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dashlilymark · 2 years ago

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i can’t wait for more, this is one of the best fics i’ve ever read 🫶

Unexpected Constellations (Part 12)

Rating: M for dark(er)(ish?) themes

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Mentions of blood, Canon-level violence, Dark themes, Foul language, (small emetophobia again i am so sorry), But genuinely the themes are dark today, please proceed with caution.

A/N: Nothing to say here today except i love you. I am in the headspace of not doing my thoughts justice in writing. The story is good in my brain, please take my word for it. If you're enjoying the fic, kindly consider a reblog; it's really the only way my work gets out there :) Hope everyone is staying healthy and happy. Masterlist

You sat cross-legged in your cell, watching the puddle of blood grow larger as it dripped down off of white armour. Some of it had seeped into your own clothes already. Two stormtroopers lay just in front of you, very dead, the food they had been bringing in long forgotten.

But the cell doors activated from the outside automatically, and the soldiers carried no key cards, so it had mostly been for nothing. Mostly, because watching them bleed out slowly had taken the edge off of your bottomless anger, just a bit.

It was the only emotion you had allowed yourself to feel. Towards him, towards the situation, towards his soldiers… Towards the Mandalorian.

While you had recovered from the internal injuries inflicted by the containment field, you had been overcome with grief. The stormtroopers who attended to you had been armed to the teeth, and you had considered the logic of a more drastic way out. But as the mental fog had worn off, you remembered you had one more thing to do.

“Now look at this.” He tutted at you, as if reprimanding a small child. “Was it really necessary? It’s not as if we have infinite troopers at our disposal now.”

You stared forward, trying to calm your breathing.

“You’re looking better.” He crouched down to be level with you. “Now, I don’t want to use the containment field again, but that means I’ll need you to behave yourself. Can you do that for me?”

You were picturing spilling his blood, in so many ways, across the pristine floor. All the possibilities flashed behind your eyelids. You just had to escape.

So you nodded, one time, still not making eye contact.

“Yes?” He sounded surprised. You couldn’t blame him; the picture before him probably painted you as some kind of feral animal.

He seemed somewhat satisfied with your answer though, straightening from his stoop. “Rest. I’ll come back for you soon. There’s much to catch you up on. You won’t believe the things we’ve been up to in your absence.”

You were clenching your teeth so hard it was a wonder they weren’t cracking. Fissuring and turning to dust in your mouth.

Before he left, he turned over one shoulder. He smiled. He told you he missed you. And from the emotions you read from him, you knew it to be the truth.

--- Years ago ---

You had been lying on this floor for hours. Days maybe. There was crushed glass across the surface, under your curled up body, digging and cutting into flesh anytime you shifted.

The group had not held back this time, delighting in drawing screams from you. You hated that they could. Each time you would try so hard to stay silent. Bite your lip or grit your teeth, anything to withhold the satisfaction they got from seeing you break. Because it was that exactly.

They got off on seeing you in pain. You could tell from the waves of arousal that would wind through the room as they toyed with you. They weren’t allowed to touch you that way, and that was perhaps the only blessing you had. But anything else was fair game. A stars, could they be inventive.

Fear, pain, rage… those were all emotions that tethered the Sith techniques, strengthened the wieldier. You had learned that much from your brief training. So it seemed this group had taken it upon themselves to give you a fair dose of each. In their minds, they thought they were making you stronger. Fattening you up like a prize hog to eventually deliver to their master.

Only, that was the issue. Palpatine was dead; lost in the carnage of the Death Star. Which meant that this purgatory would go on forever, as they searched in vain. As you grew old and eventually died, maybe on this very floor, on this bed of glass.

And why not now? If you could manipulate your manacled hands just so, and grab a sharp enough piece of glass, could you do what needed to be done?

The door slid open, and you feigned unconsciousness. There were arms under your sides, lifting, glass making a twinkling sound as it fell from your body to the tiled floor.

“Come now, let’s get you fixed up.” It was criminal how soft his voice was, as if he hadn’t watched the rest of the group tear you to pieces and leave you in a heap. You hated every place where he touched you, wished you could scrape the tainted skin off.

How sad it would be. That you would never be able to feel the touch of a lover, one that brought pleasure, not pain. How so very sad. It was all you thought about as the medical droid applied bacta and bandages and injected you with a sedative. Even its immobile LED eyes looked sorrowful. You welcomed the fuzzy darkness with open arms.

Boba had cleared off the table and laid a map of the galaxy down, using ornate cut tumblers to keep the edges from curling inwards. “Where was it?”

The two of them had wasted no time in making preparations, and if Din had not been so lost in his own worry and self-loathing, he would have taken a second to appreciate just how willing they were to help. Especially on a mission with so many unknown variables.

“I’m not sure exactly. There weren’t any nearby planets to landmark it. Probably around here.” His had shook slightly as he pointed to a secluded area in the Outer Rim. He knew Fett noticed. “It’s saved in the Crest’s database.”

Fennec came in then, a droid trailing behind her, both of their arms laden with weapons. She dumped her armful atop the stretched-out map.

“Smoke bombs, grenades, droid poppers just-in-case, and…” She turned a small pistol over in her hands. “…a stun blaster. It’s all I could get on such short notice.”

“It’ll do.” Boba surveyed the stash with an appraising eye. Din couldn’t seem to understand why she’d need non-lethal weaponry. He wanted them all dead. He didn’t say it aloud.

She braced her palms against the table. “Where are we at?”

“Rough coordinates, no estimate on number of hostiles. Din assumes around fifty. Probably more.” A muscle ticked in Shand’s jaw at the information, and she turned to Boba, angling her head towards the hall. He nodded.

“Give us a moment, Djarin.” They both retreated from the war room.

Din couldn’t blame them. It didn’t look good. He tried not to eavesdrop on the hushed voices beyond the wall.

“…It’s a suicide mission.”

“It doesn’t matter. We owe him.”

“Is he sure it’s even—” Boba cut her off before she could continue.

“He’s not leaving her. He would never leave her behind.”

She exhaled loudly. “I know.”

“I would do the same, you know? If it was you.”

“Even if it was impossible?”

“Especially then.”

He stopped listening because his throat was getting thick with something, and he felt as if he had been punched in the chest.

Not that it mattered much—they were back in the room within moments.

Fennec didn’t miss a beat. “What ship was it?”

“Nebula… something.” He couldn’t remember the name, just the way it had sounded on your tongue. Silver and beautiful.

“Nebulon Frigate.” She looked towards Boba again. “Shit.”

“Long range sensors… offensive weaponry…” He was thinking out loud. Finally he looked at Din, pointing a finger in his direction.

“I’m going to need you to get those jump coordinates for me. We’re not taking the Crest.”

“What?” Both him and Fennec exclaimed at once.

“The Firespray has cloaking capabilities. We’ll need the element of surprise. We can’t take fifty stormtroopers at once.” He pondered again for a moment. “What class of frigate was it?”

