp into him. Taking in his taste and scent all at the same heady time. Your hand abandons his on your mound and you bring your arms up around his neck to pull him as close to you as possible.

"If I die, I fucking die,” Eddie practically growls against your lips. “Distract me, baby.”

You laugh but he dips his head down to nips at your collar bone and it turns into a moan. Eddie’s hand starts rubbing blindly at your slit through your panties and you find your hips moving against his fingers of their own accord.

“Do horror movies turn you on?” Eddie teases. You bite your lip and shake your head, looking him dead in the eye.

“No, you turn me on, Eddie Munson.”

Suddenly you’re being pushed back down against the couch. The abruptness of his manhandling has you squealing and you lock your arms around his neck, being sure to keep him close and bringing him down with you.

His kiss arrests your lips again, his tongue invading your mouth. It’s everything you ever wanted. It’s what you’d imagined each time you’d watched him from the other side of a party or listened to him joking around with your mutual friends.

All of his attention. All of his focus on you.

What you don’t realize is that it’s always been on you. At those parties and those hang outs, as much as you’d watched him, he’d been watching you. Learned to love your smile and how quick you were to laugh. Catalogued your stories in the back of his mind as you told them to a riveted audience of all the teens.

He’s finally getting to touch you the way he’s always wanted. And it’s working him up faster than he’d like to admit.

You shift on the couch and it gives him more room to slot his body between your opened thighs. When his hard, denim-covered bulge presses against your thigh, your hips buck, pushing up into the palm which has been applying pressure to your pussy.

“Remember that agenda?” You ask with a tremor in your voice. His hand slips under the elastic of your panties, fingers making direct contacted with your slick core for the first time. You both groan.

“Um…yeah.” He says, shaking his head as if to clear it in order to comprehend your words. The tip of a finger circles your clit before sliding down to push into your hole. You gasp. “Your to-do list.”

“You’re at the top,” you gasp out.

There’s a moment where a Eddie doesn’t react. He’s so focused on pumping his finger in and out of your tight pussy, feeling you around him. Watching your chest rise and fall. But when your words make sense he throws back his head and let’s out a bellowing laugh. His laugh makes you laugh and then you’re shaking in one another’s arms. Trying to calm down. The shared vibrations of your joint hysteria seeming to wreak havoc on all of your nerve endings.

Eddie lunges forward and begins sucking at your neck and the tops of your breasts exposed by your low neckline. Just as he adds another finger to your pussy.

“I can be efficient, too, you know,” he says before worrying your skin between his lips.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you be efficient with your shirt off?” You ask, fingers scrabbling at the hem of the garment. Eddie sits up quickly and yanks the shirt off with unnecessary, theatrical aggression, tossing it away as if it’s offended him. You reach out and trace the tattoos on his chest and he moves to lower himself back over you.

“Mmm, cool guy,” you hum, your fingers passing delicately over his inked skin. Eddie quickly unbuttons your blouse and pulls it open, gazing hungry down at your bra-clad breasts.

“Hot girl,” he responds, pressing his face juvenilely between your tits. You grasp at the hair at the back of his neck and laugh until you feel him beginning to suck on you. Then your hips are rolling into his hand. The hand that’s started to fuck you in earnest. “You look like you’re more distracted than me right now, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll be dying before me after all. That petite mort, huh?”

You’re laughing and gasping all at once. His French accent is atrocious but he’s referencing a conversation you’d had with him and Robin about orgasms the week prior. You hadn’t thought he’d been paying attention since he’d been half in argument with Steve at the time, but now you know otherwise.

“You we’re listening to that? Was - fuck - pretty sure you were focused on whatever Harrington was saying.”

“I’m always focused on you, sweetheart.”

You feel heat creeping through your body as fondness mixes with arousal. You’re impatient and you both push and pull at him all at once.

“Ok I just need you to fuck me, ok? Can we jump to that?”

“Nuh uh, I’m making you cum first.” His thumb presses harder circles into your clit and you cry out. But you shake your head dramatically side to side.

“No I want you inside me now.”

“That’s a bit pushy of you, isn’t it?” Eddie teases, but as he does so he eases his fingers out of you and brings them up to lick off your slick. You’re already unbuckling his belt and pushing down his jeans.

“No, I’m efficient. Type A, remember?” His cock springs free of his boxers and you’re ready to drool. He’s practically edible, and if you weren’t so fucking on the edge right now you’d swallow him while immediately.

“How could I forget,” he responds, voice full of gravel as he grabs his cock and pumps one twice. You lay back against the couch, legs splayed and waiting for him, divesting yourself of your bra and cupping your breasts to keep yourself worked up. “Fuck you’re a pretty picture.”

“Gonna just stare or are you gonna do something, Munson?”

“See? Pushy,” he says, even as he lowers himself on top of you and pushes his tip right into your entrance.

The teasing stops as you both come together with rolling hips and gasping breaths. His thrusts are hard and definitive and you find yourself holding on for dear life. He feels so good and right and heavy and strong and you’re so close so soon.

“Eddie…Jesus Christ I’m…” your eyes are squeezed shut and he kisses your eye lids, paradoxically sweet when juxtaposed with the harsh way he’s pounding into you.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks, and there’s playful mocking in his tone. If you couldn’t feel his muscles shaking, proving he is equally close, you would have felt more shame.

“Y-yeah…gonna cum.” You admit it on a whine. He feels so good and then suddenly his finger is between you, swirling over your clit again.

“Already? I guess that’s efficient of you,” he says and you clench hard when you laugh, making him let out a loud moan.

“Stop - fuck! You can’t clench like that,” he admonishes.

“Stop making me laugh then, asshole,” you say with no bite. He, however, bites your neck and laves his tongue over the skin.

“Mmmm, you’re sexy when you’re mean.”

You’re not sure what does it - his thrusts, his finger on your clit, his teasing - but one moment you’re rolling your hips into his and the next you’re writhing beneath him, cumming harder than you ever have before. You practically black out calling his name, so much so that you don’t even notice when he cums along right after you.

You come back to your senses to find him still inside you, trailing kisses up and down your throat and chest. You take a deep shuddering breath and grip weakly at his back.

“You gotta get up,” you say, pushing weakly at him with not intent behind the motion. Eddie shakes his head and buries it into your neck.

“Never.”

“I gotta get up and cross you off my checklist.” You tease with a breathless laugh which he returns.

“You can’t. We were so distracted the killer got us. We’re dead, remember?” His grin is so wide one of your trembling hands lifts automatically to trace his dimples.

“Fuck. The downside to being cool and hot is pretty disproportionate to the upside.”

“Speak for yourself,” he snorts, letting his hand come up to cup your jaw. “I’m staring at a pretty big upside.”

~*~

Tiny tag list (will come back later and add more people): @sacklerscumrag @theoncrayjoy @millenialcatlady @xxcatrenxx @cowboy-kylo

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vitzi9

1 year ago

can you believe that we have fanfiction. that we have websites dedicated to fanfiction. that there is a place that you can go and read tens, hundreds, thousands and thousands of pieces of writing that strangers have made. people who are not "writers". people who come home at the end of the day and have feelings and say, i am going to put that into words. i am going to share those words. short, long, sweet, sad, horny, funny, wonderful words. we are all just human and we all love to make and remake and share that with others. can you believe that.

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vitzi9

2 years ago

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙄 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙙 || the riddler/edward nashton x reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || for the most part, you've managed to let go of the life you lived so long ago, fighting to survive in an orphanage with your best friend at your side; you thought it was the only way to cope with the trauma and move on so you could start living in better means. but the cost of selling out is higher than you thought, and lying to yourself is harder than lying to everyone else. good thing there's a new vigilante in town who really, really hates lies.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 15k (yeah.... strap in y'all)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || SMUT (penetrative sex, loss of virginity, emotional sex, slightly dom!edward), best friends to strangers to lovers, some reader x male oc stuff, explicit violence/murder, minor character death, mentions of previous childhood abuse, bullying, stalking (implied), voyeurism, ANGST!!, hurt/comfort, young reader and young edward doing kid stuff (and sometimes adult stuff but it's not explicit), somewhat non-linear timeline, possessiveness, overall just a lot of emotions

𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙙𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩

Everything is so oppressively cold and damp; your fingers are pruned just from the moisture in the air, but your lips are somehow still chapped from dehydration.

You would think that stripping naked would go against all instinct in a cold like this, but the rags you call clothes don’t do anything for you anyways. They can’t keep in warmth you don’t have, all they do is shield you from the wintery draft blowing through the crack in the wall.

But something else can do that, and so you strip to nothing but your barest of undergarments, and join him under the blanket— it’s thin, but it’s wool, so it does the trick. There aren’t enough of them for everyone, and you try to forget what you did to get yours. You’re both so freezing that at first it doesn’t do much, but over the course of the hour your combined body heat is just enough to fight off the chill. He holds you tighter the first time you relax from the growing warmth; your teeth finally stop chattering.

It’s too cold to sleep, but neither of you are really awake, either— embracing each other and living in that in-between state where there are no dreams but real life isn’t too close, either. Tears run down the bridge of your nose, into the crook of his neck where you’ve buried your face, and it’s by far the warmest thing either of you have felt in days.

“Why are you crying?” he whispers. Even just his voice can soothe you.

“Don’t leave me, Eddie,” you whisper back. “Don’t ever leave me… we need to always be together. Promise me.”

“We will always be together,” he assures, hand tightening on your shoulder. “Always, always, always.”

You startled awake from the dream, already crying. Ironically, you were sweating— you threw off the blanket and felt the blast of air from the ceiling fan above on your sticky skin. It made you shiver.

You never thought you’d miss the cold.

