Y/N: I’m Not Lazy, I Just Find It Hard To Put Effort Into Things I’m Not Passionate About.

JOSEPH QUINN as ENJOLRAS BBC Les Misérables 1.06, dir. Tom Shankland

A chubby reader who's super self conscious of her belly and bust? Like she's strong and stuff, comes with the higher weight, but just....

Cant really wear anything unless it's sweats and a sweater, or a t-shirt. Almost never goes out.

And one day Bucky comes to the compound. Reader immediately gets a crush, and has major anxiety over it, like "leaving the room when he comes near" anxiety. Bucky thinks it's his fault, that he's done something wrong and talks to you about it.

He decides to talk to you about it, crying ensues because insecurities, and then the fluff.

Sorry this ask is so long, I'm kinda scrambled XP

hi, lovely! 💫

first of all, don't apologize for bringing this beautiful request into my world! i was beyond excited to have the chance to bring this idea to life, and i hope the direction i took with it does justice to what you had in mind!

second of all, i am so sorry this took me so long to put out, this request is so lovely and i really wanted to make it the best i could.

i hope you enjoy!

matches

pairing: bucky barnes x midsize!reader

word count: 3974

warnings: insecurities and self consciousness, mild body image issues, brief self depreciating thoughts, angst, mutual pining, fluff, swearing, allusions to mature themes, let me know if i missed anything!

please do not read this if you're not comfortable with any of the above topics. while they are not heavily focused on, they are the main theme of this fic

a/n: big thanks to @buckylattes for reading this and catching some of the dumb ass mistakes i made lmao

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Being part of the Rescue and Reconnaissance division of Stark Industries wasn't the most glamorous job, but you loved it. You got to work nearly hand in hand with field agents every day, formulating plans for raids, rescues, infiltrations, or general takedown missions to make sure all those involved worked as safely and efficiently as possible. 

You were the one they turned to when a new plan was needed; when they were at risk. There were a few agents who refused to listen to anyone other than you when it came to these times - specifically asking for you to help them through. 

Agent Barnes was one of these people, and though you could never voice it, he was your favourite to deal with. He was always kind and courteous, understanding in the fact that despite not being in the same rankings as him, you damn well knew what you were doing. And, well, it didn't hurt that he always found a moment to be a charming little flirt. 

You have no idea why he had such faith in you. Maybe it was because you always took what he suggested into consideration when calculating next steps. Maybe it was because your ideas were as crazy as his sometimes. Maybe it was simply because he liked the sound of your voice. 

You never knew. 

You never actually met him.

All your dealings with field agents were done from the safety of your control room. You never minded it, though. It was nice, in a way. You absolutely loved doing what you do, but you would never be able to handle being around field agents all the time. Not when they look the way they do, and you…. well, you're you. 

Your thighs touch when you walk, your belly shakes when you laugh, your arms jiggle when you move. You have to painstakingly pick out the right kinds of shirts, otherwise your chest will make it seem like you're three times as big as you really are. 

You were the chubby girl who always hid in the shadows, too afraid to let the world see how bright you truly shine - you were a flame ready to ignite, but no one around you ever offered you a match. 

You were used to it. You made peace with it a long time ago, finding solace in your own company instead of relying on other people to enjoy your time with. It still bothered you from time to time, and you let yourself have days where you wallowed in it, wishing things were different, wishing you looked different. Though, for the most part, it stopped bothering you so much the older you got. 

Until the day you finally met Bucky. 

It was a strange day, being sent to the compound. You've never been sent anywhere before, always planted in your seat while talking to field agents across the world. Yet here you were, being requested by Tony Stark himself. 

You must have spent hours trying to find the right outfit. One that showed off your curves without accentuating the extra pudge around your middle. One that complimented your chest without highlighting the size. One that showed off your ass without making it look massive. One that carefully hid your arms. One that you felt comfortable in. 

It felt like your heart was in your throat the whole time. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a full on frenzy, and you had to take deep breaths every few seconds to stay calm; and to not throw up. 

You barely heard it when Tony said he wanted you working under him. You could hardly process it when he said he created a job just for you. You didn't quite understand it when he told you there was space for you at the compound, and he wanted you here full time. 

All you could do was dumbly nod your head, trying to focus on what he was saying instead of the fact that Bucky Barnes was just outside the conference room. 

By the time the meeting was over, you felt lightheaded. You clutched the contract you were given against your chest and took a final deep breath before leaving the room, hoping to get by unnoticed. It's not like he even knew who you really were, right? 

A gentle calling of your name told you that you were very, very wrong. 

Your feet became rooted in place as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing all you could on calming your nerves before turning around. And jesus christ, nothing could have prepared you for how beautiful this man actually was in person. 

"Hi," you breathed out, a tiny shy smile gracing your lips. 

"Hi," he said, unintentionally mimicking you. 

His eyes travelled over your face before taking their time roaming your body; you shifted uncomfortably and clutched the contract a little tighter as he stayed fixed on you. A smirk graced his lips, but it was gone before you could really focus on it. 

"It's, uh-... it's nice to finally meet you, Agent Barnes," you muttered sheepishly, hesitantly offering him your hand. 

"You can call me Bucky," he said, smiling warmly as he took your hand in his, sending fire throughout your whole body. "I'd like to say thank you for saving my ass as often as you do, but thank you doesn't seem like enough."