“B, I think.”

He looked intrigued. “Had a long bridge? One larger section, one small?”

“Yes, but it was damaged. Like it had seen battle and been abandoned before they picked it up.”

Boba nodded a few times. “Good. Good, that means it should be immobile. Likely no shields. And hopefully prone to structural warning alarms.”

He shifted the weapons and glasses to the side, rolling up the parchment. “We’re going stealth.”

The next time the stormtroopers came into your cell, you didn’t kill them. You took the food from them and ate it. If your plan was going to work, you were going to need to keep up your strength.

They had woken you from a light sleep, sliding the tray across the floor, the screech of it seeming to scratch lines into your brain.

It caught on pieces of debris that littered the cell, pushing them out of its path and towards you. You were being sequestered in the main section of the ship, on a lower level, in an area where damage seemed to be at its worst. The lights would flicker at uneven intervals, the floor was pitted and potholed, and every now and again there would be an eerie groaning sound as the ship floated through space.

Everything ached. Especially the wound on your thigh. The bandage was still in place and there was no blood showing through your trousers, meaning the stitches hadn’t pulled, but it hurt.

Din had been giving you pain medication on the Crest which had numbed it for a time, but without them you were starting to struggle. Just the simple thought of him sent another pang through your leg, and a twin one through your chest.

What had even been the point? Of showing you such care and compassion if he was just planning on dumping you here anyway? You could have sworn there were times where you had felt something from him…

But you were struggling to remember just what it had been. Lust. Yes, there had been plenty of that, but he had been so damn hard to read. Had it really been that easy to play you? He would have cared about your health because he wouldn’t have gotten paid if you were dead. But why keep up the charade with the crystal? Unless he had wanted you and the crystal.

You reached for your food but halted, focusing instead on a piece of metal just beside your knee. An old portion of piping perhaps, scratched and dented and left to rot on the floor. Ironic. You picked it up, tuned it over in your still-manacled hands.

Come to think of it, where even was the crystal?

Din had been keeping it, all too eager to not leave you alone with it. Ah, that made sense now. Perhaps he had handed it over whenever he got his credits.

Three times the value of the crystal… That’s what you were worth to him. Well, at least it was a lot of money. But what had he been worth to you? The stars and the galaxy and the space in between it all?

Maker, you were an idiot. A lovestruck, naïve, and stupid idiot.

Just like everyone else, he had wanted something from you. And you had let him have it… willingly. You wondered if he knew how much damage he had done. Just how deep it went. How much you loved him.

You would tell him. You would tell him before you killed him.

You finished your meal and curled into a small ball on the hard floor. Clutching the sad piece of piping to your chest, you let the thought comfort you into sleep.

He came for you sometime later, hours, days maybe. It was always hard to tell. Your back had stiffened, and your leg was only getting worse. But when he beckoned you to follow, you stood on steady legs, careful not to let the searing pain show on your features. You tried not to limp as he led you down the halls and up an elevator, flanked by two troopers, with an additional one bringing up the rear.

The control centre was a sorry sight. Only two personnel were working there, standing up from their seats to give a sharp salute. Their uniforms were dilapidated, stained with grime, littered with rips. Quite unlike his own. But, then again, he had always been self-absorbed.

Exposed wires littered the floor, panels had been strewn about, and there was a strange mildew smell to the air. You wondered how many of the ship’s systems were actually still functioning. At least the security cams worked; a wall of them flickered away, showing brief cuts of too many near-identical hallways. It made you realize just how empty the starship actually was. Just how depleted his resources were.

The troopers lined the room, blasters across chests. “At ease.” He ordered from beside you. They obeyed.

“I wanted to show you this.” He motioned to the room, beyond it, where a wide window looked out over the rest of the ship. “We’ll be staying here a while, as we fix the ship.”

You couldn’t help your delirious laugh. “Fix?” He looked unamused. “You mean to tell me the Empire won’t supply you with a brand-new Star Destroyer to go ghost hunting?”

A muscle ticked in his too-wide jaw. Good. You wanted to agitate him.

You laughed again. “We’ll be here for years. This frigate is a piece of junk.”

But he merely clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining composure. “We have time.”

I’ll bet you do.

Boba activated the ship’s cloaking as soon as it broke from hyperspace. The calculations had worked, and the frigate was still in position, floating idle in space, no signs of life from the outside.

“They must not have expected you to come back.” Fennec mused.

They would have thought he was smart, logical. Eager to save himself.

They had no idea. If anything had happened to you, he would personally see the whole ship razed, along with everyone inside it. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

The Firespray took a wide berth around the frigate. “When we dock, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that someone comes to inspect the sound.” Boba punched a few buttons on the dashboard. “If we’re lucky, they’ll just mistake it as debris colliding.”

Fennec queried from the jump seat. “And if we’re not?”

“Then we stick to plan B.” The ship closed in on its docking port. “Everyone gets out alive.”

There was a tense silence as he maneuvered into position. Underneath the gloves, Din’s knuckles were white, clenched into unforgiving fists.

“Easy… easy…” Boba was muttering under his breath. Finally, Slave One made contact with a short lurch.

“We’re locked in. Din?”

“On it.” He gave the docking port only a second to equalize before opening the shaft door, rifle at the ready. The hall beyond it, mercifully, was empty.

“Clear.” He could hear the others unstrapping from their seats. The hunt was on.

A dull jolt and low clunking noise caught your attention. It seemed to jostle the ground, just a little. You looked at him, and then at the troopers flanking the door for any sort of recognition, but there was none.

“What was that?”

Only one turned back, acknowledging your question.

“Just damage shifting.”

Some nagging part of you knew they were wrong. It sounded like a ship had docked. And if a ship was here… then that meant you had a way off. One step closer. It was now or never.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “It didn’t sound like damage to me.”

Like clockwork, the comms on his wrist lit up.

“Sir, there’s a small noise disturbance in sector 7. Do you want me to check it out?”

His sigh was patronizing. “Take a look but make it quick. It’s probably just loose steel.”

“Yes sir.”

He pointed at one of the guards stationed at the door. “You, go with them.”

And just like that, you were one guard down. Only two to go.

You didn’t notice the security feeds along the wall slowly start to go dark, one at a time.

Din, Boba, and Fennec had fallen into a pattern as if it were a choreographed dance. They split up, each taking a different route, sticking to the shadows, and taking out cameras as they went.

By a stroke of bad luck—or maybe in her eyes it was good luck—Shand had run into the bulk of the troopers, including a small party sent to investigate the disturbance. They had made a rule to check in every few minutes, along with a Stromtrooper tally. Boba and Fennec were treating it as somewhat of a challenge.

Din could hear the telltale groan of dying man the next time they checked in. “Espa Three checking in. Nearing the command centre. Six troopers down.”

“Espa two.” Boba replied. “Copy. Headed down to the lower levels. Three.”

Mando was the last to check in. “Espa one. Two down, on route to the sky bridge.”