The man beside you stirred awake with a groan. “Are you okay?” he asked groggily.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, baby,” you assured, giving his arm a squeeze with your hand before you sat up on the edge of the bed, “I just need a shower. Go back to sleep.”

“I should go, actually,” he decided, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Denise is probably wondering where I am.”

You looked back over your shoulder and noticed the way the ring on his finger catches the light, even when there’s so little in your bedroom at midnight.

The door shut across your apartment while you were in the shower; you just barely heard it past the sound of hot water streaming past your ears. You tried not to think about what you did to afford a living space so large; you tried not to think about why you were so desperate for a taste of luxury.

But some nights, you can’t keep the memories down. Some nights, it’s like he’s right around the corner of your mind— and you just want to reach around and touch his fingers with yours. Some nights, love is almost enough to make you wish for the past, because even though things got so, so, so much better and you’re never hungry or cold… they got so much harder, too.

Always always always.

Some nights, you let yourself wish he’d kept that promise.

You’d been sipping on your champagne pretty much non-stop all night, social lubricant to help you tolerate the bustle of cocktail party guests crowding your home, but you stopped as your loitering took you by the window and you caught a glimpse down into the street— children, playing in the snow. They reached right into it with their little hands wrapped in mittens, pressing it into globes in their palms and chucking them at each other, chasing and running around.

Chet’s hand on your lower back didn’t even get your attention, you were so used to it by now. “What’s got you thinking so hard, beautiful?” he wondered with a jovial, tilted smile.

“What are they doing?” you asked, looking at him quickly— his hair was getting longer, and grayer at his temples, but it looked good slicked back— before returning your gaze to the scene below.

“What, the kids?” he clarified as he followed your line of sight. “Sweetheart, they’re having a snowball fight.”

He laughed a little, softly, but he stopped and wrinkled his brows when he realized you weren’t joking.

“You’ve really never had a snowball fight before?” he tilted his head. You understood, then, that if you talked anymore about this that you’d make him confused and concerned and that wasn’t what you wanted to do. Over time, you gained a talent for sensing that you were about to make people uncomfortable with the reality of your childhood— Chet knew you were adopted out of the Wayne House for Orphaned Children, at least, but very few others did.

“I guess it’s just been too long,” you dismissed with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, it's been a few years since it snowed," he recalled. "Do you remember that one winter, record lows in Gotham for the past hundred years or something? Oh, it must’ve been almost ten years back— I can’t remember what year it was exactly, but the whole city got a foot of snow, and almost half of downtown lost power.”

You threw back the rest of your champagne in one go, but it tasted more sour at the back of your throat than you remembered.

“Everybody was having fun the first day, my kids made a snowman,” he remembered with a laugh. I wasn’t having fun the first day, you wished you could snarl at him. “But then it got old fast, thankfully our side of the city never lost power— and we had a back-up generator, just in case.”

A friend of Chet’s appeared beside the two of you, the cigar in his hand emanating a noxious odor; you hated the smell of cigars because it reminded you of your “father” as he was legally considered— the man who took you out of the orphanage for his own twisted benefit. Turns out a rich man isn’t likely to adopt a sixteen-year-old girl with nowhere else to go out of the goodness of his heart.

“Surprised to see you standing by a window,” the man addressed Chet with a hearty laugh, “with that Riddler going after politicians— aren’t you afraid of getting sniped?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Hugh,” Chet replied. “I’d love to see him try— I’ve never had a good excuse to use that fingerprint-activated gun safe under my bed. I wish that punk would give me a chance.”

“You should be more worried about standing at an open window with me,” you joked, and both of them laughed.

“Aw, baby, you know I can’t help but show you off,” Chet cooed as he wrapped his heavy arm around your shoulders left bare by your dress. “Especially when you’re wearing what I bought you— doesn’t she look gorgeous?” he addressed Hugh. “Don’t I have great taste?”

“In dresses, or mistresses?” Hugh wondered. “Oh, doesn’t matter— the answer’s yes either way. It’s just a shame you don’t share.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Mr. Haverford,” you returned bashfully, “but I don’t think the dress would fit you.”

Hugh and Chet laughed; you were good at this part, the ‘charming girlfriend of the respected senator’ thing. It was an open secret in this corner of society that Chet played the role of a family man for the cameras but kept you on the side as his plaything. Sometimes he said he loved you, but you figured he just loved how owning you made him feel about himself. And he wasn’t cruel, not sadistic or excessively controlling, and he gave you a great life in exchange for your companionship and silence. Your apartment, for example.

Well… it wasn’t really your apartment, it was his apartment, that you lived in. The apartment he bought specifically for you to wait for him in, specifically as a place where he could meet you in private and use your body and vent about the stress of his facade.

You didn’t know if Denise, his wife, knew. Chet seemed to imply that she didn’t since he always told you about coming up with ridiculous alibis for time he’d spent with you; but you wondered how she couldn’t have figured it out by now, when you’d met so many of his friends, so many of her friends…

If she really didn’t know, that was almost sadder than if she did and just pretended not to. But you tried not to think about her… and Chet certainly spent most of his time with you not thinking about her. I just need to get my mind off things, he’d tell you often, and that was his way of saying he wanted to lay back on the couch with his arms and legs spread wide while you got on your knees and sucked him off. That’s also what he meant when he said I’ve got a headache or is that new lipstick you’re wearing? or remember when I bought you that bracelet?

Now that you thought about it, about half of what Chet said to you really was just code for ‘I want a blowjob.’

“Maybe it’s about time to kick all these people out,” he mumbled to you, squeezing your waist for a moment, “end this re-election campaign afterparty a little early, hm?”

That was code for ‘I want to fuck you.’

Chet said goodnight to the last of the guests shuffling out the door as you finished rinsing out glasses in the sink. “Thanks for coming out,” he nodded at them, shutting the door behind them and letting out a long sigh when the apartment plunged to silence again.

You heard him coming up behind you, but pretended to be surprised when he started to rub your arms, kissing your neck playfully.

“You look so beautiful tonight, sweetheart,” he mumbled, starting to move one of the rhinestone-coated straps of your dress down your shoulder. “You always look nice in the things I pick out for you.”

“Mm, I do,” you hummed in agreement, drying the champagne flute and setting it aside so you could focus your attention on melting into his strong embrace.

“You need some diamond earrings,” he decided as he kissed the shell of your ear for emphasis. “These rubies are nice, but a girl like you needs diamonds all over.”

“Stoooop,” you whined playfully, purring as his hands moved to your hips, pulling you back into him.

“A girl like you needs a diamond on her finger,” he added, his voice even lower, squeezing your left hand. You gasped and turned around, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Chet, you’re not serious,” you assumed.

“Oh, I am,” he insisted. “I wish I could give it all to you now— but re-election is the worst time for things like this, even though all I really want is to be with you. Believe me, I’m gonna divorce her and I’m gonna marry you, after I win and after that moralist vigilante is thrown into Arkham.”

“Batman?” you furrowed your brows.

“No, that Riddler guy,” he corrected.

You rolled your eyes. “Are you really worried about him?”

“Obviously not,” he scoffed, “but still, a psycho who posts crazy videos online and doesn’t like politicians… I don’t know anything past what I read in the papers, but I bet he’s not a fan of guys like me getting girls like you— cause he could never get a girl like you.”

No, you figured someone hellbent on exposing corruption and manipulation was not likely to be sympathetic to a man nearing his sixties with a much-younger mistress running on the platform of family values. It was too bad the man who adopted you had died peacefully in his sleep three years ago, or maybe a man like the Riddler would’ve given him a little suffering for doing what he did to you— for making the money he made selling the pictures he took, for barely managing to wait until you were eighteen to essentially trade you to Chet in exchange for his support on a tax break bill.

You wondered if he would target someone like you, though, for being complicit in so much. You hid so much more than yourself in this apartment… you kept a lot more secrets than just an affair.

“Is that really why you think he does it?” you wondered aloud. “Jealousy?”

“Baby, let me tell you something,” he began, raising an eyebrow and wearing a somewhat condescending smirk. “Everything is about sex.”

You snorted out a nervous laugh.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “everything men do— it always has something to do with women. And guys like that, who need to hide behind a mask… well, if they didn’t have to do it to get women, they wouldn’t do it, that simple.”

“You think Batman puts on a mask to get women?” you giggled.

“I think whoever he is, he must not have what it takes to attract attention with the mask off,” he asserted confidently. “He’s probably not ugly, but I bet he’s broke.”

“You think women can be bought?” you said, only letting an acceptable amount of your irritation seep into your tone— you were trying to be the amount of offended that a guy like Chet saw as a sexy challenge, rather than an actual threat.

“I think women like power,” he offered instead, pulling you closer. “Who doesn’t?”

You smiled, looking up into his eyes and then down at his lips. “I think I’d like you even if you weren’t such a big, important politician.”

He let out a proud little groan and kissed you; you were amazed that he fell for that. He was so logical, cynical even, and yet he believed any lie you told that was flattering.

He carefully pulled you along with him, both of you stumbling out of the kitchen and across the apartment— straight to the bedroom, of course. You were laughing together, somewhat mischievously, as you navigated by memory through the dark and toppled onto the mattress.

His weight on top of you would be crushing if you weren’t used to it; he wasn’t quite fat, per se, though he was medically at risk of being overweight. He was just sort of massive, towering and thick everywhere with a stubbiness to his form everywhere you looked… cock included, the one rubbing up against your inner thigh as he writhed on top of you.

Acting like you had sexual desire for him was one of the easiest parts of all of this, just because it was the most feignable emotion. What you couldn’t fake was physical desire— you had to close your eyes and retreat into your mind to find something stimulating enough to get your body prepared for this.