You chuckled, feeling your face flush under his gaze. "'Thank you' suffices just fine, Bucky. I've only been doing my job."

"Speaking of," he started, tilting his head a little as he eyed the contract you held. "You gonna take it?" he asked curiously, his eyes snapping back to yours. 

"What?" you asked, caught off guard by his question.

"The job," he said, gesturing between the contract in your hands and the conference room you just occupied. "You gonna say yes?" 

"How do you know about that?" you asked curiously.

"I know things," he said passively, shrugging his shoulders. "How 'bout I show you around? You can see the place before you decide anything."

You wanted to say no. You wanted to run away and retreat into yourself once more. Though something about the way he was looking at you made it hard to do so. 

So, you agreed. 

And that's how everything started. 

You took the job, moving into the compound a few days after that. You quickly made friends with the girls, and they became your support group; they would help you when it came to shopping for clothes or finding the right outfit for events. They offered to go for walks with you or do yoga - anything you felt like doing, really. You still felt inferior to them from time to time, but not because they made you feel that way; no one at the compound did. 

Only yourself. 

When it came to the boys, it was more or less the same thing. You felt comfortable around them, and you never minded close contact or them seeing you in tighter fitting clothes. 

Everyone was family, and it never felt awkward or uncomfortable around them. 

Except for when it came to Bucky. 

You still grew closer to him over the months of you living at the compound so far, but it hasn't been easy. It was a constant challenge, and it grew harder for you day after day.

When it came to you working alongside him on his missions, everything was great. Nothing with him changed, aside from him throwing out a few more flirty comments. And, since you still had the safety net of being behind comms, you threw some right back at him. 

Once the missions were over, though, it was hard to be around him. You wanted to be around him, but it was nearly impossible. Your feelings for him grew, and the stronger your feelings were, the more distant you became. 

You were careful to only wear sweaters or loose tees paired with sweatpants around him, making sure he would never catch sight of the extra weight you carried around. You quit eating around him; it's not like you had bad eating habits, but you couldn't shake the panic that he would somehow be disgusted, that he would think the reason you're so chubby was because of your diet. You stopped sitting near him during movie nights, and you never hugged him. No matter how much you itched to wrap your arms around him when he came home safe from missions, you couldn't risk him feeling the rolls your body carried, or how soft and pudgy you were. 

It was driving Bucky crazy.

From the minute he finally set his eyes on you, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was beyond thrilled when you agreed to Stark's offer, and he couldn't wait to take the opportunity to get to know you - which was a massive step for him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he did something to upset you. 

He grew more confused every day. When it came to conversing over the comms during missions, you two were like a well oiled machine; giggles and flirting and jokes of previous missions. No one would ever know something was amiss. 

Yet when everyone would return home, it was like a switch was flipped. You greeted everyone with hugs and smiles and affection, and Bucky always waited patiently for his turn: but it never came. Instead, you turned to him with an awkward smile and shining eyes and gave him the traditional "welcome home, soldier" that, despite everything, always pulled a smile from his lips. 

He racked his brain every night trying to figure out if he did something, if he said something, but he could never come up with anything. He could never find a reason for the way you would some days leave the room as soon as he entered, for why you always hid away from him when he would catch you off guard in workout clothes or formal attire. He could never come up with an explanation and it was eating him alive. 

The final straw came for him on the night of Pepper’s birthday party. 

He didn’t want to go, he never wanted to go to these things, but ever since you came around he found himself more willing to at least make an appearance; if only to see you. However, he wasn’t even positive if you were going to show up this time, given the way you’ve been so distant lately - and that made him not want to go at all. So he was biding his time, sitting in the kitchen and emptying a bottle of whiskey, trying to not make it obvious that he was waiting to see if you’d wander out of your room before he slipped away to the party.

You stood in front of your mirror for what felt like hours, never before feeling more diffident as you assessed your reflection. You’ve been to some of Tony’s parties before, but this was for Pepper - it was the most grandiose one you’ve attended to date. You weren’t left much choice but to dress your fanciest, and you felt so unfamiliar with your own body as your hands trailed down the fabric of your dress. It was form fitting, hugging every curve you had and accentuating your figure in a way you weren’t used to seeing. The straps were small and the cut was low, it travelled midcalf and had a small slit up the side, showing way more of your leg than you wanted. You had a burning desire to change, but Nat insisted you looked incredible, and Wanda already applied a touch of makeup to match the dress - not to mention you were already running late as it was. 

With one last heavy sigh, you steeled yourself before slipping on your heels and marching out of your room. You thought of anything and everything you could as you marched down the hall, doing your best to pay no mind to the way you felt the fabric clinging to your body with every move you made. God, you really should have put on shapewear. 

Bucky heard you before he saw you, your footfalls echoing through the floor in the same pattern he came to memorize in the months you’ve been here. He took a deep breath, prepared for the fact that you would most likely brush him off once more. He was not prepared, though, for the sight of you as you rounded the corner. 

You were not prepared to see him sitting there, clad in a pressed suit, or for him to quite literally choke on the drink he was nursing as he took in your presence. 

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you alright?” you inquired, conflicted between staying where you stood and approaching him. 

A dismissive wave of his hand had you staying in place, your arms wrapping around your middle as you began to feel exposed to him. 