Still no sign of you.

In the minutes that followed, his kills got progressively more brutal.

He had been talking at you for some time now, a poor attempt at gloating, or so it seemed. In the meantime, you breathed through stabs of pain in your leg and took the time to examine the room.

The mildew smell meant the presence of water somewhere. Probably a burst pipe under one of the loose panels.

“When the others hadn’t survived the crash, I had to find some new talent.” Maker, would he ever stop talking? “Everyone on this ship volunteered to be here… because they believe.”

You snorted.

“You being here reinforces that belief. It was the first step. I told them that I would get you back, and here you are.”

You raised your wrists, still circled in cuffs. “I suppose you haven’t been forthcoming about the fact that you’re keeping me against my will. In chains.” At that comment, he dropped your gaze.

“What? You never told them about what you did to me all those years ago? I wonder if they’d still follow you blindly knowing that you used to cut me into ribbons, starve me for days on end, toy with my mind—” The other men had shifted slightly in their seats, perhaps unsure what to do with the new information.

He was inches away from your face then, hissing. “I never touched a hair on your head!”

“No, but you were happy to sit back and watch as everyone else had their fun.”

“It made you stronger!” The veins in his neck were bulging.

You moved forward, the move so abrupt that he relinquished a step. “You tortured me! For years!”

“I made you powerful!” He was seething. “It was because I cared!”

There.

Your response was barely a whisper. “Really?” you lifted your hands again. “Then prove it.”

He seemed to assess. You could follow the train of thought in his eyes. The ship was floating out in the middle of nowhere, and he had a small cabal of troopers under his command. They could subdue you if need be. You were a threat but seemed to have come to your senses. Cooperated. He believed what he wanted to believe. You knew the feeling.

Finally, he nodded. And again, to a trooper at the door.

When he approached you, white armour glinting, and lifted a key you almost sighed in relief. And when the cuffs fell away and the world came back into focus around you, the plan was as clear as day.

Another Stormtrooper entered the room then, delivering a slip of folded paper to the man in front of you. Looking frustrated and somewhat confused, he opened and read its contents. Whatever he beheld had his expression clouding over within seconds.

His order was clipped. “Secure the ship. Now.” The troopers filed out. And then he grabbed you by the elbow, steering you to the front of the room, and into the tattered captain’s chair. Your leg barked at the pain and the edges of your vision frayed a little, trying to keep up with the overload of information available now that you were able to use the Force again.

So, a ship had docked. And it wasn’t a friendly. Good. This could work well.

He was looking out the window with frantic eyes. Scared? Really?

You utilized his distraction to your advantage. The water source was behind the wall across the room; you could feel the steady tick, tick, tick, of droplets falling. It was difficult because you couldn’t see it, but the sense was enough. Focusing enough to make sweat bead on your brow, you manipulated the metal until the dripping became trickling, and then the trickling became rushing.

It pooled onto the floor of the command room, stretching out perfectly in the direction you had planned, right towards the exposed wires. He was too busy barking orders to notice.

But the uniformed technician beside you had, and now watched you with wide eyes. What caught your attention was how his hand shook, hovered over the power button. A question in his eyes.

You nodded and, after what felt like a millennium of bated breath, he nodded back. You both lifted your feet from the floor.

The power engaged with a zap and it was oh so immensely satisfying to see him go down, comms splashing into the water, body convulsing until it finally went limp. The technician cut the power immediately. You could hear men on the other end of the line. “Sir… Sir?”

“Thank you.” You spoke in an effort to break his eye contact on the immobile bodies of his old team.

He turned to you, palms raised in surrender. “I had no idea.” You could feel the reverence in his gaze. It made you uncomfortable.

“I know.” You backed away in an effort to show you meant no harm. “Go. Get off this ship. Take anyone that will go with you.”

He wasted no time, jumping from the chair and running from the room. Leaving you alone.

You didn’t check the man’s pulse, instead going for the discarded note that lay face-down in the growing puddle.

The writing on it was hurried, messy. The water had already dampened the paper, making the ink run. But the text was still clear enough. It was only one line. And it read: The Mandalorian is on board the ship.

Ah.

Come to assuage his guilt, had he? But all of a sudden, doubt was an insistent kernel in the back of your mind. You were shaking. It was from rage… definitely rage… Rage, and definitely not fear and adrenaline and confusion and perhaps a little, little bit of hope.

A fiery blast hit your periphery as the bridge, visible from the deck window, fractured and burst into flames, the two sides of the ship bowing away from each other. The impact had you struggling to maintain balance.

---Minutes earlier---

His tally was up to 15. Maybe he could have taken fifty at once. It sure felt like he could. He had no idea how many more there were. More, hopefully. Enough to quench his seemingly endless bloodlust.

Mando had run the sky bridge like it was a hundred-meter sprint. His heart was thundering once he took cover in the shadowed corner of the far end, sweat starting to feel uncomfortable under the heavy armour.

A few minutes back, blood spray had caught him across the helmet, partially obscuring his vision. He had wiped at it haphazardly, but he was sure he looked a sight. Not that he had any time to dwell on it. He shot out the camera before he rounded the corner.

He had left Boba and Fennec on the other side of the ship to look for you. He hadn’t liked the idea originally, but it was the only way the plan would work. He was the one they would recognize; he was the one they would come after. The next time he took a left turn, he didn’t bother to blast the camera. He let it run, red light blinking as it oscillated to turn on him. He stared it down.

Come and get me.

He had minutes now, two at most, to get back across the bridge before the big wave arrived. He bolted back the way he came.

It worked like a charm. Of course it did. He had never been any good at planning or strategy, but Fett…

He was concealed in a maintenance closet when the cavalry roared past. Maker, it must have been forty troopers at least. He would have laughed at the insinuation if he wasn’t so tense.

Forty troopers? To take him down? It was downright flattering. Once the last of them stormed by, he emerged from his hiding place, took two long strides, and fired one of Boba’s missiles right down the skybridge channel.

The blast doors on each side engaged automatically as soon as the explosive detonated. The force of it almost threw him backwards. But, as expected, the ship split satisfyingly into two.

“Bridge detonated. We’re on our own.”

“I’m not so sure.” was Fennec’s only reply.

You were tracking water down the halls. Strangely quiet halls. Some littered with dropped bodies. You were too exhausted to be confused.

You were dizzy, very dizzy, likely still in recovery from the containment field. Using the Force had only made it worse. As you would turn each corner, you had to brace a hand against the wall for stability. It felt like you were going in circles. Where the hell was the loading bay?

There was a barricade of stormtroopers in the next hall. Enough of them to be more than a nuisance. You could take them, but judging by the way you felt, you might pass out in the process. Then who knew when you might wake up. Your chance at escape was a small, fleeting window. But combat wasn’t an option against that many at once. You steeled yourself, pushing off the wall.

“Stop!” Their blasters were raised, but you knew they wouldn’t shoot. You were much too precious.