There wasn’t any one person or idea that you turned to in search of arousal, no handsome actor or erotica sampling or kinky pornography you’d committed to memory; it was more just… ideas.

Warm, safe. Loved. Whole.

You felt your panties sliding down your thighs, you heard a groan from above you. “You want me that bad, beautiful?” he purred. “You’re so wet…”

“Yeah, baby, all for you,” you cooed.

He pushed the skirt of your dress up higher and flopped back down on top of you; you winced when he slipped inside you, not reaching very deep but thick enough to give you a little sting when you weren’t expecting it.

Chubby fingers slid your loose strap down lower, exposing half of your chest, and he sighed as he groped your breast with a clammy palm.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he praised. You had trouble taking comments like that personally. Beauty felt so passive for you.

The room was dark, the only light coming in from the living room through the open bedroom door; it cast a big orange rectangle on the wall just past where you could see over Chet’s padded shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and held onto his suit jacket as he grunted into your ear.

Your eyes fell shut, and the concepts in your mind started to narrow in and gain specificity, culminating towards something you couldn’t describe.

Shared secrets. Ink smudges on your fingers. Scraped knees wrapped in bandages, tears wiped away.

Clutching tighter at his clothes, you whimpered aloud— and he seemed fine believing it was because of how he was making you feel and not because of your runaway memories.

Soft hands gripping at your back, pulling you closer and holding you steady. A language only the two of you speak. The plastic rim of eyeglasses bumping into the side of your face. Always always always.

“Oh god,” you moaned aloud.

“Yeah, you like that?” Chet chuckled proudly.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear his voice, even though he was the only man you’d been with for years; the realization made you shoot your eyes open.

The shape on the wall was now a big orange rectangle… with the shadow of a man inside it.

You were so paralyzed you couldn’t even gasp, you couldn’t breathe at all. Chet’s head was in the way, you couldn’t look at the door and see who was standing there, watching you; for some reason, your instincts didn’t tell you to alert Chet to the ominous presence… you just laid there and let him keep going, because that was basically your whole fucking purpose.

“Kiss me,” you breathed, and Chet sat up slightly to hover above you with a self-congratulatory smile.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he pouted, mocking you, before he leaned down and gave you a hungry, sloppy kiss. When it ended naturally a few moments later, you guided his head to rest on the other side of yours— which gave you the freedom you needed to turn your head and look at the man standing at your door, while you felt Chet’s thrust gain speed and lose accuracy (not that they had a lot of that to begin with…).

You’d guessed it based on the jagged edges of his shadow, and at his presence in a time like this, but you were still shocked to see the Riddler standing there— cast in a golden glow from behind, his face impossible to make out while he was backlit like this. Obviously, his face wouldn’t do you much good when it was masked, but for some reason you wished you could see his eyes… you thought maybe it would make his visage less viscerally haunting, give him some humanity; right now, he looked preternatural, otherworldly, when all you could see of him was a vaguely human shape in tones of muddy brown and deep black. Two things stood out in his appearance when he was lit like this: one, the roll of silver duct tape in his hand, which reflected the light rather obviously; and two, the clear plastic frames around his unseeable eyes, which seemed to almost glow with the light shining behind them, though they too disappeared into blackness in the middle with everything else.

There were a few logical responses for you to choose from: scream for Chet to get his gun, scream at him to leave, scream with no particular goal besides expression of terror.

Instead the terror just stayed inside, and you couldn’t look away, and you felt it all building and swirling and making pins and needles wash over your body in waves. You choked on your breath; and the two of you just stared at each other. Shame hit you just as much as sick pleasure at the knowledge that this man was watching you be ravaged by someone else’s husband, by a father and elected official and the man who swore to crack down on prostitution and get ‘whores’ off the streets.

But he had one in his bed. A tear rolled down your temple; you hated yourself, then, as much as the Riddler must have hated you seeing the living hypocrisy you were. Seeing the way you’d debased yourself for a scrap of luxury. But if he knew— if he knew what you’d been through and where you came from and why you spread your legs just to stay off the streets— he’d understand.

Too bad the only person who could ever understand probably still hated you… if he was still alive.

The invisible, overwhelming stare of a terrorist— and the crushing self-awareness you spent most of your waking moments running from like a track star— was having an… unexpected effect on you.

“Oh, fuck, are you close, sweetheart?” Chet groaned loudly. “I can feel your little pussy squeezing me…”

Well, any chance you had of not giving away to this terrifying stranger that you were about to come from being watched by him was out the window.

“I’m close, too,” he continued, “I’m gonna come so deep inside you.”

Not that deep, but, sure. Live your dream, pal. “I— I want you to,” you gasped.

“I want you to come first,” he insisted. Wow, what a gentleman… it was almost like you didn’t fake your orgasms nearly every other time.

You honestly tried not to give in, you already felt horrifically vulnerable with this man watching you, and now he was about to watch you come. He was about to make you come, without even touching you. Or saying a word.

“Come on and come for me,” Chet encouraged— but as you and the man in the doorway contemplated each other, you were sure that he knew you were really coming for him. For some fucking reason.

Your moans got sharper, louder, needier; after being frozen for so long that you would’ve worried he were a statue if not for his heavy breathing, the Riddler stepped forward into the room. You heard every step of his boots as he circled the room and came to stand by the side of your bed, staring down at you much more closely, but Chet didn’t seem to notice… apparently he was distracted at the moment.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you looked up at the faceless man above you; he tilted his head and you felt your channel clench even tighter. “I—!”

You didn’t get a chance to finish your warning as the heat hit you like a paradoxically-pleasant suckerpunch right to the gut. You choked out a loud, pathetic whimper and went limp beneath Chet’s broad form.

His own grunts got louder and louder, erratic thrusts culminating in one rough slam of his hips against yours as he came inside you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he sighed, sinking his weight down into you, “you’re amazing…”

The Riddler raised his arm and you realized he was brandishing a massive metal pipe in his hand, preparing to bring it down on the back of Chet’s head. You tried to reach up to stop him, but the man on top of you was too wide and heavy to give you that much mobility, and you winced as the weapon came down with a clang.

“Damn it,” you hissed, shoving on Chet’s shoulders, but the dead weight of an unconscious two-hundred-pound man was well past your strength ability. “Will you help get this guy off me?”

The intruder reached down and grabbed Chet by his jacket, both of you heaving to turn him over on the bed.

“He was about to fall asleep,” you explained with a groan as you rushed to cover yourself, pushing your dress back down over your legs and sitting up on the side of the bed. “You could’ve waited and saved yourself the trouble of knocking him out— you’re gonna have to wait a while for him to wake up if you want the combination to the safe, I don’t know it.”

You stood up and noticed his head was tilted down— the light finally gave you enough of a look at his eyes and they were pointed down at your chest. You glanced down with him and realized your dress was still pulled down.

“Shit,” you grumbled as you corrected your strap and covered yourself. “Thanks for letting me know my tits were out, Jesus,” you snapped sarcastically. “You already got a free show, get a grip.”

You brushed past him and he was still just standing there, so you turned around and crossed your arms.

“Well, aren’t you gonna use that tape for something?” you shrugged. “By the way— lead pipe, really? Is this fucking Clue? The Riddler in the bedroom with the lead pipe?”

“You’re in no place to question my methods,” he spoke, finally, and unrolled a long stretch of tape with a sticky, tearing noise.

You tapped the eraser end of your pencil rapidly on your open notebook, desperately hoping for the energy to focus on Mrs. Gilliam’s lecture on Wuthering Heights. You jumped slightly in your seat when you felt something brush against your back through your shirt— you waited until the teacher turned her back to write on the chalkboard to reach behind and grab the piece of paper.

When you unfolded it, the letters were randomized and made no sense… to anyone except you. You smiled as you turned your pencil around and began to work to solve the cipher. It only took you probably less than a minute, and you grinned when you read the decoded message:

IF I DIE OF BOREDOM IN FRESHMAN ENGLISH, BURY ME UNDER THE BLEACHERS

Just as you started to snort a laugh, you covered it with a cough and no one seemed to notice.

“Now, two of the most important themes of Wuthering Heights are childhood, and love,” the teacher continued. “You should all have a pretty good understanding of the first one, but, whether you believe it or not, you’re a little too young for the second.”

You flipped the page over and started working on your code for the other side; it came to you like second nature now, it was how you and Eddie kept your secrets in a place like the Wayne Orphanage where there was never really privacy.

I WANT TO FIND ONE OF THESE WUTHERING HEIGHTS AND JUMP OFF, your message offered in reply, if he could find the key— which he would, quickly, you imagined.

You folded the paper up and turned to pass it behind you, but you jumped in shock when Mrs. Gilliam was suddenly standing right in front of you, having appeared out of nowhere.

“O-oh, we were just—” you began to make up an excuse on the fly.

“Principal’s office, both of you,” she ordered with crossed arms.

“Wait, it was my fault,” Eddie insisted, “she didn’t do anything.”

“Except write a note to you? I have eyes, Mr. Nashton.” She rolled them for emphasis.

She snatched the paper from your hands and unfolded it; you instinctively reached to try to stop her, but sat back down when you realized it was useless.

“Wow, riveting stuff,” she spoke sarcastically as she displayed the paper for the class. “Random letters? No wonder you’re not interested in English class, you apparently can’t actually write in English.”

The classroom erupted into laughter, and you shot a sympathetic glance at Eddie who was looking down at his knees, cheeks starting to turn a little pink. Getting picked on by upperclassmen and even other freshmen wasn’t really new to either of you, being orphanage kids and all, but you wished the teachers wouldn’t do this kind of thing as well.

“I-it’s a cipher,” Eddie attempted to sheepishly explain.

“I don’t care,” she insisted, “you can explain it all to Mr. Waters and see if he cares enough to keep you out of detention for disrupting my class.”