“I’m fine, I’m good,” he coughed out, refilling his glass as if nothing happened. 

You stood there quietly, completely unsure of what to do next. The silence was becoming louder and louder but you didn’t want to draw his attention to you. Not when you were looking like this. Not when he’d be able to see every curve and divot of your body, the protrusion of your stomach, the ample raise of your chest. You were really starting to regret not changing. 

“Are you gonna stand there and stare all night or head to the party?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the glass before him. His tone was playful, but his voice had a rasp to it that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Oh, uh - sorry,” you muttered, clearing your throat as you slowly advanced in his direction. “Are, um-… are you gonna join the party?” 

He huffed a small laugh, his eyes finally raising to meet yours only to find that you were looking almost everywhere but at him, effectively wiping the small smile from his face. 

“I’m not so sure,” he said lowly, downing the contents of his glass as he kept his eyes on you. 

You hummed, looking down at your hands before chancing a glance at him; his gaze on you so intense that you immediately looked away again. 

“Well, I- I hope to see you there,” you said sincerely, wringing your fingers together. “You look really nice, Buck” you added quietly, looking up at him just long enough to flash him a warm smile before continuing through the kitchen. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he called after you, the hurt in his voice impossible to miss. 

“What?” you asked in confusion, turning to glance in his direction. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Because ever since you moved in here, it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.” 

You couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that left you, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true.” 

“No?” he asked, his tone taking on a new edge. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you can’t even fucking look at me right now. You practically run from me when I enter the same room, you do everything you can to avoid me, and let’s not forget the fact that I’m the only one around here who you don’t hug after getting back from missions.”

“Bucky-” you tried to explain, but the lump forming in your throat stopped you short. 

“I just wanna know what I did,” he carried on, voice softer this time. “I don’t know if you’re angry with me or- or if you’re scared of me-” 

“I am not scared of you,” you interrupted, finally meeting his gaze. “Please don’t think that.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” he asked quietly. “Everything is fine when I’m out on the field, we- I get along with you better than anyone. But then I come home, and it’s not the same.”

“It’s not-... it’s not like that, Bucky,” you whispered sadly, unintentionally looking away from him again. 

“Yeah, if you say so,” he said curtly, sighing in defeat as he filled his glass again. “Just enjoy the party, okay?”

“You’re not coming?” you asked, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. 

“Well, you’re just gonna avoid me anyway. Might as well make it easier for you and stay here,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the twirling glass in his hands. 

“I don’t want you to think like that,” you admitted softly. “I- I don’t mean to do the things I do.”

“Then why do they happen?” he inquired, his eyes meeting yours and displaying a painful mix of hurt and confusion. 

“Because,” you started, feeling your bottom lip quiver. “I mean, look at me, Buck,” you finished, as if that was explanation enough. 

“Believe me, I’m looking,” he said gently. “And you look-... well, I wanna say you look beautiful, but that implies you don’t always look beautiful, so, I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he added, his voice so low he may as well have been speaking to himself, but you heard every word he muttered. 

“...What?” you breathed out, staring over at him. 

“What?” he questioned, glancing up to catch your eye.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat but it just kept on growing, forcing you to choke on your words. 

“Hey, wait, don’t-... okay, now I really said something wrong, right?” he asked quickly, starting to panic as he watched your eyes fill with tears. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you delicately wiped your eyes, hoping not to smudge the work that Wanda did for you. “No, you- I just didn’t expect you to say that. I-... I'm not used to hearing that." 

"You're not?" he asked, genuinely surprised. 

You almost laughed, and you probably would have if it wasn't such an embarrassing thing to admit. "No. I'm… guys don't really call girls who look like me beautiful." 

He fell silent for a minute, eyeing you carefully before shifting in his seat, resting his arms on the table.

"You know, I've been alive for a pretty long time now," he said conversationally, as if you weren't on the cusp of a breakdown. "And I've also been quite literally around the whole world in that time. Some of it I remember, some of it… not so much. But even so, do you know what the one thing I can say with complete certainty is?" 

You waited for him to go on for a moment before realizing he was actually looking for an answer. "No, what?" you manage to croak out. 

He smiled softly, relaxing in his seat again. "I have, quite literally, never met anyone as beautiful as you. And I mean in both appearance and personality." 

"But I- I'm not… I don't have the kind of body like the other women around here," you murmured, casting your gaze downwards as if you were ashamed of your words. 

"So?" he asked incredulously. "Do you seriously think that you're automatically not beautiful just because you aren't the same size as them?" 

"No, it- you can't- I'm not-" you tried to argue, but all you could get out were a few utterances before you had to choke back a sob, completely lost on how to express yourself. 

"Is this why you've been avoiding me? Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?" he asked anxiously, fighting the urge to approach you. 

"Yes. I mean no, I-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, taking a moment to consider your answer. "I've been too embarrassed to be around you. I-... I was afraid you'd be repulsed by me and that I'd lose you." 

"Repulsed by you? A woman who puts fucking goddesses to shame?" he asked in disbelief. "Did me choking on my drink earlier not prove how taken by you I am?" 

"Is that what that was?" you wondered, letting out a watery laugh. 

"Yeah, that's what that was," he confirmed with a soft chuckle. "A guy does a real life spit take when he sees the girl of his dreams looking like the focus of a goddamn renaissance painting and she doesn't even realize it," he mumbled in exasperation, yet his eyes carried a playful sparkle. 