One push, just one more. You could do it. As your limbs protested and stomach heaved, you drew upon the Force, a deep pull. One trooper broke from the rest, advancing towards you, holding those damn cuffs. You were so sick of the sight of them.

The ship started to shake. Your fists were curled so tight that your thumbs popped. And then they were choking, all of them, grasping at their necks and flailing before finally falling to the ground before you. Your knees hit the tile hard, the impact jarring your body. There were so many; you could barely see the floor through the throng of their fallen bodies. You wanted to vomit.

Footsteps sounded from behind you, one pair, and you half twisted, delirious with fatigue, ready to throw out another blind attack. It took an extra second for your mind to catch up with your eyes.

“Fennec?” She was already speed walking towards you. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Saving you.” She grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you after her. “Obviously.”

“No, but—” Your brain was failing to keep up. “Din is here.”

“I know. I came with him.”

You yanked your wrist out of her grip, stumbling again. “You knew?” You were slurring your words as if you had drunk too much spotchka.

“Knew what?”

Stars, no. “He gave me up. He took credits for it.” You didn’t want to hurt Shand. You liked her. But if she had played any part in—

But she looked deflated, pitiful. “What kind of lies did they tell you?”

“Lies?” The hall was spinning again. “He left me.”

“He came to get us so we could get you out.”

A sound came from the far end and you both whirled on it. Your heart dropped out of chest and burned a hole through the durasteel of the floor.

He was stained with blood. It was dripping down the side of his helmet. And he was heaving, breastplate rising and falling dramatically, like he was struggling to breathe. You could swear you felt a tether between his body and your own. You felt him again, anger, stress and above all relief… so much relief.

You were moving before you knew what you were doing. Waking and then running. He opened his arms as if to accept you but—

“You left me! YOU LEFT ME!” You were yelling it, screaming at the top of your lungs, barreling fists against his armour. He couldn’t do a thing, couldn’t think of anything to say to make it better so he stood there, still as death, and took the brunt of your hits. They didn’t hurt, not really, not physically, but every impact seemed to shatter a piece of him. Fennec stepped forward to stop you, stun blaster half raised, but he halted her with a hand. You were exhausting yourself, probably experiencing more pain than you were inflicting. “You LEFT…. Me.” You gasped. The hits were getting weaker. “You left. You—"

Your next throw missed, and you fell forward. Into his chest. His arms were around you on instinct, and your fists curled into the base of his cowl. “You left me.” It was a sob this time, and it was as if all of your muscles had suddenly given up. You weren’t even standing anymore, instead held up purely by the force of his embrace.

Tears were stuffy under his helmet. Din could only breathe you in. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ,” he whispered into your hair. He didn’t even notice Boba enter the corridor, a polished looking man in cuffs behind him, blood dripping from his temple. He just held you.

“I’m sorry, love... I’m so sorry.”

You passed out in his arms.

Boba had led everyone back to the Firespray, including the man who Din now knew to be your captor. The Imperial loyalist you had told him about only a few days ago. Since then, his guilt and worry for you had made way for a sharp anger, a simmering resentment that he was trying so desperately to keep in check. Because he wouldn’t be the one to deal with the man. As much as he really, really wanted to.

That was a privilege that he would save for you. If, of course, it was something you wanted. If not, he would delight in skinning him piece by piece, roasting the flesh on a fire and then feeding it back to him. No, that wasn’t creative enough.

The group passed hallways strewn with the bodies of troopers, some interestingly dispatched. When Boba cast a look towards Fennec, she only shrugged her shoulders. His smirk was fond.

Din carried you, one arm across your back, the other cradling your bent knees. The small puffs of air you exhaled into his neck were the only thing grounding him. But just to have you in his arms again… Tension was lifting from his back, leaving aches and pains in its wake.

The trip back to Tatooine, to Mos Espa, was relatively quiet. Since the ship was tight on space, Din sat, legs extended on the floor, across from the man whose death he was plotting in an endlessly violent myriad of ways.

He had removed his tasset armour plate so that your head could rest on his thigh, body stretched to the side. A piece of stray hair had fallen over your face, and he tucked it back behind your ear with a gloved hand. You didn’t stir.

A piece of old piping had fallen out of the fold of your bloodstained clothing with a loud clang. He had been relieved to find that none of the blood was your own. But it was a strange thing, practically trash, but for some odd reason, you had held onto it. He would ask you about it when you woke. For the time being, he stowed it away in his weapon’s belt.

“You will never value her, you know.” Din looked up to see the man, who was watching him with an emotion akin to disgust. “Not the way I do.”

He shifted on the floor, bound legs moving awkwardly. “You stunt her potential, shrink her to a miniature size so she fits on your ship, among your kind. “But she’ll always be above you. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. You’re filth compared to her.”

“Will you shut him up?” Shand called from the cockpit.

“She deserves more. She was born for more.” His gaze was piercing. “You know it.”

Din didn’t reply. He wouldn’t admit that he might even agree.

Fennec emerged and shot him once with the stun blaster.

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two

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

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

Toddlers like cookies, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I brought cookies."

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

Your bravado makes him laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

"She loves the floor,” he says.

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

"Yeah? What's the tab?"

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

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

"I think those might help me out."

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

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

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

"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."

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

"I like sugar."

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

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

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

You pass it to him.

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

"You don't think it looks cruel?"

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

"How many babies do you know?"

"One."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yummy?" you ask.

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

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

"Do they taste like you remember?"

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

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

One oreo, twice the cream.

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

You could ruin them completely for all he cares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?

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

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

“Like what?”

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

“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're clinging to sanity.

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

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

You're terrified.

You've found yourself in tears, too.

"Just tell me, baby," you plead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a ragged breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

Eddie stands by your side, waiting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. A hair."

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

"Stay there," you say without any explanation.

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

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

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

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

"A hair remover."

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

"How long does it take?"

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

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

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

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

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

You take the hair between your nails and pull.

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

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

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

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

"I don't feel well."

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

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

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

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

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

You're trying very hard to calm down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No.” Your chest burns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I look that bad?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No socks," she agrees.

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

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

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

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

She sighs. You sigh too.

Eddie hums from the kitchen.

He kissed my knee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You can cook," you say, surprised.

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

"I doubt it's gross."

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

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

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

He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.

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

"So don't look. Eat."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's embarrassing in its intensity.

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

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

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

“If you’re sure,” you say.

“Positive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks at you curiously.

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

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

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

"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

“You first. Where’re her shoes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.

Don’t patronise me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks.

"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”

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

“Is there a way around?”

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

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

He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”

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

“Maybe we should find another way.”

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

You blow air out of the side of your mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”

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

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

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

“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.

“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”

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

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

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

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

“No. I don’t deny it.”

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

You nod happily, warm under his touch.

Wait. “What?”

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

“Eddie!”

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

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

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

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

“Can I get in on one of those?”

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

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

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

He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."

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

"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.

"Whatever it's called."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The further you read the closer he gets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And they were awesome."