“Actually,” you interrupted, “we were just passing notes. You were the one that disrupted the class.”

A few astonished laughs and ‘ooooh’s echoed around the room, and Mrs. Gilliam gave you a glare of pure fury. “Be sure to explain that attitude to the principal, too, missy,” she snapped.

And, to be fair, you tried… but it didn’t go over well. You cringed as Mr. Waters glared at you over the thick tortoise-shell rim of his glasses.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, “especially for an issue in class. You’re such a good student.”

“I— well, I try to be,” you offered meekly. “I’m sort of distracted today. So is Eddie— we didn’t sleep much last night, there’s no power at the orphanage and it’s so cold—”

“While I’m sympathetic to your extenuating circumstances,” the principal offered, “I can’t allow you to disrespect teachers on account of a poor night’s sleep. Many of our students lost power in this winter storm—”

“Yes, but our walls aren’t insulated—”

“I wasn’t finished speaking,” he informed you sternly.

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled.

“My point is, there are always excuses,” he continued, “but they never mean much. You’re responsible for your behavior at school, and I would encourage you to consider the company you keep and how that affects your performance.”

You wrinkled your eyebrows together. “You don’t mean Eddie…” you hoped.

“Edward is a bright student,” Mr. Waters mitigated, “but his attitude is… concerning, at times. I think you might be better off with a wider social circle— maybe not latching on entirely to someone so isolated.”

“He’s not isolated,” you defended, “he has me.”

“Yes, well, clearly the two of you have a strong connection.”

“No, we— it’s so much more than that. We don’t just have a connection, we are connected,” you explained defensively. “That’s not a choice, that’s just… how it is. You just wouldn’t understand because you’ve never needed anybody the way we need each other.”

He laughed a little, looking down at where he rested his elbows on his desk, shaking his head. It was so fucking condescending you wanted to scream. “Listen,” he began, “it’s normal, at this age, to feel like you’re the first person to discover feelings this powerful. And it’s normal to think someone you have a crush on now will always be the most important thing—”

“Wait, wait,” you shook your head, leaning back as if you couldn’t physically process his words as fast as they were traveling through the air. “A crush?”

“I’m sorry— love,” he corrected, semi-sarcastically.

“It’s not— um, we aren’t—” you stammered, looking down and feeling your face get a little warm. “It’s not romantic, really. We’re more like siblings, I think.”

I think being the operative phrase there. Siblings sometimes still didn’t feel like enough to capture it, but more than that, things had happened last night that you weren’t sure how to explain. You knew enough to know that it wasn’t technically sex, but… it wasn’t something best friends normally do— definitely not siblings. Even though you’d been thinking about it every moment since, you still hadn’t figured out what it meant. Was it just respite from the cold, survival instinct? Was it a moment of weakness as the winter seemed to seep right into your mind and make you a little delirious?

Regardless, it was perfect. It was a moment of perfect in a life of so much suffering. Three days of blistering cold— the weekend, plus the Monday when the school called a snow day and other children must have celebrated while you cried for hours knowing you’d be separated from your chance at warmth and a decent lunch that much longer— and one night in each other’s arms feeling like you might just be okay.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Waters coughed, “I didn’t mean to assume. But that is the prevailing assumption, when a boy and girl spend this much time together.”

“Well, the prevailing assumption is generally wrong,” you informed him, “because people are generally very stupid.”

He snorted. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“I’m sorry for being rude to Mrs. Gilliam by passing notes in her class,” you concluded. “I’ll write her an apology letter.”

“Considering the circumstances, it may be more fitting to apologize verbally,” Mr. Waters noticed.

“No,” you shook your head, “I’d like to prove to her that I do know how to write in English. Will I be receiving detention?”

“Yes, after school today, until 6,” he nodded, and you nodded back in acceptance. A few more hours in the heated building, with ample time to do homework without the distractions of screaming babies and kids getting into fistfights, was anything but a punishment in your mind. You stood up to leave, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. “Would you send in your, uh, brother on your way out?”

“Sure,” you agreed, and you slipped out of his office, past the receptionist— where you caught a glimpse through the glass wall of Eddie surrounded by four juniors shoving him around, forcibly roughing up his hair and laughing at him as he anxiously shoved his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. One was already midway into dumping the contents of his backpack onto the ground as Ed weakly begged them not to.

You glanced back at the receptionist behind you in exasperation, finding her caught up on a clearly-personal conversation on her phone instead of either noticing, or caring, that this was happening just a few feet away. Sighing, you stormed out of the waiting area and into the hall.

“Where do you get off?” you snapped at the leader: Darren Blanchard, you knew him much better than you wanted to.

“Hey,” he grinned at you— and though it did intimidate you to see him and his gang step closer to you, you were just relieved that it took their attention away from Eddie. “What’s a goody two-shoes like you doing in the principal’s office?”

“What’s an illiterate dumbass like you doing in a school?” you returned, and his buddies sarcastically laughed at your comment.

“You know, it’s a shame you waste all your time with your Loser of the Year over here,” Darren continued. “All us junior guys agreed you’re the hottest freshman girl. You could be popular if you let one of us take you out.”

“Oh, really, you all agreed?” you chirped. “Did you take a vote in between jerking each other off?”

“Listen, bitch,” one of the others— you thought maybe his name was Craig but you weren’t sure— snarled as he grabbed you by your shirt and shoved you back against the glass wall.

“Stop,” Eddie demanded, and they all turned to look at him.

“Ed, don’t,” you breathed.

“Don’t touch her,” he continued anyways, and you sighed in frustration.

“Or what?” another thug challenged. “What are you gonna do?”

“I— I don’t—”

“C’mon,” Darren grinned predatorily. “Tell me what you’re gonna do if I touch her.”

“I…” Edward began again. “I’ll kill you!”

They all laughed, and you hung your head in shame. “Oh my god,” Darren croaked out between cackles, “oh, that’s sad. That’s really sad.”

Probably-Craig grabbed your wrist and Edward made good on his promise— uh, sort of. He threw a punch and hit one of the other boys in the jaw, but it landed like a fly on a dinner plate; the punch he got back, meanwhile, knocked him straight to the ground.

You broke free from the grasp of the boy holding you and knocked him back long enough to get one kick between the legs in, and he crumpled to the ground— but Darren grabbed you and held you back as the other two still standing dragged Eddie up off the ground.

“Let me go!” you whimpered, struggling against Darren’s grasp but finding it totally useless.

“It’s cute when you put up a fight,” he grinned. “Get up, Craig— this little bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”

Obviously resisting the urge to hold his injured groin, Craig clamored up and walked up to where Darren was holding you back… and suckerpunched you right in the stomach, so hard you worried for a second you might wretch. “Stop!” Eddie shrieked, but his own cry was cut short as he got a similar treatment— except much more unrelenting.

You had to blink the tears out of your eyes to catch a glimpse of Eddie getting absolutely pummeled, and it only made you sob harder. A punch to his cheek knocked his glasses off onto the floor, where they were promptly stomped on. “Leave him alone,” you croaked out, “please—!”

Darren dropped you to go get in on the action, and you fell to your hands and knees atop the scattered contents of Eddie’s backpack all over the tile floor; you scrambled up and dashed to the receptionist’s desk, all but slapping the phone out of her hands.

“Look!” you demanded, pointing to the glass wall, and she frowned as she stood up.

“Hey!” she shouted at them, and they all stopped and turned to look at her. “Break it up!”

Principal Waters, apparently overhearing the commotion, stormed out into the waiting room and that definitely got their attention— the boys holding Edward dropped him to the floor unceremoniously and straightened themselves. “You four!” he bellowed. “In my office, now!”

They awkwardly shuffled past you. Darren shot you a glare and Craig waited until the receptionist returned to her phone call to whisper, “snitches get stitches.”

“Just worry about the stitches you’re gonna need,” you returned, glancing at his crotch— which yes, he was clutching still, though he was probably overexaggerating the injury for a sympathy appeal to Mr. Waters.

As the principal shut the door behind them, you ran back into the hall to find Eddie trying to lift himself up off the floor.

“Oh god, Ed, it’s all my fault,” you whimpered as you reached under his shoulders to help him up. “Your lip is bleeding,” you sighed as you reached up and dotted the blood away.

“I-I’m fine,” he assured, unconvincingly, as he blinked down at you.

“Your glasses,” you remembered. “I’ve got tape in my backpack, hold on.”

You picked up the two halves off the floor, and sat down on the bench in the hall (where he sat down next to you as well) to open your backpack and take out the roll of Scotch tape you kept at the bottom. With a decently-sized strip stuck to one of your fingers, you held the snapped bridge of his frames together and carefully wrapped the tape around.

“There,” you smiled as you turned to the side and gently slipped them onto his face. “It won’t fix the cracked lens, but, it’s a start.”

You noticed the way he was looking at you through the spider-web splinters in the glass, and it made you feel all warm inside. He looked away nervously. “I wish I could protect you,” he mumbled.

“You do, Ed,” you assured as you reached forward to squeeze his hand— but he pulled it away.

“No,” he denied, “you’d be better off without me. I’m the reason they treat you like that. If it weren’t for me you’d be the pretty popular girl.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you scoffed. “Popular is for normal people, and I hate normal people. Pretty is for shallow people— the only ones worse than normal people.”

“Well, you’re still pretty,” he explained, and damn it, there was that feeling again— you didn’t know what to say, but the subject changed itself when the tape on his glasses gave way and the two halves fell limply at the sides of his neck, still hooked onto his ears. You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth with your hand instinctively.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you giggled, “I’m not laughing at you— it just looks funny.”

“No, it’s fine,” he promised, “it’s worth making you laugh.”