"The girl of your dreams?" you repeated in shock, your voice a nervous whisper. 

"Was that too cliché?" he questioned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"Maybe a little," you said playfully, sniffling quietly. 

"I know how it feels, you know," he said softly. "To feel uncomfortable in your own body. But if you'd let me, I'll spend every day proving to you that I see you as nothing short of perfect." 

You could only nod, giving him a weak smile as you fought back a wave of tears. "Yeah, I-... I could do that, too," you agreed quietly. 

He grinned softly, greedily taking in your appearance once more before tearing his eyes away. "Come on," he urged, downing his drink before standing up. "You owe me about seven dances." 

"Where does that number come from?" you asked with a laugh, watching as he approached you. 

"For how many parties you snubbed me at so far," he replied casually, stopping as he stood before you. 

"I never snubbed you," you grumbled, peering up at him. 

"Sure you didn't," he teased, carefully wiping the tears from your face. 

"Do I still look okay?" you asked nervously, fidgiting slightly under his touch. 

"Gorgeous as ever," he replied sincerely. 

You couldn't help but grin, laughing a little anxiously. "Okay. Come on, or else we won't have enough time for all those dances." 

Bucky laughed happily, taking your hand and rushing to join the party, having you giggling in his wake as you did your best to keep up. 

You let him whisk you away for the rest of the night, leading you through all the dances you owed him; and a few more, for good measure, as Bucky put it. 

He stayed true to his word, and there wasn't a second that you spent with him where you didn't feel like the most ravishing woman to walk the earth.

Especially when he took his precious time in the dark of the night to memorize and worship every inch of your body over and over again.

So as you sat here now, watching from across the room as he danced with the crowd, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Foolish for letting your thoughts take away the extra time you could have had with him, foolish for ever thinking this incredible man would ever judge you for something so trivial. Foolish, foolish, foolish. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" you heard from beside you, ripping you from your reverie.  

You turned your head, grinning as you saw the very man himself had taken up the seat to your left. "What, get tired of dancing already, old man?" 

He gasped, feigning offense as he took in your words. "I'd watch who you're calling old, sweetheart," he warned playfully. 

"I'd watch who you're calling sweetheart. I happen to be a married woman now, you know," you replied jovially.

"Married, huh? Should've known I didn't stand a chance," he lamented, shaking his head. "How about a pity dance?" he suggested with a grin, holding his hand out to you. 

You giggled softly, taking his hand with a grin of your own. "Lead the way, Mr. Barnes." 

"Anything for you, Mrs. Barnes," he replied with a wink, leading you to the dance floor. 

And just like he did three years ago, he whisked you away and led you through a whole seven dances; and a few more, for good measure. 

You were a flame, finally ignited, and Bucky was your match.

Hi Emmy! Did you remember the trend that went viral on tik tok two years ago (I think) where when a person want to kiss their best friend put the song “eletric love”? Okay so imagine this with bestfriend!Steve 🥹

You felt absolutely sick as you set up your phone, the camera already recording, the shiny back of it partially hidden by a cheese plant you’d barely managed to keep alive.

The last thing that had flashed across the screen before you’d pressed the red button was a text from Robin, the notification making your stomach tumble as you read the words: ‘you better not chicken out. I ✨PROMISE✨ you, it’ll work.’

Her use of emojis didn’t make you feel better, but you gave one last look to the camera before settling back onto your sofa, legs folded underneath you, fingers picking at your nails in your lap. Steve came in only a few seconds later, popcorn bowl placed on the table before he flopped down next to you, too close like always. His knee knocked yours before his thigh was squished against your own, shoulder to shoulder, the aftershave you’d bought him two Christmas’ ago lingering on his sweater, along the line of his neck.

Your heart was screaming at you, a thudthudthud that rattled your bones and you wondered if Steve could hear it, if he could feel it vibrate through your body and into his. There wasn’t any music playing, just the trailer of the movie he’d set up to play on Netflix, the same two minutes repeating over and over until he’d returned with the snacks.

But Robin and Nancy had shown you the tiktok almost a week ago, a blur of couples kissing, friends leaning into more, lips meeting, eyes widening, all shot to the soundtrack of BØRNS hit single, Electric Love. The song played in your head like your own private concert, the bass a beat that matched your heart.

‘And every night my mind is running around her. Thunder's getting louder and louder and louder.’

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it. You looked at Steve, his strong profile you knew so well, the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the smattering of freckles that had reappeared over his cheeks now that summer was back. He’d not long had a haircut, the curls at the nape of his neck no longer, the top still a misbehaving mess but you could see more of his throat, the strong column of it, the moles that were scattered below his ear.

“You’re staring,” he said.

You startled, eyes wide and you swallowed hard before you answered. You wanted to glance at the camera, you wanted to up and run. But instead you shook your head and tried to smile, a little bashful but warm all the same, ‘cause Steve wasn’t really teasing you. He did look curious though, like he could sense the tension, the kind that was always there but this time, tenfold.