“Eddie,” you complain softly.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.

“I’m really not hungry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay," she says.

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

You kiss her cheek.

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

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

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

"Grand," Eddie praises.

"What did you want to come here for?"

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

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

"Why'd they have so many?"

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

"So these are knock-offs?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want?" he asks.

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

He gasps. "What?"

"I can afford that one myself."

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

"They won't."

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

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

You see your saving grace across the way.

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

Junie perks up.

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

"What?" she asks.

"I saw… teddies!"

"Mr. Bear?" she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if she gets dermatitis?"

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

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

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

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

"Shit, really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best day ever.

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

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

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

You can't afford all three.

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

"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."

"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."

It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.

"Eddie," you say again, quietly.

He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."

"Really?"

"Only for the rabbit."

You purse your lips to fight a smile.

Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.

"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.

"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"

You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."

Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.

"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.

Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"

"A rash."

"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.

You laugh. "Poor baby."

"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.

"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."

"He thought you were hurting yourself?"

"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."

"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.

You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.

"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."

"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.

"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."

You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.

"You are pretty funny," you say.

"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."

You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."

"Yeah, you should've."

Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.

"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.

You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.

You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"

"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.

He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.

He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"

You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.

"You want me to drive?" you ask.

"No, sweetheart. You're good."

You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.

"Eddie…"

You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.

He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

You waver.

"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."

You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.

"I'll crawl."

You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.

Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."

"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.

The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.

The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.

Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.

"Eddie," you start.

"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."

You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.

"Now you're getting it."

He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.

You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.

Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.

You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?

I didn't force him. He likes me.

He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.

He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."

You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.

"Of course you can."

You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.

"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.

"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."

"Eager to get back?"

"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."

"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.

"I'll try that one after you."

You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.

"Leave some for me."

"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."

He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.

He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"

"I think so."

"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."

"What?"

"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."

"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"

"A long time ago."

You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.

He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.

You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"

"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."

"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"

You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.

You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.

"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.

"Cake?" she asks.

"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."

You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.

"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.

"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.

There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.

"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.

"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.

Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.

"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"

You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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me as soon as heartstopper is released:

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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johnny depp winning his case would actually be a win for feminism, some of you are just too delusional to accept that.

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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I need to stop joining new fandoms and falling in love with new people.

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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THANK U SM FOR INCLUDING ME AGAINNN 🤍🤍🤍🤍😍😍😍😍

☁︎·̩͙✧

mcu

✦ = finished | ✧ = not finished

you’re welcome to recommend me some fics! Forgot to post this :/

—

Billy Russo

uncle billy by @dashlilymark

genre: fluff, fem! reader, assistant! reader | summary: Lisa is playing a match maker for her favourite uncle

Sweetness by @marvelmusing

genre: fluff, gn! reader (?) | summary: Billy Russo loves all things sweet, but you take up a particular spot in his heart.

—

Matt Murdock

cuddle privileges by @carters-things

genre: fluff, gn! reader | summary: Matt lost his cuddling privileges

Wine drunk . ii by @hufflepuffs-and-hozier

genre: angst, fem! reader | summary: You knew Matt didn't love you, but Elektra's return still sparks up feelings you can only find the end to at the bottom of a bottle.

—

Tony Stark

Perfect by @underoostarks

genre: fluff, fem! reader | summary: You and Tony are nowhere close to being perfect.

Should Have Been A Dad by @lazydoodlesandfanfic

genre: angst, daughter! reader | summary: you finally have had enough of your dad ignoring you. | tw/warnings: death of parent, abandoment, neglect, verbal abuse and running away

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

Summary: Remus is insecure about his scars

Pairings: Remus x fem! Reader; established relationship

Words: 2K

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Warnings: fluffy and a smidge of angst, possibly suggestive? no use of “y/n”

Request: yes/no: thank you anon for requesting!

A/N: hey… hi… how y’all doing

okay I know I’ve been AWOL for a while, my life just kinda blew up and I haven’t found the time to write, but I’m slowly getting back into it, so be ready for some more one-shots.

Anyways enough of my rambling enjoy the one-shot!

𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

Remus had his days where he didn’t mind his scars but a lot of the time he hated his scars and what they represented. They were constant reminders of what he was and he hated it. His scars ran along his body, which he could hide pretty easily, but the ones on his hands, face, and neck were the ones that people stared at the most and made him the most insecure. The scars added to the self-loathing that runs through his head all the time.

Today was a day where he absolutely hated his scars more than usual and wanted to crawl into himself and stay in bed and avoid any human interaction. It didn’t help that the full moon was in 2 weeks. Remus got up and went down to the great hall for breakfast, hoping no one noticed his change in attitude.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

As you sat down next to your wonderful boyfriend, he greeted you with a “good morning”, a kiss on your temple and wraps an arm around your waist, and goes back to his breakfast. You didn’t think anything of it until you notice that Remus isn’t really engaging in conversation with the others at the table. You nudge Remus a bit “Hey are you okay love?”, you ask him quietly. “ Yeah, I’m okay,” Remus tells you with a nod of his head and goes back and stares at his plate and plays around with the food on it.

You aren’t convinced, but you know if something is bothering Remus, he’ll come to you when he is ready to talk about it. You make conversation with the others sitting at the table while Remus is in his own head. Sirius, being the perceptive friend he is, he nudges you from under the table and slightly jerks his head towards Remus with a “what’s wrong with him” look. You just respond with a shrug of your shoulders and mouth out “I’ll find out later”. Sirius nods his head and goes back to listening to the conversation that the others were having.

Throughout the rest of breakfast, you stole glances at Remus to make sure he was okay, but it just seemed he was in his own head. Later you were going to find out why he was being so quiet this morning.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

This day was exhausting for Remus and all he wanted to do was to crawl back into bed and escape the world. As he finished up Transfiguration, he rushed back into the common room to go to his dorm.

When he walked into the common room, he saw you working on one of the desks, with your tie loosened around your neck, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and your robe discarded on the nearby seat across from you with your bookbag on the same chair. As he walked up to the table, he saw the look of concentration and smiled at the amount of focus you were putting into the essay you were.

This potions essay was a little hard to do since it was on Amortentia. And as you were writing the essay, your train of thought was broken when you hear footsteps approaching the desk you were working at. You look up and you see your werewolf boyfriend and you smile brightly at him.

“Hey love!”, you greet Remus with a smile. “Hi, darling. What are you doing?” He greets in a tired voice.

“Just an essay on Amortenia,” you tell him and slight frown at the grogginess in his voice.

“You alright there Rem?”

“Yeah, just tired.” He waves off your concern. You don’t believe him for a second and raise an eyebrow at him. He sees your expression and tries to reassure you that it’s because the full moon is coming up soon. You still don’t believe him so you decide it is time for Remus you tell you what is on his mind. You start to pack up your stuff from the desk.

“Why are you packing up your stuff? I thought you were working on your essay?”