“I’m sorry my tape didn’t work…”

“Oh, that’s okay! I’ve got my own—” he looked at the assortment of his belongings all over the floor, pointing to the duct tape roll that had rolled its way across the hallway— “right there.”

He got up to get it and you sighed a little as you got down on your hands and knees to start gathering the papers and notebooks strewn about, while Eddie was busy using his teeth to snap off a small piece of tape and carefully repair his glasses.

“Can you see those well enough to fix them yourself?” you asked, still working on stacking things neatly enough to fit back into his backpack; you glanced up at him and saw him holding the glasses about an inch from his face as he repaired them, making you chuckle to yourself. You looked back down at the papers around you, mostly homework and notes with a few doodles here and there (Eddie liked to draw little things while teachers explained things he already knew everything about), and you tilted your head as you caught a glimpse of one page specifically. It was a cipher— a symbol cipher, not key, and most interestingly it was one you didn’t recognize. There was a legend on the side, and a message in the middle; you could see so much erased and scratched out, clearly he was still working on this specific code. Distracted, you sat back on your feet for a second to try to solve it. You glanced back and forth between the message and the key, decoding it one letter at a time.

I SHOULD HAVE KISSED YOU

You tilted your head when you realized what it said, and just then Eddie snatched the paper out of your hand. “D-don’t look at that,” he mumbled awkwardly, gathering more papers of his own and haphazardly shoving them into his backpack. Before you could ask more, Mr. Waters stepped into the hallway, and you and Edward stood up nervously to await your sentencing.

“Is it true, Mr. Nashton, that you punched Kyle Mitchell in the face?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know, sir,” he admitted, making the principal raise an incredulous brow. “I just swung— I wasn’t sure who I hit… I kinda can’t tell them apart.”

You tried not to laugh at that. “But you did hit someone,” Mr. Waters presumed.

“Yes, sir,” he sighed.

Mr. Waters’ attention turned to you next. “And you… did you kick Craig Johnson in the, uh…”

“Johnson?” you repeated.

“Watch your language,” he frowned.

“N-no, I really didn’t know his last name,” you insisted.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, “well… you admit to kicking him, then?”

“Yes,” you agreed, “in self-defense—”

“Regardless,” Mr. Waters interrupted, “school policy dictates that any involvement in a physical altercation merits an out-of-school suspension of at least one day—”

“Out of school?” you repeated, choking up instantly. “Principal Waters, please—”

“It’s not up to me,” he assured.

“It’s so cold,” you whimpered, “there’s no food, please, you can’t keep us out of school!”

“I can, and I have to,” he repeated, firmer.

“Please, just an in-school suspension, detention for a month, anything!” you offered.

“Suspend me for the whole week,” Edward bargained, “and let her come back tomorrow. Please.”

“Eddie, no,” you whined, but Mr. Waters stopped you both.

“Student discipline is individual,” he explained, “and not something that can be traded or transferred to someone else. You’ll be sent home with a letter to the head of the House explaining your suspension, and you may return to campus on Thursday. I’m sorry.”

He turned and left, leaving you to fall into Eddie’s arms with shaky sobs. “It’s my fault,” you choked out, “it’s all my fault, if I just hadn’t kicked him—”

“Shh,” he soothed as he stroked your back. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay…”

“How?” you whined.

“When we get back from school,” he began, speaking quietly against your ear, “we’re not going to give them the letters. You know they aren’t going to notice anyways… and tomorrow, we’ll wait for the bus, but we’ll get off at the next stop— and we’re going to go spend some money.”

You leaned back to look up at him through your tears. “What are you talking about? What money?”

“Craig Johnson’s money,” he explained, holding up a wallet— which you quickly snatched out of his hand to hide in your backpack, glancing to make sure no one had seen. The receptionist certainly hadn’t, she was laughing hysterically at something said by whoever she was on the phone with.

“Where did you get that?!” you whispered.

“Off the floor— must’ve fallen out of his pocket after you kicked him,” Ed smirked proudly. “We can stop at a diner and get a hot breakfast first, then buy coats at the mall and snacks to hoard when we get back to the Home—”

“Oh my god,” you squealed excitedly as you hugged him tightly. “Eddie, we’re not gonna be hungry tomorrow, or cold—”

“No, we’re not,” he agreed, holding you even tighter in response. “We’re gonna be safe… and we’re gonna be together. Always.”

You sniffled and discreetly wiped a tear off your cheek, forcing yourself out of the memory and back into composure as you stood up straight in front of the bathroom mirror.

Stepping out into the living room, you found that the Riddler had arranged a little scene mid-progress; he sat your unconscious boyfriend up in a chair, walking around it to encircle him with the tape. He only had it wrapped around once when he stopped to stare at you.

"Am I next?" you asked. "Are you gonna tape me to another chair and… torture me, kill me?”

You considered saying the other thing he might be likely to do to you after restraining you, but you didn’t want to give him any ideas. Even though if that was what he wanted to do to you, he could’ve done it by now.

“I thought about it,” he admitted. “The thought upset me. So as long as you don’t interfere and let me carry on, I’ll leave you be.”

You let him go on for about a half second longer, before you had to interrupt him: “Wait,” you mumbled, and he sighed and set down the roll of tape, barely leaving Chet’s limp form stuck to the chair. "Don't kill him," you pleaded. "I know he's not perfect, but he doesn't deserve to die. Wouldn't it be better to keep him alive and use him— like a man on the inside?"

"I have no interest in the usefulness of a bribed senator," the Riddler insisted firmly, "or in the advice of his whore."

You scoffed at the term even though it wasn’t exactly wrong, and made your cheeks sting with heat. "Listen, you don't know me—"

"I know everything about you," he interrupted in a growl, stepping closer to you. "I like to do my research."

“If you know me, then you know why this is what I had to do,” you replied. “Did your ‘research’ show you how awful that orphanage was, that not a cent of Dr. Wayne’s grant ever made its way to us after he died? That we fucking starved? And just when I thought I was free, adopted by an important wealthy man and sent to the best private school in Gotham… well, you must have seen the pictures my dear old dad took of me—”

“You—” he choked, sighing and looking down. “You don’t have to worry about those anymore.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “I— what?”

“There weren’t a lot of copies left,” he explained, “most of them were never digital but, either way, I destroyed them all.”

“Wh—” you choked, looking down at the ground because suddenly looking at his masked face was a little overwhelming. “Why would you do that for me?” you whispered.

“I… you were a kid,” he answered, apparently struggling with an explanation of why he would go out of his way to save your dignity. “I don’t like pictures of kids being out there, I don’t think that makes me particularly special.”

“Of course it does,” you breathed, holding your own arms tightly. “It makes you special to me…”

“Well—” he coughed, “I just wish I could kill everyone who ever bought them, or saw them. I wish I could kill everyone that exploited you— I’m about to kill that senator, because of what he did to you.”

You blinked up at him, thin tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Because of me?” you whispered. “What… what does this all have to do with me?”

“You’ll see,” he promised.

Just then, you only got a split-second warning as you heard Chet yell, and he dashed in out of nowhere to tackle the intruder to the ground. He landed with a powerful thud and you yelped in shock.

“Son of a bitch,” Chet sputtered as he wrapped his fat hands around the Riddler’s neck. Gloved hands reached up and tried to fight him off, but Chet was stronger— and most of all just heavier, leaning in with all his weight.

It’s impossible to describe what came over you then, an instinct so natural you didn’t even realize what you were doing, until you came to and that damned pipe was in your hand, and Chet was collapsed on the floor beside the masked man. The whore in the living room with the lead pipe… but you still needed one more clue to solve the mystery.

“Oh, oh god,” you sighed, falling to your knees; the Riddler was looking up at you, apparently surprised that you saved him— of course he would be, so were you after all. You caught his stare from behind his glasses, which had cracked when he hit the floor, and you leaned in a little closer. Reaching up, your fingers brushed over the leather covering his face, and your lip started to quiver— green eyes looked right through you from behind the shattered glass, and you pulled the frames away gently so you could lift the hood and see his face.

Well, it was a little distorted covered in plastic wrap, but it was still obviously him. He still looked so young and boyish, he looked just like he did in your memories, even though he must’ve aged just as much as you.

You smiled just in time for a tear to slip past your lip. The taste of tears brought back memories too. “Eddie?” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice was muffled but familiar, casting a cloud of condensation around his mouth on the clear material. You laughed and started to pull at the plastic so you could hold his face unfettered but he reached up to hold your wrist and stop you. “I need to keep that on— so I don’t leave any hair behind…”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and pressed a long kiss right on his lips: obviously there was plastic in the way, but you just needed to kiss him at that exact moment and a little Saran wasn’t gonna stop you.

You felt his gloved hands reach up and brush gently over your back, delicately pulling you closer, and you smiled. It had to end sometime, though, and the taste of whatever chemical gives this stuff its self-stickiness wasn’t entirely pleasant. You broke the kiss to laugh again, you couldn’t help it with the joy so pure running through your veins that it made you all shaky and tingly like you skipped lunch or something.

At the same time, you both said the same thing to each other: “I thought you forgot about me.”

“You thought I— what?” Edward responded to you. “I could never—”

“Of course I couldn’t forget you,” you breathed. “I know you didn’t want that man to adopt me— you were right, in the end, but I thought you wanted me to stay more than you wanted me to be happy… and you promised to write letters, and you didn’t— I thought you hated me for leaving you behind, but I wanted us to be adopted together, but he just wanted me—”

“Hey,” he interrupted your neurotic ramble with a hand on your shoulder, “I never hated you— I couldn’t hate you, I just knew you wouldn’t be safe with him. And I did send letters, every day. I thought you ignored them all— did you never get them?”