“You’re acting weird. More so than usual. Are you ok—”

‘Baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle…’

You heard the swell of the song in your head as you pushed your lips to Steve’s, eyes closing on instinct, his bottom lip caught between yours and he tasted like candy and popcorn, cherry sour and caramel butter. You were a little clumsy with it, hands pushed to the soft of the sofa cushions as you leaned over to him, head tilted to the side and up so you could meet your mouth to his. It lasted a second or two, three at most, before you were pulling away, already feeling the overwhelming sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, because oh my god, you’d just kissed your best friend, and surely you’d fucked everything up—

But then Steve was chasing you, only after a moment's pause, his eyes wide and lips still parted. You watched him lick over his bottom one, like he was finding the taste of you before he was leaning back in, a hand catching the nape of your neck to keep you there this time.

It was sweeter than the first, noses pressed to each other's cheeks, lips moving together liked you’d done it all the time, for all the six years you’d known each other. Steve’s thumb pushed at your jaw, titled your head the way he wanted you so he could kiss you a little deeper, cheeks pink and hearts crashing against each other's chests.

The tiktok went viral, after you’d admitted to it and shown Steve. He’d only grinned and shrugged, muttering something about how you both looked good and the internet should see it. The comments mainly consisted of keyboard smashes and forlorn girls asking “when is it my turn.” And there were several who demanded an update, asking questions about what had happened next and “please tell you guys are dating now?”

So Steve made his own account, asked you for help to stitch your video with his, a montage of sorts that showed you and him from when you were teens, hair too long and messy, tongues popsicle stained and skateboards under your feet, to now, just last week, you on Steve’s back, snapped by Eddie at the lake.

He was shirtless, his top on your frame, stolen to hide your bikini but his hands were wrapped possessively around your thighs as he held you to him, your arms clinging to his neck in a similar way. The sun was in your faces, causing you both to squint, your lips were pressed together, smiles biting through and well, that video went viral too.

…

[While decorating the Christmas tree]

Steve: Why is everybody using these tiny little lights nowadays? I remember when people used to use big lights.

Natasha: That's a good story, Grandpa.

Eddie’s Strength 🧎‍♀️

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary-After the final fight with Vecna, Y/N gets hurt, sending her to the hospital

TRIGGER WARNINGS- Talk of injury, blood, hospital setting, tell me if I missed anything

A/N- I didn't really know how to end this one, so sorry for the crappy ending! Enjoy!!

Words Count- 2.6k

It was finally over, Vecna was dead. It was dead silent, no one making a noise. The group stood, looking at each other, slight, exhausted smiles pulling on their lips. Vecna lay in front of them, his gross, slimy body splayed on the floor, black blood oozing from his wounds, expanding as it continued to flow from the once human. 

Nancy lowered her shotgun from her shoulder, sighing as the final demogorgon fell limp on the ground from a gunshot wound, letting out one last screech as it died.

Then the celebration started. Steve and Robin hugged each other tightly, Nancy and Johnathan kissed, Johnathan then pulled Will into a hug, smiling at him. Hopper and Joyce embraced and kissed each other, letting out heavy sighs of relief that the fight had finally come to an end for good. Mike lay with El in his arms, exhaustion overcoming her body from fighting Vecna, smiles on their faces as they watched Dustin and Eddie hugging each other, jumping around like crazy people, Lucas and Max holding each other in tight embraces.

Eleven's eyes caught sight of the only remaining member, Y/N, who sat off to the side, breathing heavily. El squinted her eyes, taking a minute of staring at the older girl, to realize she had a piece of wood impaled in her chest. The younger girl scrambled to her feet, forgetting all about her exhaustion, rushing to the oldest of all the teen girls. El fell to her knees, looking at the wound to the other girl's chest, tears welling in her eyes. 

"Oh my God. Eddie!" Mike called as he followed his girlfriend to where she was off to in such a rush. Everyone fell quiet, the only noise came from Y/N, her labored breathing becoming apparent to her friends around her.

When Eddie saw who El and Mike kneeled next to, his heart dropped, rushing to his dying girlfriend. "Oh my God. Y/N/N. W-what happened?" He asked, tears filling his deep brown eyes. Y/N looked up at him with glazed-over eyes, giving him a weak smile, blood coating her teeth, but she hadn't even noticed the metallic taste in her mouth.

"I-I-I had a little accident. Didn't m-move out of the w-way f-f-fast enough I gu-guess." She stuttered, a string of blood mixed with saliva falling from her lips as she spoke in a quiet voice. The metalhead could faintly hear Hopper instruct Steve and Robin to bring a car around to the front to pick Y/N up, the two older teens following orders quickly. Eddie moved to sit next to his girlfriend, trying to move her onto his lap, but she only whimpered out, and all movement ceased. Eddie didn't want to put her in more pain than she was already in, so he sat next to his injured girl, stroking her hair every few seconds. "Hurts, Eds." Y/N muttered, her words almost too stung together to make anything out of. 

"I know baby, I know. Just hang on for me for a few more minutes. Harrington and Robin are bringin' the car around to take you to the hospital. Just keep those pretty eyes open for me for a little while longer, pretty girl. Come one Y/N, keep those eyes open for me!" Eddie voiced, watching as the y/e/c color of Y/N's eyes fluttered closed, but would open only a second later.

"Car is here!" Robin yelled as she rushed back into the building. Hopper moved to the injured girl, telling Eddie to help him get her into the car, Eddie doing as told. Everyone rushed after the three, watching as Eddie got into the back of Steve's car first, helping to guild Y/N into the back with him, resting her head on his lap. Hopper shut the door once the girl was fully in, telling Eddie everyone would meet him at the hospital in a while after they all cleaned up. Eddie simply nodded his head, telling Steve to go. The tires squealed on the pavement for a second before the BMW was flying out of the parking lot of the old Starcourt mall, where the fight ensued.