“The essay isn’t due until next week, but we need to talk.”

Remus's heart stops for a second and you see his face pale. “Oh no! It's not about anything bad Remus,” you reassure. You see the relief on his face and nods at you. You smile, “Hey let’s get changed into something more comfortable and I’ll meet you in your dorm.” “Okay sounds good love.” You peck him on the lips before going up to your dorm to put away your stuff and change out of your uniform.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

You knock on the Marauders dorm and Remus answers it half-dressed with wearing his pajama bottoms and wearing a plain white shirt. He greets you and welcomes you into a quiet dorm.

“Where are the boys?” You ask Remus.

“Probably out and planning a prank.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, “Don’t they need your brain for that?”

He chuckles and just shrugs “Not all the time, it seems they’ll be fine with detention with Minnie.”

Remus forgot he was just wearing a short-sleeved shirt and discreetly grab a sweater to put over the shirt. After finding a sweater, he puts it on and sits on his bed.

“So, what did you need to talk about?”, Remus asks you.

“You’ve been oddly quiet today Rem, I just want to know what is going on in that head.” You move to Remus and settle in between his open legs and he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your stomach. He sighs when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, playing with his hair, running your hands gently through his scalp, and the hair at the back of his head.

“I-”, he starts but then stops himself to try to find the words. He bites his lip and just buries his head into your stomach more.

“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” You tell him softly while nudging his head back so you can make eye contact with him. He sees the sincerity in your eyes and just nods.

You guys just sit there in silence for a while, Remus taking in your comforting touches and it quiets his mind and neither of you wants to say anything as to not ruin the atmosphere in the room.

“I- I just don’t feel good about myself.” Remus starts.

“I’ve always hated being this, this monster.” You frown at his words but let him continue since you need to hear what he has to say.

“Ever since I’ve been bitten and had these scars, I’ve always been stared at and questioned about them. And I’m tired of them. I’m tired of everything. These scars, especially the ones that are noticeable, make want to hide from the world.” Remus sighs out.

“I’m not like Sirius or James, where I’m confident in my looks, and to put it simply, these scars make me insecure and that’s why I wear sweaters all year round.”

Taking in and processing what Remus has said, you take a moment to find your words.

“You know, you might not believe this but I love your scars.” Remus looks up at you surprised. “I thought you would be disgusted by them?” He tells you.

You shake your head, “Oh no, far from it actually. I’m actually quite fond of them Rem.”

“It gives you a mysterious look and makes you look rugged, which I find really attractive.” Both of you chuckle at what you said but then you continue. “I know you don’t like them but I love them, and how the feeling of them contrasts my skin. You’ll learn to love them and I’ll be glad to help you with that.”

Remus tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean by that?” He asks.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Woah take me to dinner first.” Remus teases.

You flush a bit “Haha so funny, just do it and lay back on your bed.”

He does what you say and you straddle him, you start to kiss his face slowly, starting with his forehead, and trailing down his face with his nose, cheeks, and finally his lips where you spend a little longer. Before anything can get heated you break off the kiss but not without a few lingering pecks. Remus groans slightly because you stopped kissing him.

You laugh at him “As I said before, I’m helping you with your scar insecurity.” You continue your kisses down from his face and down to his neck and chest. You kiss each of the scars on his neck and chest and in between each kiss you whisper affirmations to him and Remus starts to tear up because of all the love you’re giving him. He tugs you up from his chest and pulls you into a bruising kiss. This catches you off guard but you match his intensity and trail your hands up his body. You cradle his face in your hands and you feel his cheeks are damp and you break the kiss.

“Are you okay Rem? You’re tearing up?” You ask Remus worriedly. He smiles at your concern. “I’m fine don’t worry. M’ just a little overwhelmed by all the love you’re giving me.”

“Don’t you dare say that you don’t deserve me or anything, Remus, because you know that’s all bull.” You say sternly because you know how Remus’s mind works.

Remus surrenders so he just pulls you into a loving kiss. You guys trade kisses, the kisses becoming more passionate than the ones before. Before anything can become more heated, the door to the dorm slams open, and James and Sirius walk in.

They see you and Remus about to get hot and heavy,

“WOAH!” James yells out, and you and Remus break apart with flushed faces and swollen lips.

“MY EYES, MY PRECIOUS EYES! James continues to yell out.

“Shut up James!” You tell him. “Get out!” Remus tells them.

“GET SOME MOONY!” Sirius exclaims as they’re leaving the dorm. “Also, if you guys are going to screw each other, put a sock on the doorknob.” James and Sirius leave the dorm and you can still hear James’s complaints as they travel down the stairs.

Both you and Remus start to break into laughter at the situation that you guys find yourselves in. After the both of you calm down, you get off of Remus and settle down into Remus’s side and lay your head on his chest and start to trace some scars, loving the feeling of the scars on your fingers.

“Do you wanna nap before dinner?” You ask Remus.

“Well, I was thinking we could do something else since you got me riled up.”

You slap his chest and he laughs at your reaction, “We aren’t doing anything, especially after our friends walked in on us, everyone was lucky that they walked in before anything could actually happen.”

“Fine, fine.” Remus relents, “I guess we can just cuddle and nap.” He sighs out jokingly.

“Good, because you actually didn’t have a choice in this decision.”

“Really?” He asks you while looking down at you in his embrace.

“Yup!” You confirm while slightly biting your lip and he stops you by pulling your chin down slightly. Remus is entranced by your lips and he can’t resist pulling you into a soft kiss. Breaking off the kiss, you both smile softly at each other and you snuggle more into Remus and he tightens his arm around your waist and starts to draw random patterns into your shirt. The calm atmosphere and Remus’s soft touches are slowly lulling you to sleep. Your soft breaths, the slow rising of your chest, and slight snores coming from you make Remus smile down at your sleeping form and it slowly makes him fall asleep.

When James and Sirius come up to the dorm after dinner, wondering where the two of you were. They open the dorm to see you and Remus wrapped up in each other, sleeping blissfully, and they decide to be the best friends ever, they sneak down to kitchens and grab plates of food for the both of you, so when you guys eventually wake up and freak out about the fact you guys missed dinner, you’ll have food waiting for the two of you.

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dashlilymark · 3 years ago

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THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER READ OMG I CANT 🤍🤍🤍🤍🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Small! Reader x Fred Weasley

Warnings- None, intentional/accidental theft, few curse words, make out session, Snape and McGonagall being themselves, and fluff overload

Everyone in Hogwarts knew it, but no one seemed to be able to say no to you. You, the sweetest pure blood who didn’t give a damn about what people thought about her.

You had a… hobby, if you could call it that. Always cold and always forgot a jacket or sweater of some kind. So, by now, you had a collection of sweaters, jackets, coats, and sweatshirts in your room at home and your dorm room. You had at least one from each student at Hogwarts, all ranging from the current first years to the 7th years from your first year. Everyone knew by now to always carry an extra couple of jackets just in case you forgot yours… again.