“No, he must’ve thrown them away,” you sighed, “of course he would.”

“I figured you just wanted to forget about everything from before…”

“I did— I tried to, after I moved in here, but I could never stop thinking about you for very long,” you admitted, looking away and feeling your cheeks warm. “What did you end up going into— like, what do you do now?”

“Uh, I do this,” he answered, motioning to his khaki-green get-up and the unconscious man beside him.

“I mean other than this,” you giggled, rolling your eyes.

“I’m a forensic accountant,” he explained, and you beamed.

“Oh, Ed— that makes so much sense for you!”

“Did you ever get a chance to be popular at the private high school?” he asked. “Since you didn’t have me dragging you down.”

“Well, not really,” you hummed, “he only sent me there because he was a big donor and he knew they’d ignore me when I tried to tell them what he was doing… the other kids weren’t as violent as they were at South Gotham High, but they didn’t like a charity case in class with them very much. I hope it wasn’t so bad for you after I transferred…”

“Uh, yeah, it was fine,” he muttered.

“Eddie, don’t lie to me,” you sighed.

“I-I got beat up, a lot,” he shrugged, “but it wasn’t that bad— I mean, I never had to go to the hospital or anything.”

You whimpered and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest as he sat up and held you tightly. “I didn’t even know if you survived that place… I’m just happy you’re alive.”

“I wasn’t really alive,” he whispered, “until just now, having you in my arms again.”

A groan made you both turn your heads to the side, finding Chet staring dazed at you both. His eyes trailed over his arms around you, your hands on his chest. “Wh…what?” he mumbled groggily.

Edward sighed and reached for the hood you’d left on the floor, tugging it on. “You’re a tough old bastard, huh?” he grumbled. It must’ve been the mask that changed his voice, he sounded pretty different with it on.

“N-no, please,” Chet began to sleepily beg for his life. Edward grabbed the pipe one more time (even though it had proven to be less of a permanent fix insofar), but turned to you before he did anything with it.

“I would, um, kinda prefer that you didn’t see this,” he told you nervously.

“Right— sure,” you agreed, standing up, even though he’d already seen plenty you would’ve rather him not see tonight. “I’m gonna take a bath, just… come get me when you’re done?”

“Okay,” he hummed happily, turning back to Chet who looked bewildered to say the least. “Where were we?”

You were walking to the bathroom to draw your bath, but you heard a bit more of their conversation on your way.

“What’s going on?” Chet asked, almost accusatory. As if his girlfriend having some bizarre connection with the serial killer in his apartment was more important to him than, you know, the serial killer in his apartment.

“You love her, don’t you?” Ed asked him, and apparently Chet must have nodded before he continued. “I can’t blame you. But I loved her first.”

You shut the bathroom door behind you, in time with the loud sound of the weapon coming down on Chet’s head; you winced, trying not to notice the icky, wet crunching sort of noise a lethal blow like that made.

Turning on the faucet— hot water first, then a bit of the cold side just to keep it from getting scalding— the loud rush of water mostly covered the sounds of Ed unrolling more tape, hopefully enough this time to keep Chet down for good (although you didn’t think he was coming back from that last hit, but you weren’t an expert on these things).

You stripped down out of your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pile of black silk before you stepped into the rising water.

A sigh of relief fell from your lips as you relaxed into the warmth. Realizing you still had all your jewelry on, you slipped off the bracelets and rings, setting them on the edge of the porcelain tub; you took out your earrings and centered them inside the bracelets delicately.

On accident, you nearly fell asleep right there in the bath just because you were so… at peace. You never felt as safe as you did with Edward nearby, even if he had always seemed worried that he couldn’t protect you. Every good memory from the orphanage came rushing back, every moment of joy born from the suffering: sharing a warm bread roll, hiding under your bed and whispering to each other, carving your secret language with its scrawled shapes and symbols into the wall. On the day before your birthday one year, he’d taken a snack cake home from school and stayed up until midnight with you just to unwrap it and strike a match to stick in it, telling you to blow it out and make a wish. Chet had gotten you a three-tier custom red velvet cake last year, with sparklers and golden lettering sticking out of it, and thrown you a lavish party to serve it at… but when you closed your eyes and tasted the first bite on your fork, you found yourself longing for that empty room and pre-packaged plastic-wrapped cake with the artificial cream and the waxy legally-not-considered-chocolate coating with a wooden match in it. Really, of course, you were longing for him, for your soulmate, your best friend— your always.

As is to be expected with almost falling asleep, you didn’t realize how close you were to it until you were brought back to full consciousness by Eddie opening the door. You blinked your eyes open and smiled up at him, noticing the way his eyes trailed over your body left exposed by the clear, still water. “Hi,” you greeted.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked. “You might want to pack a bag… some stuff to bring to my apartment. Unless you wanna wear my clothes.”

He was obviously being sarcastic, but you were obviously tempted by the idea with the way you bit your lip and glanced away. “I’ll get a few things,” you decided. “I don’t know what kind of money you’re making doing accounting, but if I pawned some of my jewelry we could live large for a while.”

He knelt down, resting one of his elbows on his knee, and gently pulled off a glove. Reaching out with a bare hand, he brushed his fingers over your cheek, and you smiled and took a deep breath. You leaned into his palm and felt him cradle your jaw gently; “We shouldn’t waste any more time,” he breathed, “the police will be here in a few hours, when they see my video.”

“Are they going to be looking for me?” you asked.

“I warned them not to,” he sighed, “but they probably will. You’ll be safe with me, though… no one will ever find you.”

You smiled contentedly, reaching up out of the water to rest your hand on top of his where it held your face, before turning to give his palm a small kiss. “Let’s hope not. I want it to always just be us.”

You leaned down over the edge of the crib, smiling at the sweet, chubby face looking back up at you; she smiled when she saw you, and you reached down to let her grab onto your finger. “Hi!” you greeted excitedly, cooing at her as she kicked her feet up and wiggled around. “I wish I could come visit you every day, but I’m not gonna be able to from now on… you gotta stay tough, okay? My little trooper. You made it through that winter, you can make it through anything.”

He didn’t make a sound or move into your line of sight, and yet you somehow sensed Edward’s presence in the doorway; you turned your head up and back to look at him as he watched you. “What are you doing all the way in the nursery?” he asked.

“Saying goodbye to baby Hannah,” you explained, looking down at her again. “I’m gonna miss you, little dumpling!”

She giggled even though she obviously had no idea what you were saying, and you continued babbling at her meaninglessly. Eddie stepped up behind you, and you jumped straight up when you felt his hand on your back. “Stop hiding from me,” he demanded— not angry, not sad, just… flat.

“Eddie, I’m not—”

“And don’t lie, either,” he requested.

You sighed, pulling your hand out of Hannah’s crib and facing him properly.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, and you’re not coming back,” he reminded you.

“I said I would visit—!” you denied.

“You’re not coming back,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t. There’s no reason to be in this place a second longer than you need to. But you’ve been spending all week preparing to go without even saying goodbye to me.”

“Ed, I—” you began, starting to tear up already. “I don’t even know where to start… if I try to imagine not seeing you every day, not living with you and going to school with you, it just makes my brain go blank. I don’t know what life is without you.”

“Well, you’re gonna find out,” he smiled. “You’re gonna do what we always promised we would do… escape.”

You glanced away so he wouldn’t see how hard you were fighting not to cry, as if you could ever hide something like that from him. “But we were supposed to do that together,” you whimpered. “Eddie, I begged them to take you, too, but they said—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he assured, “I’m not going.”

“But you’ll write to me?” you interrogated. “You’ll visit me? Arkham College Prep is kind of a long bus ride, but I think my new parents are gonna give me an allowance so I can send you the fare—”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “We’re gonna see each other as much as we can, and in a few years we’ll be really free and…”

As he trailed off, you swallowed thickly. You’d spent years planning your lives as adults, but the older you got, the less fantastical your dreams became. You could still remember when he wanted to be an astronaut and you wanted to be a ballerina. Then it was secret agent and rockstar. Then it was engineer and teacher.

By now, it was just the hope that you’d make it that far. Even in a place like the Wayne House where life was near-constant torment, certain things were guaranteed. In adulthood, there’s no promise of shelter from the rain or one meal a day. Worst of all, there’s no one by your side through it all; you were both forced to wonder if it was ever feasible to dream that life wouldn’t keep you two apart one way or another.

You reached up and slipped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He hugged you back, but it felt different— distant. It felt like he was trying to let you go already, and accept that you were leaving for another life without him; you hated that. You couldn’t let this be the end, and you couldn’t let him pretend this didn’t matter so it wouldn’t hurt as badly because it was killing you inside.

Just as you started to hold each other tighter, one of the adult staff happened to walk by the door. “Hey,” she snapped at you both, and you pulled away from each other. “Lights out in ten minutes. You shouldn’t even be in the nursery— go back to the adolescent wing, and stay on your side of the hall.”

Her last warning was especially aggressive as both of you had been disciplined excessively for being in the opposite-gender rooms after hours. It was never anything inappropriate— well, there was that one night that toed the line pretty hard, but the point is your intentions were never as nefarious as they assumed. Thankfully, you only got caught about one-third of the time.

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Eddie nodded at her simultaneously, and she continued walking along.

“After lights out,” you whispered to him, “wait a half hour and then meet me in the courtyard…”

You reached up to rest your hand on his chest and felt his heart racing; your was, too.

“And we’ll say goodbye,” you finished, “properly. The way we need to.”

The time you spent staring up at the ceiling that night, counting the ticks of the clock in the hall outside, was excruciating. Minutes had never been longer in the history of time, probably.