The car tore down the roads, Robin occasionally turning around to check on her friends in the back, making sure Y/N was still awake and responding to her boyfriend.

"Hey, Y/N, baby, keep your eyes open for me! Stay awake princess, we're almost there. Steve, go faster, I'm losing her!" Eddie yelled, trying to keep the fading girl in his lap to stay awake. Steve pressed down on the gas pedal harder, shifting the gear, the car lurching forward just slightly before picking up speed, bringing them closer to the hospital. Eddie stared down at Y/N, watching as her eyes drooped more, trying to coax her to stay awake. Y/N fought against the inviting sleep that was encasing her, but she lost when it wrapped its sloth-like fingers around her, encasing her in a darkness that she wasn't entirely sure she would wake from.

~*~

The incessant beeping of something close to her woke Y/N from her slumber, bringing a hundred-pound brick of pain with it. The sloth-like fingers that encased her before unraveled from around her, but also dropped the brick onto her chest, shoulders, and sides, refusing to let up. An itching feeling crawled up her arm, pulling her other arm to her side, scratching at whatever was causing the itch. Her fingers felt tape and something sticking to her arm, so naturally, she started to pick at it, trying to get whatever it was, off of her arm. Warm hands grabbed onto her, pulling her hand away from her arm, wrapping themselves around her hand and setting it back down on the bed.

"Leave the IV alone, princess. It's there to help you." She heard a voice say from next to her, the same place she heard the beeping coming from. It took her a minute to register who the voice belonged to, but it wasn't long before she was opening her eyes to see her boyfriend sitting next to her bed. His hair was pulled into a bun on the top of his head, a look Eddie knew Y/N loved, his torso covered in a hoodie. He had bags under his eyes, dark compared to his usually light skin. His lips looked irritated, chapped and red from the constant picking and chewing he did over the last few days. But, the thing Y/N noticed over everything else, was the bright smile he had on his lips. His perfect teeth shown through his smile, radiating warmth towards Y/N. 

A sudden pain rushed through Y/N's chest and shoulders, eliciting a whine of pain from her lips. Eddie sat up suddenly, placing his warm lips on his girlfriend's hand, watching as she breathed heavily, trying to will the pain away. When it calmed down, the girl slowly opened her eyes, looking over at Eddie. "What happened?" She asked, having no memory of how she got here, or really even why she was here.

"We fought Vecna, remember? We were in the old Starcourt mall. We didn't realize that Henry had built a kind of home there. We fought him there and killed him. He's dead, baby. It's finally all over. No more Upside Down shit. It's all over." Eddie said, a beaming smile on his face.

"But how did I get here?" Y/N asked, trying to recall the events at Starcourt that lead to her laying in a hospital bed.

"When we were fighting him, you got hit in the chest with a wood chunk. It went into your chest and hit one of your lungs. You almost died, but we were able to get you here just in time. You died on the operating table twice, baby. They had to revive you two times before they could get the wood out of your chest. But they were luckily able to pull the wood out and stop the bleeding before you started to code again. You've been asleep since then. That was four days ago." Eddie explained, playing with her fingers as he spoke. "You gave me quite the scare there, princess. I thought I lost you that night." The dungeon master mentioned, tears falling from his sad brown eyes. Y/N removed her hand from his grip, bringing it up to his face to wipe the tears away, letting the palm of her hand rest on Eddie's cheek, allowing him to nuzzle his face into her hand, finding comfort in being so close to her after days of no contact with her.

~*~

Not long after, Eddie went and got the doctor so he could examine Y/N. He confirmed she was okay, saying he would like to keep her for several more days before letting her go. Once the doctor left, Eddie all but jumped into bed with Y/N, snuggling close to her, making sure to be careful of the stitches on her chest. "Rest Eddie, you need it. I'm not going anywhere." Y/N told Eddie when she saw his eyes drooping. The metalhead nodded tiredly, falling asleep only minutes after he agreed. 

The couple slept the rest of that day and all through the night, waking up mid-morning the next day. As the pair ate breakfast, Steve, Robin, Nancy, and Max came to see them. They were happy to see their friend finally awake, talking to her, asking her how she was, making sure she had everything she needed, overall, just fusing over her. Once she was able to calm the four down, they sat and talked quietly.

"Hey, baby. Are you okay if I go and shower? I won't be long, ten minutes tops." Eddie asked from behind her in bed, moving her hair off her neck and behind her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll be fine Eds. Take as long as you need. I've got these guys to keep me company." Y/N replied to him, planting a kiss on his lips as he got out of bed and walked to the bathroom in her room.

"You know he never left right? He hasn't left this room once since you were put in here four days ago. And he hasn't left the hospital at all since that night. He's stayed put ever since." Steve said once he heard the shower go on. The girls confirmed what he said, telling her how he hasn't even left the hospital to smoke. He sat in the waiting room while she was in surgery, sat next to her in the recovery room, and now has sat in this room waiting for her to wake up. 