It had actually become a competition at the school. Who has given you the most jackets? So, each student had begun to put their names in the coats and tally when you took one from them. Every time someone announced a number at a random time you would always blush harshly and slink into the jacket bashfully while the entire class giggled. Even the teachers had stopped trying to end the game because they always bet on a couple of students from each year of who was going to win.

But one boy watched you more carefully than most. One boy always had his eye on you in case you needed a jacket or something else and gave it to you when you were in a mile radius of his position.

Fred Weasley. Notorious for his pranks with his twin, he had the biggest crush on you since you had asked to borrow his jacket the first year. He had been the first person you had ever asked for a jacket and it all just went from there. But what he didn’t know was that you had a crush on him too, and that you still had that jacket (which still fit and was still ridiculously large on you, being a tiny little potato and everything. Especially compared to him and his brother).

“44!” A Slytherin yelled as you slid the jacket on. The class chuckled and even Professor Snape couldn’t hold back a small smile(I know, surprising the man could do that!), betting his house would be the house to give you the most jackets over all.

“I have not taken 44 jackets from you,” you mumbled at him, the black haired boy smirked at you.

“Yeah you have, sweetheart.” He said winking.

“Alright, alright. Although this competition is very interesting,” Snape drawled out, still smirking. “Get to work.” You and the Slytherin boy immediately focused on your potions again, though he still smirked smugly, proud of his number 44 status.

A particular red haired boy, though, did not get back to his potion, but just stared at you from where he was by his brother.

“Uh, Freddy,” George warned, eyeing his brother's cauldron as his began to bubble. “Freddy!” He said urgently, tugging at his sleeve, put it was too late (And he wasn’t paying any attention to anything but you anyhow) the potion let off a boom and the potion splattered a thick, slime-like substance all over the Weasley twins. Snape walked over to them and looked over the mess.

“20 points from Gryffindor, and go clean yourselves off. You smell repulsive,” George gaped at Snape, asking why twenty, but Fred was still looking over at you, quickly looking away when you gazed at him. A blush rising to the both of your cheeks, making them as red as his hair.

George pulled Fred from the dungeons, thinking of a new prank for Snape, as well as a way to get the two of you together, that last one rather quietly. He loved that his brother had fallen in love or whatever, and found enjoyment in teasing him about it, but twenty points taken from Snape, of all people, was unacceptable. He figured this had gone on for long enough and it was time to get the two of you together.

You sat in the library, shivering as you studied. A jacket slipped over your shoulders and you looked up to see none other than George Weasley. You found out a few different ways to tell the twins apart from one another, making you one of their favorite people in school. But there was something different today as he slipped into the seat next to you and stared.

“Do I have something on my face or am I just that adorable?” You questioned suspiciously. He smirked.

“I need your help for a prank,” Intrigued, you sat up taller and inclined your head, always interested in what the boys planned and intrigued that he needed your help.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m trying to make someone jealous so I need a pretty, very much well liked girl to be my girlfriend. Not for real, just little things. Hand holding, hanging around more, you coming to Gryffindor quidditch practices. Nothing much on your part, really. The game around school will obviously still continue, but you see where I’m going with this.”

You thought about it for a moment. You had a crush on his brother. His twin brother. But, you did find it amusing when they pranked people and loved when they included you. This would also be a good way to test if Fred liked you back.

“You got yourself a new partner in crime, Weasley,” You smiled. He smiled back, glad his plan was slipping into movement so easily.

The two of you started the next day with him walking up behind you at breakfast and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hello, Darling,” He mumbled into your hair, making you giggle. From where Fred was sitting, he saw it happened and spit his drink out, all over Harry and Ron.

“Fred?” Harry asked as Ron mumbled profanities at his brother and tried to wipe himself off. “Are you ok?” He didn’t answer, just continued to stare at you and George in disbelief. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed his gaze to the two of you giggling and you wrapped in his arms.

Everyone knew about Fred’s crush on you and vise versa. No one tried to come between the two of you. No one wanted to attempt to. So why did his own brother start getting all… touchy with you.

George kissed your cheek before waltzing over to his seat by his brother.

“Mooooooorning,” he said brightly. “What's for breakfast today?” He got no reply, just a lot of silent stares. “Did I miss something?” He asked. Fred stood up and left the hall, his appetite gone. George watched him go with a satisfied smirk.

“What's going on, George?” Hermione asked. “Everyone knows about their mutual... uh... thing, you more than anyone! What was that called?”

“Yeah,” Ron added, his mouth full of food. “That's not cool.” George just laughed and took a bite from a muffin, making sure his brother was gone before he filled the three in on his plan, all of them immediately on board.

It pretty much continued that way for about a week. You still stole everyone’s jackets, but the buzz around school was of yours and George’s relationship and how you two were just the cutest, though everyone still shipped you with Fred.

Neither you or George had really spoken to Fred that week and it was killing you!

“George, I think we should stop,” you confessed, studying in the library for an upcoming test. “For some reason Fred has stopped talking to me. I know you want to make a girl jealous, but is this the way to go about it?” he chuckled, but was internally screaming at how oblivious you were to Fred’s obvious feelings.

“Your one to talk, love,” you giggled at the nickname, though you would have rather it been Fred calling you it, George said it so sweetly sarcastic that you couldn't help but giggle at it. “You're doing the same thing to my brother,” your eyes widened.

“Wha-I- You-Heh?” You struggled to make coherent sounds with your mouth. He laughed at you.

“Don’t worry. The prank’s are almost over. I always have a plan.” He smirked, tapping the side of his head, and went back to his essay, leaving you utterly puzzled.

Another week went by and you had stopped seeing Fred anywhere. He was never looking at you in class, never did you see him in the hall, and he had to be getting his food from somewhere else because he was never in the Great Hall. It made you sick that you hadn’t seen him at all for two weeks.

But then, George filled you in on the rest of the plan.

“Ok, Y/N, listen up. I got the girl!” You beamed.

“That's great, George!” you laughed and hugged him congrats.

“Thanks. But now we have to stage a huge break up where you have to be heart broken. Ok?” You cocked your head.

“Why?”

“Trust me on this. Ok?” You shrugged.

“Ok. Do you think Fred will come around once we aren’t a ‘thing’ anymore?” You asked worriedly. He smiled.

“I know he will. Don’t worry about your little crush, it'll all work out.” You blushed at his comment, but ignored it.

The only problem? It didn’t. The big blow out happened. You and George were officially not a fake couple anymore, but Fred still avoided you like the plague, making your heart squeeze in your chest at the loss of him.

It had been a long day. You hadn't done great on a test, you just got word that your childhood pet had died and you had tripped and fallen down about four flights of stairs. Dizzy from the first fall, you tripped again, and had fallen down the rest of them. And all you wanted? Was to be wrapped in Fred’s arms, but no. He apparently hated you, which made you even sadder. So, the only solution? Stumble your way to the astronomy tower, sad disappointed, bruised, and heart broken.