Honestly, you never had a chance at sleeping anyways: a few of the girls most jealous that you had been adopted and were leaving tomorrow had threatened to jump you as soon as you fell asleep. You knew one of them had already been caught with a shiv she made out of an old soda can… so, beyond just excitement to have your secret rendezvous with Ed, you were never exactly in a position to get any rest.

When the time came, you slipped out of bed as quietly as you could (which took an intimate knowledge of the creaky springs in your half-rotted mattress) and crossed the floor delicately (which took an intimate knowledge of the creaky floorboards in the half-rotted floor), dragging your blanket behind you.

Peeking out into the hall, you knew none of the adults would be back to check on anyone for a while… they were supposed to stay overnight to make sure no one got hurt, but even they couldn’t stomach sleeping in a place like this and had a tendency to go back to their homes and return in the morning as if the children wouldn’t notice. Still, you needed to be careful in case one or two stayed behind and would catch you and force you back to your room— or in case you woke up another ward, especially one of the more unsavory boys who might take advantage of finding you alone.

Blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape, you navigated the circuitous path around the House that would take you into the courtyard while passing the fewest dormitories— this place was a maze, but thankfully, you were good at solving puzzles.

When you emerged barefoot into the stone courtyard, shivering when the soles of your feet collided with gravelly rock and the grass that grew in the cracks between, you found Eddie already there, his own blanket under his back as he leaned against the big tree and looked up at the sky. You smiled just seeing him, and scampered over to shorten the time you had to spend away from him (and walking on the cold and mildly-damp ground, if you were being honest).

He looked at you when he heard you coming and smiled back, opening his arms for you to jump into. You draped your blanket over the both of you and nuzzled into his chest, looking up at the sky with him. “I hate that we can never see stars here,” he sighed. “It’s just fog and planes.”

“I think the fog is sort of beautiful,” you admitted, “in its own way.”

“Of course you do,” he laughed softly. “You see the beauty in everything.”

You turned your attention away from the sky and to his face above yours— he was still looking away, so you took a moment to appreciate the shape of his jaw and the way you could just see his eyelashes past his cheek. His glasses reflected the moonlight, so much so that when he looked down at you, you couldn’t see his eyes past the glare on the lenses.

But you still felt his stare, and it made you feel exposed in a way that was unexpectedly pleasant.

“I came up with a riddle,” he announced suddenly.

“Hit me,” you challenged.

“I’m blind, but with me, you see everything a bit more clearly,” he described. “What am I?”

You cycled through a few ideas in your mind, but cracked into a grin when you figured it out. “Love,” you answered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “you got it…” He reached up and brushed his thumb over your cheek as he slipped his hand around the back of your neck— but then he just… didn’t do anything. He just looked at you and you looked up at him and waited but nothing happened.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” you asked, whispering.

“I— I don’t know,” he whispered back, “I guess I’m just afraid.”

“Kiss me, Eddie… please,” you begged, and finally, he did.

It was everything you hoped it would be: sweet and soft and patient. He pulled you closer and, without breaking the kiss, you sat up a bit so you could climb into his lap and straddle him.

You gasped when he pulled you into him and kissed you harder, tasting your tongue with his own, even starting to let out the quietest moans against you. As you shifted in his lap, an instinctive motion to address the growing warmth in your core, you felt his erection and it made your head spin.

When you broke away, the two of you held your foreheads together and just caught your breath; you carded your fingertips through his hair while his hands held your back. “We never talked about that night, when it was so cold we didn’t know if we’d survive,” you panted.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he explained. “I didn’t know if it was just because of the cold…”

“It’s a beautiful night,” you breathed. “I’m not hungry or scared or lonely. I’m happy, Edward, because I’m with you— and I… I wanna feel you again…” you swallowed and barely managed to find the courage to finish your thought, though you still had to speak under your breath: “inside me.”

He just nodded and kissed you again, and you both rushed to get your bedclothes out of the way just as much as you needed to do this. A kiss on your lips helped keep you quiet when you whined at the initial sting of being penetrated; and more breathless kisses trailing down your neck and over your shoulder soothed you as he promised it wouldn’t hurt anymore— but you didn’t even care. You’d braved so much worse pain for him, and you never regretted a moment of it.

You breathed with each other and moved with each other and it was the most natural thing in the world. Everything good you’d ever had, you shared with him. And now you were sharing pleasure together and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

“Tell me we’ll always be together,” you pleaded one last time.

“Always,” he promised.

The physical element of it was over rather quickly, from an objective standpoint, when he needed you to stop so he wouldn’t risk getting you pregnant even more than he already was. But that finite moment felt like its own forever, and even though he apologized that he couldn’t hold out longer, you were anything but disappointed. The night itself was just beginning, and the two of you held each other and talked and kissed and dreamed until the sun started to rise and melt the fog away.

You needed to be back in your beds soon for the morning, but you stayed together until the absolute last second. You made promises— maybe he knew already how hard they would be to keep, but you believed them completely. And you never imagined how long it would take you to really make good on them.

You set your duffel bag down as he locked all seven deadbolts behind you. “Cute place,” you mumbled, looking around at the shabby— yet homey— interiors. It looked so much more comfortable than Chet’s apartment, which was populated with geometrical, sterile, white furniture. You saw polaroids he’d taken of himself, in and out of his Riddler garb, taped up to one of the cabinets atop the peeling paint; there were a few empty takeout cartons with chopsticks sticking out of them, which he dashed past you to awkwardly scoop up into his arms. He looked so adorably… puffy, in that massive bomber jacket, and you stifled a giggle.

“Uh, sorry— I would’ve cleaned up, if I knew you were coming back with me,” he defended as he dumped them in the trash. “Obviously.”

“It’s okay,” you grinned.

“Are you, uh, hungry?” he asked. “There’s probably something in the fridge I could make for you—”

“Ed, I was just at a campaign dinner a few hours ago,” you reminded him.

“Well, maybe you worked up an appetite,” he smirked nervously, “with everything that’s happened…”

“I just wanna get settled in,” you explained. “Is there somewhere I should put my stuff?”

“Anywhere,” he shrugged. “The bedroom’s this way, if you wanna hang your clothes up in the closet…”

As you followed him down the hall, you caught more glimpses of his work— contraptions he’d designed, schematics and puzzles and information on his targets. You saw a blurry picture of yourself under Chet’s arm, taken from across the street; a big red ‘X’ in marker covered your dearly-departed ex-boyfriend’s face, and you smiled to yourself.

“In here,” he pointed as he opened the door for you. The bedroom was… efficient. A double mattress on an old steel frame, and just enough room on each side to get around it. There were some books scattered around, cryptography books just as one would expect, and a lamp on a nondescript bedside table, but that was about it. "I need to hang up my jacket anyways…"

He slipped past you when you opened the closet door, stepping inside to unzip his jacket and drape it on a hanger. He was wearing just an undershirt beneath, and the short sleeves gave you a good look at his arms which were… much more toned than you remembered. He was still lean like he'd always been, but not as scrawny as his teenage self, like he'd really grown into his frame.

Apparently, he noticed you ogling him, because he cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses slightly on the bridge of his nose. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"You look good, Ed," you answered with a smirk.

"Oh, thanks," he hummed. "You've always been beautiful…"

A little flustered, you looked down at the floor where you saw his boots take a step towards you.

"I… I still think about the night before you left," he admitted, "when we made love to each other."

Finding the strength to make eye contact again, you found the most beautiful storm brewing in his stare… behind those damn cracked glasses. "I do, too," you replied. "I thought about it a lot, actually— it was the only way I could get through, um… through nights with other people. I only ever wanted it to be you, Eddie—"

"Shh," he interrupted, soothing you with warm hands gripping your shoulders, "it's alright— that's over now. We're together and nothing else that happened in between matters anymore."

You sniffled and slipped your arms around his back to hug him tightly. "You don't hate me for what I did, right? And who I did it with?"

“I could never hate you,” he promised gently. “I… I hate that anybody else ever got to have you, though… that you belonged to someone like him.”

"I was always yours," you sighed, "all I've ever been is yours."

He grabbed your face and kissed you; you didn’t remember Eddie being this forward, but you couldn’t blame him for growing up— and you certainly weren’t complaining, in fact you were immediately melting into it and kissing him back and letting quiet moans slip out when you couldn’t help it. You yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed and climbed on top of you, but initial surprise melted into a needy, happy groan. "Mine," he growled as he started to roughly push your clothes out of the way. "Say it again."

"Yours! Fuck, Eddie, I'm yours— you know I am. Everything, all of me, I belong to you," you whimpered.

"My beautiful girl," he cooed proudly, "my angel. I was so lost without you… I'm yours, too, I need you so bad…"

"Take me," you offered. "Whatever you need, just take it. How long has it been since somebody made you feel good?"

"I… I can't even remember," he mumbled into your neck.

"Please, Eddie, I need to feel you inside me again," you begged, "I'm yours, I'm yours—!"

He groaned loudly and reached down to hastily open and push down his pants. He was already hard and he began to rock his hips so he could rub himself against you.

Shouldn't have been too much of a shock that all of him had grown since he was sixteen— and he wasn't lacking back then to start with. You felt a little intimidated, but even more excited. Grabbing him by the hair and pulling him into another kiss, you giggled when his glasses bumped against your face. You moaned and arched your back into his touch as his palms groped at your chest; you could feel his smug smirk against your lips growing as your legs instinctively spread wider.

His fingertips gently pinched your nipples and, lacking any desire to suppress your arousal— you had nothing to hide from him, anyway— you whimpered desperately and started begging. “P-please,” you choked, “don’t make me wait anymore… I’ve waited so long, I just need to feel you, please—”

“Shh,” he soothed softly, moving his hands down from your chest to the waistband of your sweatpants which he pulled down just a little too slowly; you mewled impatiently. “M’gonna give you everything, don’t worry…

You whined and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hiding your face in his neck, but he didn’t tolerate that for long.