"He had Dustin go to his house and get a bag full of clothes and his other things for him so he didn't have to leave. He said he didn't want to risk not being here when you woke up." Max said, smiling softly at the care Eddie had for Y/N. Just then, the bathroom door opened up, and Eddie came out of the room with a new set of clothes on, towel drying his hair. He smiled sweetly at her, tossing his towel over the chair under the window to dry. 

"I think we should get going, let you rest some more Y/N. Glad to see you awake and doing better. We missed you." Nancy said, slowly ushering everyone out of the room, giving Y/N and Eddie a warm smile before she walked out of the room. Just as they walked out, a nurse walked in, looking over the chart on the wall.

"How are you feeling right now, Y/N?" She asked in a sweet tone, grinning at said girl.

"I'm alright. Still tired but I'm sure that will stick around for a while." She replied, resting her head back on her pillow.

"Are you feeling up to a shower? I'll help you and we can go as slow as you need." The nurse asked, walking closer to the bed, putting the side railing down as she talked.

"Yeah, I would love nothing more than a shower. I feel gross. I've never gone this long without a shower." Y/N snorted, making the nurse grin at her, and Eddie chuckle under his breath at his girlfriend. 

"Alright. You're okay to wear whatever you want, as long as it's not tight or constricting on your chest and shoulders. I'll help you into the bathroom and if you need help showering, I'll be there to help." The nurse reassured, smiling gently at Y/N.

"I have some extra clothes for you here, babe. I figured you'd want to get out of the hospital gown as soon as possible, so I had Dustin grab something for you." Eddie said, getting up from the bed and digging through his bag for something that Y/N could wear. He came back with one of his shirts and a pair of pants, handing them to the nurse.

"Alright sweety, let's get you showered!" She said, helping the injured girl into the bathroom.

~*~

The bathroom door opened up, pulling Eddie from the random show he was watching on the tv, seeing Y/N walk out first, the nurse behind her for support. She shuffled across the floor carefully, gently sitting down on the bed when she got to it. She swung her legs up onto the bed, covering herself with the blankets once she was comfortable enough. The nurse quickly bid her goodbye, reminding her if she needed anything, to press the call button.

Y/N sunk down into the bed, looking over and Eddie with tired eyes, giving him a soft smile. "Hi, baby. Have a good shower?" Eddie asked, stroking her wet hair.

Y/N nodded her head, letting her eyes close for a moment before she opened them again. "It was great but it really kicked my ass. I didn't know taking a shower could be so tiring." She said with a quiet giggle, making Eddie laugh too. 

"I'm sure. I do have to say though, you look really good in my clothes. They just swallow you whole, don't they?" Eddie laughed, looking at his girlfriend in his clothes. His Hellfire shirt nearly hit her knees, meaning she didn't really need the sweats she was wearing, but she put them on anyway, seeing as she was so cold. "Go to sleep princess. I'll be right here with you when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere." Eddie said, letting Y/N cuddle into his side as she slept.

~*~

"Alright, clean your stitches twice a day and put this over it once you're done cleaning it. Eddie, don't let her lift anything heavy until she has the stitches out and don't let her do too much. Her lungs are still healing too, so it's going to be hard to do some things right now. Just give yourself time to heal and you'll be fine. And no more getting wood chunks embedded in your chest, I don't want to see you back here for that. I'll have someone call you to schedule your follow-up appointment." The doctor said, handing papers to Eddie before he let the couple go.

Eddie pushed the wheelchair out of the front doors to the hospital, to the side of his van, helping Y/N up into the passenger side before he returned the wheelchair and got in on his side.

"You ready to get out of her, princess?" He asked, putting his seatbelt on. Y/N nodded her head, flashing him a wicked smile.

"Yes! Now, let's go to our spot in the woods!" Y/N said with a spark in her eyes, making Eddie nervous.

"I don't think so! You, princess, are going home and resting until you get those stitches out." Eddie said, throwing the van into gear and pulling out of the hospital parking lot. Eddie could hear the sigh from beside him, stealing a glance at his girlfriend, seeing her pouting in her seat. The metalhead snickered to himself, pulling out onto the road, driving himself and Y/N home to his trailer.

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

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

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

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

"You were gonna fall asleep behind the wheel." 

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

"Are you ready?" he asks her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You owe me," he says, mock-severe. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," she echoes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, you are." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're daunted. 

"Whatever you want," you say.

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

"I don't know. Without?" 

"You are so weird," he says happily. 

You pout and pull Junie closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

If it weren't you'd hardly tell him. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't tempt me." 

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

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

"Are babies supposed to eat popcorn?" 

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

"I thought I read that somewhere, but-" 

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

"I guess she's old enough." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy sugar," he says, wincing. 

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

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

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

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

"You gotta eat it! Chew and swallow!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I saw." 

"Wanna eat some before they get cold?" 

"Subtle." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

"Why?" Junie asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," she whines softly. 

He covers her unhappy face with his hand. 

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

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

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

Someone in the chair behind him coughs pointedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Eddie Munson is trying to prove something. 

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie loves Junie. 

He knows it for a fact. 

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

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

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

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

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

Junie lifts her flushed face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" you ask. 

He shrugs. "Junie pissed her pants." 

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

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

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

"You wanna come up?" he asks Junie. 

She raises both arms. 

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

"You okay?" he asks. 

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

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

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

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

It's a cool, crisp night outside. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's true."

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

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

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

"I think I can do it by now."