When you walked out to the balcony you saw the figure of some tall boy leaning over the railing, it was dark and your eyesight was blurred by tears so you didn't notice it was the one person you wanted to see most.

You leaned over the railing besides him and looked out at the horizon, letting the tears fall down your cheeks, shivering from the fact that you had forgotten a jacket again.

Fred looked over at you and tensed. What was he supposed to do? But then he noticed the tears and bruises, making him confused and his heart doing a broken flutter in his chest.

“Y/N?” He questioned. You looked over at him and, finally seeing who he was, burst into tears. His eyes widened and he rushed to comfort you. You slid to the ground and he wrapped you in his jacket to protect you from the wind as you sobbed into his chest.

Your tears stopped and he pulled your face up to examine the dark bruises on your face, along with the dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep.

“Are you alright?” He asked carefully, looking into your eyes and willing himself not to glance at your lips.

“No,” you croaked out and sobbed again. He held you again, being selfish for a moment, although you were his brother’s ex, he couldn't help it. He hushed you as you began to cry again.

“What happened?”

“I-I bombed my divinations test, my dog died and then I fell down like twenty flights of stairs,” you sobbed into his chest. He frowned and gripped you a little tighter, wishing he could have protected you from the horrible day you had had. But also, selfishly, loving the feeling of you in his arms. It had been a long two months since the last time he had actually hugged you and he had forgotten how right it felt.

“I’m sorry, Dove,” he mumbled into your hair and kissed the top of it, only making you sob harder. “Please stop crying,” he begged and tightened his grip. He hated it, he practically tore in two at the sound of it.

You tried to stifle your sobs but they wouldn’t quiet, you just clung to his shirt tighter and buried your head further into his chest, hating how you loved him, and he didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

“And-and-” you started to mumble out, not in your right mind, or anywhere close to it, emotions blocking the piece of you that made you think before you spoke. “And you hate me now, and it-it sucks. But I don’t know what to do about it.” He pulled back and tried to look at you, but gave up and rested his chin on your hair and hugged you even tighter.

“I don’t hate you,” he muttered to you.

“Then why have you been ignoring me?” You pulled back, not bothering to wipe the tears from your face. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes darting to your lips before meeting your Y/E/C eyes again. You didn’t notice. You never noticed.

“Because of my brother,” he sighed out.

“You-your brother?” He nodded. “What does George have to do with you ignoring me?” He stared at you for a moment, thinking you were joking with him, but noticed after a moment you were indeed oblivious to his emotions towards you.

“Because you were dating him,” he stated, as if it were obvious. You creased your eyebrows and cocked your head to the side like a lost puppy.

“No we weren’t.”

“Yes you were.”

You shake your head, slightly amused.

“We were faking it so he could make someone he likes jealous,” you explained. Fred thought about it for a minuets, George didn’t like any one. Then it hit him.

Fred.

He was trying to make me jealous so I would…

He looked at you and opened his mouth, but she beat him to the punch.

“But why would that have anything to do with anything?” He stared at her for a moment more, before catching your eyes flick down to his own lips and look back up at his eyes. It was so quick that he had a difficult time knowing if it actually happened.

Had you liked him the whole time as well?

“Because,” he chuckled, despite the humorless situation he was in. He couldn’t get another word out, he was laughing so hard. His head had fallen forward, and you were just staring at him in confusion, attempting to dry her eyes.

“What?” you asked, tugging his jacket around her tighter, honestly never wanting to give this one back on purpose.

He laughed even harder, dropping his head into his hands and shaking it. You creased your eyebrows and pouted, you didn’t understand what was so funny about this situation. .

“Fred!” You whined.

Without a second thought he grabbed your face and brought it up to his, planting his lips on yours. You were shocked to say the least, but kissed back after your shock had worn off.

It was perfect. More perfect than you had imagined it. And you had imagined it pretty perfectly. But his lips against yours weren't what you were expecting. You had expected them to be soft, like you had heard your friend’s describe their boyfriends'. They were slightly rougher, a little chapped, but damn did they feel like heaven against your own. You wouldn’t have changed the way they felt for the world.

You knotted your hands in his hair pulling him closer to you, moving your lips simultaneously with his. Perfect sync. Which was surprising for you since it was your first kiss.

Your throat was burning from lack of oxygen, but you didn’t want to pull away and it seemed like neither did he. But you had to eventually, breathless and not satisfied with the small tease that you had given each other.

He pressed his forehead against yours and laughed again, but this time you joined in.

“How long?” you asked him, glancing up at his eyes.

“First year,” you pushed him away and crashed your lips on his, this time catching him by surprise.

When you broke apart and you caught your breath it was his turn to ask.

“How long for you?”

“First time you gave me your jacket,” you mumbled breathlessly, making you both laugh. “George is either going to kill us or be grateful that we finally kissed.”

“Well, there is one more thing I have to do,” he said seriously, making you worry slightly as he brought himself away from you. You looked at him worriedly and bit your lip. His eyes immediately looked there, but brought them back up to your eyes a second later, reminding himself he could do that in a second. “Be my girlfriend?” You laughed and kissed him breathless again. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” he mumbled into your mouth.

The two of you walked into the Great Hall arm and arm, your head resting on his shoulder and he gave your head a kiss. George looked over.

“It's about bloody time!” he shouted, getting the rest of the Hall’s attention. Students and faculty started standing and applauding, everyone glad that you two finally got together. You even heard a few students yell, “Give her a smooch, Freddy!” which he gladly did.

You blushed madly, but still glad that you had your boy, and slightly upset that you hadn't gotten him sooner. And in all the chaos everyone had failed to notice Minerva McGonagall passing over a small bag of money to Snape, who had a smug look on his face.

She leaned over to him.

“I know you cheated somehow,” he smirked.

“I have no idea why you would insinuate such a thing,” he whispered back, pocketing the money. But the conversation he had had with George the other day in class was replaying in his mind.

A little fact afterwards

As it turned out, Slytherin house did end up giving you the most jackets by the end of the year. Leaving Snape the winner of yet another bet and getting him a nice few things, including a very cheesy golden jacket trophy that the Slytherins were very proud to put in their dormitory, along with a picture of every Slytherin student and her with jackets all over the place. On the back an inscription read,

Slytherin, the winner of the house giving the most jackets to Y/N Y/L/N. Also a historic year, as Y/N Y/L/N and Fred Weasley finally got over themselves and made out in the astronomy tower, officially making themselves a couple.

The two students who had given her the most Jackets were Fred, obviously, and Jorgan Dregan, a Hufflepuff, both who also got a small statue of a jacket.

Y/N went down in history and the story of her jacket obsession and Fred Weasley's drama made it into a special book in each of the houses that held some of the most prominent memories of each house. While the Weasley twins went down in the books right next to Marauders as some of the best troublemakers of their time.

Hope you guys enjoy! I really liked writing this one! Please like, follow, and message me!

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