“No, baby, I wanna see you,” he explained as he sat up slightly and guided your head back to lay on the bed again. “That’s better… look up at me?”

You bit your lip and blinked away the tears suddenly gathering in your eyes; afraid he’d think you were strange for crying, you began to explain. “I-it’s just so much, Ed—”

“I know,” he cooed, “it’s a lot— it’s everything. It’s the only thing that matters.”

A little shaky gasp filled your lungs as you felt the head of his cock press up to your opening, and your insides clenched around nothing in anticipation.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructed quietly, staring down at you intensely; his green eyes were so dark when he hovered over you like this, the light on the ceiling above him making the edges of his light brown hair glow golden like a halo. You reached up and brushed your fingers over his cheek, then moved down to hold onto his shoulder. He thrust his hips forward somewhat abruptly and you cried, but worked very hard not to disobey him by closing your eyes or looking away. You hadn’t even realized he wasn’t all the way in yet until he gave you the second half, burying himself to the base of you, and you let out a high-pitched whine.

"Oh god," you hissed, "Eddie, you're so deep… fuck, I can feel you all the way up here…"

You guided his hand to your lower belly, pressing it down so he could feel, too, how well he was filling you. His expression changed as he felt it, and you caught the way his gaze emanated so much power as he started to move inside you and feel the way your stomach shifted under his hand.

You were completely at his mercy, and both of you were becoming addicted to it.

He took his hand off of your belly and lowered down to rest his elbows on either side of your face, hovering above you. Watching you closely, his eyes darted all over your face while he set an unhurried— though not specifically slow, either— pace with his hips.

Being watched by him was already having a similar effect on you now as it did earlier this evening, even when you didn’t know it was him: your walls were pulsing with need and you heard your moans getting so loud they started to echo around the small room.

The pleasure made you tilt your head back and shut your eyes, but he gently grabbed your chin and pulled your face back down. “I told you to keep looking at me,” he reminded you, just a bit more stern than you expected him to be. “I wanna see the look in your eyes when you come apart for me.”

You whimpered but nodded in agreement, a silent promise to follow his instructions and let him see every moment of your orgasm— which was building so much more quickly than it had any right to, making your walls pulse and your toes curl as your legs wrapped around his hips.

“We’re never gonna be apart ever again,” he promised quietly, his voice a little deeper and rougher as his breathing got heavier from the exertion.

“That’s all I ever wanted,” you breathed. An extra rough thrust slammed his head right into your spot and you yelped, feeling your channel bear down on his cock so forcefully it was almost painful— but in the most pleasurable way. “Fuck, E-Eddie, I love you, I love you…”

That phrase was rarely spoken between the two of you, it always seemed sort of obvious. But it felt good to just say it point-blank, and even though you figured he must’ve already known it, he smiled down at you proudly. “I know, baby,” he soothed, “I love you, too.”

“I-I’ve never loved anyone else,” you continued.

“I know,” he responded again.

“I— oh god, Ed, m’gonna come…”

“I know,” he replied finally, lowering his voice this time.

You did your best to focus your attention up at him as you held the back of his neck to keep yourself steady, but the energy coursing through your body seemed to make your vision go a little blurry. You longed to let your eyes fall shut and give in to the dark calling for you, but you needed to stay right here with Eddie— he was going to take you there if you just kept your promise not to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was forget who was making you feel this good, who you belonged to.

“You can let go, angel,” he encouraged you softly. “I’m right here, okay? Just do it, for me, come for me right now.”

You didn’t mind giving away that he had that control over you— he’d already proven it before, exhibiting the power he had over your body just from standing in a doorway. So, it was no wonder that when he was actually inside you, you would do whatever he asked. And he asked you to come, so you came; your eyes stayed open and trained on his, miraculously, as a heavy wave of ecstasy crashed down on you. Just past the deafening sound of your own moans you heard him pant and grunt a little.

“There you go, just like that,” he praised darkly, “such a good girl for me. I can feel you, coming on my cock.”

You could feel him throbbing inside you, too, and it was oddly soothing as you started to come down from your high; going limp beneath him made each thrust rock your body on the mattress, and he kept moving faster and faster.

“I can’t last much longer,” he admitted in a rough whisper. “You’re too perfect, it’s been too long without you—”

“I want you to come,” you assured, tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging slightly though you didn’t really mean to. “I want it so bad, I need you!”

"I'm not pulling out this time," he warned, fucking you so fast and hard now that you had no chance to recover— it felt like you were going to come forever. "I need to come inside you."

"Yes," you moaned, "oh fuck Eddie, please! Please please please…"

“Keep looking at me,” he ordered, even though your gaze hadn’t faltered since his last demand. “Look at me while I fill you up— fuck, I-I’m coming—”

His verbal warning was sort of moot considering you could feel it, every pump of his cock filling you deeper than you thought possible; he gasped and held your hips so he could slam all the way in, deep enough that your eyes would’ve rolled back if you weren’t so damn obedient.

Finally, the minutes-long eye contact was broken as he grabbed your face and kissed you hard, both of you shutting your eyes tightly and pulling each other into an embrace. He rolled you onto your side but stayed inside you, and even just that slight friction on your overstimulated walls made you shiver and whine. Thankfully, his hand stroking your back gently soothed you a bit in that regard.

Cuddling up in bed together, you were so relaxed that you didn’t really remember falling asleep— it was just that you woke up what must’ve been hours later, blinking your eyes open to find him contemplating a sudoku puzzle with a pencil in between his teeth. You smiled and started to shift around, but he quickly grabbed your hips to keep you still.

“N-no, baby, don’t move,” he cooed, “you’re keeping me warm while I work on this.”

Yes, he was still inside you; your body was so accustomed to him that you didn’t notice the stretch that much, except when you moved, and then there was a delicious sting that made chills run up your spine. You would’ve already been sore after he fucked you like that, but keeping him inside you for so long afterwards made you sure that soreness wouldn’t leave you for another week or so. Not that you wanted it to. “How much have you solved?” you asked sleepily.

“Most of it, but it’s a tricky one,” he explained. “Any ideas for me?”

He moved the booklet in front of your face and you blinked the blurriness out of your eyes to examine it. Of course, your attention wasn’t on the puzzle anymore when you noticed his little doodles around the free space on the page. Some of them had to do with trying to solve the square, but most were just miniature sketches— most notably: your face as you slept; a greeting card, like one you remembered seeing on the news addressed to ‘the Batman’; and a diamond ring.

“I’m glad you still draw,” you announced, reaching up to run a finger over the silvery etchings in the page. “You’ve gotten even better.”

“Oh, well, it comes with practice,” he dismissed. He turned the page around and looked at the puzzle again. “Would you wear a ring like this if I gave it to you?” he asked, pointing at the doodle with his eraser.

“I’d wear anything you gave me, Ed,” you informed him.

“I know it’s kind of silly for you to have a ring when you won’t be able to leave the apartment for a long time— but I wanna see it on your finger anyways,” he explained, smiling slightly. “I’d wear one, too. Even under my gloves when no one can see it. And that way just you and I know they’re always there.”

You smiled back at him, reaching up to gently touch his face; he hummed and set the puzzle book aside, closing his eyes as you pet his cheek. “You know we don’t need anything to show how we feel,” you reminded him. “It doesn’t make it more important or more real. We love each other more than most people who wear rings like that could even imagine.”

“Of course not,” he breathed, “but it might be nice, I think…”

“I think so too,” you agreed, nestling your face back into his chest and drifting into sleep again.

And so, even though it was a bit superfluous at this point, he got you both rings— and although they looked quite typical to someone passing by on the street, they were anything but usual. Edward carefully designed the mechanism that made them interlock; he described it as just another way that you ‘solve’ him. His ring had a sort of keyhole, little notches arranged in a circle that he kept turned inside his palm, and they fit perfectly with the setting of the stone on your ring. When you used yours to unlock his, a panel in the gold pulled out of the way and showed the engraved message inside, written in symbols only the two of you knew how to read: Always.

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vitzi9

1 year ago

“Christmas Snow Flaker” | Sam x Reader | FLUFF

WARNINGS: slight angst, language

WORD COUNT: 4,409

DESCRIPTION: Your boyfriend, Sam Drake, is supposed to come home tonight from his job in South Africa, and you can barely wait to spend the Christmas season snuggled up with him… until he calls to tell you he won’t be home in time for the holidays, flaking on you last minute. Things seem utterly bleak… that is, until a Christmas miracle happens to drift your way…

Inspired by this song (I’ll Be Home for Christmas Piano ed. - Gary Girouard)

Despite you getting up every thirty minutes to turn the temperature up, the empty classroom is freezing cold. Your fifth-graders usually complained about the temperature all the time, but not today. They had been too busy chattering excitedly about their Christmas plans to each other, antsy in their seats for the final bell. It was the final day of the school term, and all of the students had been looking forward to going home and celebrating the holidays with loved ones.

You too are just as excited to go home, because there’s one person in particular that you absolutely cannot wait to see. Your boyfriend, Samuel Drake, is coming home today, just in time for your 5th anniversary together. He and close family-friend Victor Sullivan (Sully as you like to call him), had been working together on an archaeology job stationed in South Africa for the past two weeks. You only got to see him a couple times a week through Skype calls and the pictures Sully had emailed you. You laugh to yourself, remembering the selfies Sully had sent of Sam wearing a Santa hat, posing ridiculously in front of the African diamond mines. You smile briefly, realizing how much you miss his loopy grin and easy presence.

He’s coming home, you think to yourself again, feeling the excitement bubbling in your chest. Sam’s finally back.

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