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

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

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

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

"What?" 

"You tryna give yourself a concussion?" 

"Kiss it better?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Eddie?" you ask. 

He turns. You look miserable. 

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

"Thank you." 

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

You look visibly embarrassed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should go home." 

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

"Can you hug me?" you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Ow," you whine. 

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

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

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

"No!" 

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

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

"I'm not sitting in your lap." 

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

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

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

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

Long minutes of quiet hugs. 

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

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

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

"I wasn't," you say. 

Eddie thinks you might finally be on the same page. 

-

You get really, really sick. 

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

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

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

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

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

And now here he is again the day after. 

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

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

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

"This is just something I had lying around." 

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

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

"That is in terrible taste." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, Eddie?" she asks. 

You grin to yourself. 

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

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

"Fun," she says.  

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

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

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

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

"Don't baby me." 

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

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

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

"What does she want for dinner tonight?" 

"Boo! Exactly my point." 

"I'm gonna go ask her-" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Do me a favour?" he asks finally.

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

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

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

"The sooner you'll beat this moderate-" 

"Mild-" 

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

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

"On a Saturday?" 

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

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

"I promised." 

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

"You can't." 

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

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

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

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

"Why don't I believe you?" 

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

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

"Name-calling." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Freckle." 

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

"You- You smell like fucking cherry syrup."

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

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

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

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

"I said, 'You're an-" 

"Amazing friend and confidante?" 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spend a minute rubbing your eyes. 

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

"Like, seven. Ish." 

"Eddie…" 

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

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

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

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

Only a little wiggle might suggest she's uncomfortable.

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

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

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

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

"Mis'd," she says. 

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

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

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

"You're not very convincing." 

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

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

"She might've. You tell her enough." 

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

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

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

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

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

"Mommy," she says into your neck. 

"That's me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you." 

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

"You don't have to." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Junie wave him off. 

"To work?" Junie asks.  

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

"To work?" 

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

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

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

But apparently he's coming back tonight. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't wanna be here." 

Eddie had frowned. "Obviously I do." 

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

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

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

"You keep saying that." 

"You keep being dumb, boy." 

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

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

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

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

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

"Hot shower," you explain. 

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

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

Eddie's better than okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

"Like I said. Fixed me. My hero." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even murderers?" 

"Maybe not murderers-" 

"The evil guys from your game? Necromancers?" 

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

You press your lips together, caught.

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

"You do." 

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

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

Eddie stares at you, floored.

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" he asks. 

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

"Eddie the Subtle. Munson the Mad."  

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

"Maybe." 

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

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

Your blinks are slow. Your eyes soften. 

"What if I was?" you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so fucking pretty," he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll make you sick." 

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

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

You don't answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have to feel it. 

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn't feel like it matters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, god, he thinks, ecstatic. 

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

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

You stand sure and sweet in front of him.

"It's…" You look shyly at his lips. 

"What?" 

"I…" 

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

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

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

"Just wanted to do that," you say. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 | 𝐃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐞

“Does he ever smile?” you sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside Peter.

Peter barely looked up from his book. “Derek? No. I’m fairly certain the last time he did, a solar eclipse occurred.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I knew dating him would be a challenge, but come on! I cracked tenperfect jokes today, and all I got was a broody eyebrow raise.”

Peter smirked, finally lowering his book. “That is his version of enthusiasm.”

You pointed at him. “You get it! So why can’t he?”

Peter chuckled, setting his book down. “Because my dear nephew has the personality of a wet paper towel. But I’ll admit…” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Watching you try to break him is highlyentertaining.”

Your lips curled into a grin. “Glad someone appreciates my comedic genius.”

“Oh, I appreciate more than that,” Peter mused, eyes glinting.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile. “Focus, Hale. I need to figure out a way to make Derek laugh. Or at least smirk.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. “Tickle him.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Derek’s a wolf. Wolves have heightened senses. Which means he has to be ticklish somewhere.” Peter grinned like the devil himself. “Imagine his face if you just… went for it.”

Your eyes widened. “Peter. You’re a genius.”

“I know,” he replied smugly.

Not even a minute later, Derek walked into the loft, looking—as always—like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You shot Peter a look. He arched a brow, silently encouraging you.

Alright. Time to see if Peter’s theory holds up.

With the most innocent expression you could muster, you walked up to Derek, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Hey, babe.”

Derek sighed, already softening under your touch. “Hey.”

Then—attack.

Your fingers dug into his sides, wiggling furiously.

Derek jolted. “What the—?!”

He grabbed your wrists, scowling, but there was something else—a twitch of his lips, a barely restrained laugh.

“Oh. My. God.” You gasped, eyes widening. “You’re ticklish.”

Derek glared at you. “No, I’m not.”

“You so are!” You lunged again, but this time, he caught you, hoisting you over his shoulder in a warning hold.

You squealed, laughing. “Derek, admit it!”

Peter, still on the couch, was openly grinning. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Derek groaned, setting you down with an exasperated sigh. But as he turned away, you caught it—a tiny, barely-there smirk.

Your mouth dropped. “Wait. Was that—”

Peter clapped dramatically. “Ladies and gentlemen, she did it. She made the sour wolf smile.”

Derek shook his head, muttering, “You two are the worst.”

But you saw it again. That flicker of amusement.

Mission accomplished.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry