#Tw: implied birth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joelsgreys · 5 months

Text

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

3K notes · View notes

thesnowfelled · 2 years

Text

Renesmee does NOT want biological children ever. It was one of those things were their own birth scared them half to death. It was a traumatic thing that no one should have to go through and while it is more likely that they’d be fine, it is just not a drive for them. They like kids but as for even considering having their own even through adoption or fostering is next to zero.

The images their mother’s half dead body looking down at them is hell. It leaves her feeling a sense of guilt that no one else can understand. Her father was not a fan of her, they know this because of the sound of his voice in the womb. Her mother’s soft voice whispering poems to them was comforting. It was the only thing that made the time pass easier. It is now one of those things that Renesmee can not handle. A poem / book that was read to them in the womb will be shut down fast from them. It is apart of the reason public school would never work (Among the fact that she is advanced in education but has poor social skills).

#* … ( RENESMEE CULLEN : headcanon. ) ⠀ › ⠀ she’s IMPERFECT but they try #birth trauma tw #traumatic birth tw #traumatic events implied tw #pregnancy tw #ptsd tw #mental health tw #* … ( OOC : all metas. ) ⠀ › ⠀ signs her LETTERS with x’s and o’s

0 notes

luveline · 2 years

Text

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 ♡

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

16K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 3 months

Note

I looveee the Monsters x Heartbreaker reader. Especially how reader is a b**ch.

So what about a motherly reader with the monsters? I do love to give those monsters an awakening breeding kink and future family when they meet motherly reader lmao

TW: monster smut, breeding kink, pregnancy talk

I think it definitely adds another layer of possessiveness. Reader is not only a player, but also a caring Darling who just happens to be hornier than the average person. So she will lovingly accept the courting of any monster, with a lot of preparation and plenty of aftercare.

The realization doesn't immediately settle in. Obviously they've never dealt with a human before, so pregnancy is borderline ridiculous and out of the question. The monsters just follow their instincts and filling Reader with their seed is merely a kinky finale to their play.

And then it happens. Maybe it's a pregnancy scare, maybe more knowledge comes to light, but the important conclusion is that Reader can indeed be bred. It's the ultimate way to mark their territory and permanently brand her as theirs. What better way to say "She's mine" than turning her into the mother of their children? Bite marks, scratches, rough handling, they all go away with time. This is permanent.

Except, you know, this flawless logic implies there's not a horde of suitors waiting for their turn. "You're all mine", but multiply it by Lord knows how much. Yet, regardless of the reasoning, the urge prevails. No rational approach would convince the beasts in heat that they should take a step back. Even the ancient, all-knowing eldritch creature is clouded by tremendous jealousy at the idea that some other pathetic brute would gain the upper hand with Reader. Absolutely not.

It's a terribly crass way of putting it, but once this desire develops within the monsters, Reader will be dripping every step of the day. Whatever was happening under the sheets before has now turned into who can fill Reader up the most.

*insert multiple gas pumps meme*

(Ah, yes, that's where the Breeding Olympics from the previous ask come in. I almost forgot. Naturally, only the best of the best may have the chance to procreate with the one and only human of their realm. Funded by the Mayor of Monstertown, the historical event will ensure that Reader doesn't waste her time - and birthing resources - with anything less than elite.)

#absolutely shameless #group therapy next door in 2 hours #yandere monsters #yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #yandere x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #tw breeding kink

723 notes · View notes

cultofdixon · 3 months

Text

“I love you” told in a silent way

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Eldest Greene!Daughter • The archer and eldest Greene daughter grew close when they met and even turned into a few things. Little did they know that they were expecting • ANGST/SFW/NSFW - Implied Sex / Quickies / Hickeys / Biting • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Self Harm Scars / Nausea / Talks of Abortion / Amputation / Pregnancy & Birth

Requested by: Anon

Daryl tried to be sneaky when it came to getting one of Hershel’s horses. He thought it be easier to maneuver through the woods on horseback instead of his bike. Wouldn’t be as loud either.

The man didn’t know anything about horses. Especially with putting the saddle and reins on. But he was trying to be quick so that none of the Greenes would notice.

Little did he know he was being watched.

“You forgot the saddle pad. Protects their back from the saddle…the friction and all”

The youngest Dixon quickly dropped the saddle and didn’t think of aiming his crossbow given the woman he turned toward didn’t seem to be armed.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The owner of the horse you be takin’. Don’t care if you do just thought you might need a hand before you take off”

“I’ve got more questions first—-“

“You want a name or somethin’? Or like why didn’t I show my face when your group stumbled into the ranch with a half dead boy?” She tilted her head after saying all that, watching the man’s body relaxed when she said all that. “I’m Y/N Greene. The eldest Greene daughter and I didn’t show my face because I’m not all too friendly with strangers and my old man isn’t all too proud of me”

Now Daryl was completely relaxed for some strange feeling growing in his chest. This total stranger didn’t leave out anything in the initial meeting…he didn’t feel like he had to pull it out of her.

“Can I at least get your name?”

“Daryl. Uh Daryl Dixon”

“Well nice to meet yea. Let me help you get the saddle on and you can take’em wherever you need to go”

“Ain’t gonna like…question why I’d be takin’ your horse?”

“The best thing about being invisible…is I already know why you’re doing it so I’m gonna help in my smallest way” Y/N got the saddle pad from the open cabinet in the stable approaching her horse to get him set up. “You’re trying to find that Carol woman’s daughter? I’d be careful when riding. Nelly is skittish sometimes”

“That’s understandable when a sicko comes by”

“I’m saying…be more careful with anything as small as a mouse when ridin’” Y/N warns as she tightens the saddle on carefully before taking the reins and handing them to Daryl. “If you don’t come back before nightfall, I’ll come and get yea”

“Not gonna need it” Daryl frowns gripping the reins keeping his gaze to the floor until she started to walk away when he brought his eyes back on her.

When Daryl left the farm, Y/N made her existence known to the others from his group given only Lori and Daryl knew of her. Lori only knowing because she accidentally stumbled across her when she needed air after learning what happened to Carl.

The eldest Greene still kept to herself but started to be help to these new people whenever it was asked. She even understood what Maggie was talking to her about when it came to how strange some of them were with one another. But also being mainly an observer, she told her sister more details.

“Have you seen that Dixon guy recently?” Y/N asks her sister Beth watching her shake her head, leading her to leave the house heading toward the stables.

To her surprise, Hershel stood in a bit of a mood when noticing their horse was gone.

“You know who took her?”

“Yeah and I gave the okay. Now I gotta—“ Y/N went toward one of the stalls when Hershel grabbed her upper arm. “Seriously old man. What now?”

“I don’t trust these people” Hershel sung the same tune ever since this group joined. Y/N quickly pulls her arm out of his grasp avoiding eye contact as she pinches the bridge of her nose to contain herself from exploding. “First we lose another of our people because they were left alone with this guy”

“To save the sheriff’s son—-“

“Then the Glenn fella is hitting on my precious Maggie—-“

“She’s a grown ass woman who can make decisions for herself—-“

“Then your stupid decision to let one of them use one of our horses led them to ask for—-“

“SHUT IT” Y/N hissed. “I ain’t bein’ blamed for stupid shit, dad. You’re a sweet old guy that wouldn’t turn away good people but of course it’s driving yea nuts how high maintenance it is. Now get out of my way”

Her father didn’t leave the stables and watched her go into one of the stalls to push over some hay to reveal her hunting rifle strapping it on her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Going out to save one of them from whatever bullshit he got himself in”

“Seriously?! How can you easily let someone in? How can yea risk your life—-“

“I have given too much to this world that I’m not about to let it take from me. Yeah…I may not know much of this guy but some cosmic whatever is telling me he’s worth it” and with that Y/N left for the woods.

Y/N didn’t walk aimlessly like the Dixon fella might have because she grew up in these woods. She’s seen his crossbow and knows he’s a hunter but unless you know your surroundings, you’re learning as you go. Which meant the fall that Daryl took when Nelly bucked him off, Y/N knew the spot he’d fall into. Daryl had just pulled the arrow out of his side to take out the walker trying to get him but when the sounds of another undead came, he knew he was done for.

Until the sound of gunfire rung through followed by a thud. Daryl in his exhausted state looked up from where he fell finding a blurry blob that was Y/N with her rifle still in a readied position. He scoffs slightly out of annoyance toward himself mainly but a bit toward her that he directed to her when she slid the side of the slope reaching him.

“You’re an idiot…”

“Says the one bleeding” Y/N frowns setting her rifle down beside her, helping Daryl sit up with some resistance. “Gotta close that better or you’ll bleed out before we get back”

“Why do you care? If Merle were here he’d make jokes about a girl touchin’ me”

Y/N sort of ignored his words. Merle? Must be family or at least someone close he’s thinking of because of the blood loss. Least she didn’t have to worry about hallucinations…at least when she’s there.

“I just do. Is that a good enough answer for yea?”

“For now”

“Good” Y/N shrugged off her flannel leaving her in a tank top making the heat rise to Daryl’s face as he turned away when she brought her shirt around his torso to apply pressure to the wound. “When we get back, the old man will patch you up”

“How’d yea even know I’d end up here?”

“I know these woods a bit too well, Dixon”

“So…yea could’ve warned me?”

“Nah. Then that would be doubting your abilities now wouldn’t it?” Y/N frowns bringing his arm around her shoulders hearing him groan when getting back on his feet.

Getting back to where they were was a struggle and resulted in Y/N carrying Daryl on her back to the best of her ability. A few bumps along the way but they made it. Now it was a slow walk back to the farm.

Though neither of them could’ve calculated what’s about to happen, to happen.

Once the two were in the clearing, Y/N heard muffled shouting while Daryl clung onto her really feeling the blood loss get to him. His feeling instantly changed when he felt her tense beside him when the group of men came running over. Daryl scoffs straightening up the best he could, glaring at Rick who held his colt in his face once again.

“That’s the third time you pointed that thing at my head” Daryl scoffs. “Gonna pull the trigger or what?”

Then the ring of a shot powered through and nicked Daryl in the head. The force caused him to fall over and Y/N to instantly approach his side to get him on his back making sure he was still breathing.

“I was kidding” Daryl groans, squinting his eyes from the pain in his head as Rick and Shayne quickly came over to help the guy onto his feet while Y/N got up continuing to carry his gear and grow an unsettling taste in her mouth when Andrea came running over admitting to her firing.

Dale noticed the look in the Greene’s eyes and felt the need to step in front of Andrea when she made her way over to them.

“Next time, if you’re ever unsure about the shot you’re about to take? Don’t take it” Y/N kept her cool and even shot the girl a temporary smile that faded into the resting neutral while she caught up with the others.

The poor guy laid uncomfortably in the bed while Hershel got to work on his stitches. Once the info about Sophia’s possible whereabouts, Hershel couldn’t help but speak his mind.

“If you didn’t go out in the first place, my daughter wouldn’t have felt obligated to save your ass”

“No one told her to come and save me. I would’ve come back somehow”

“Given your injuries, Dixon. Be a little more thankful that Y/N girl went and saved yea” Rick scoffs picking up the map from the bed and leaving to give the man some time to rest without people bothering. Hershel followed behind Rick watching him bother Y/N to get her input on their whereabouts regarding Sophia.

Night came and everyone was having dinner in the dining room while Daryl stuck in the room he was in. Carol came and went, gave him food and thanked him for not stopping his search for Sophia. He didn’t wait to leave until the house fell quiet indicating everyone was asleep. But right as Daryl was about to sit up, Y/N quietly pushed the door open resulting in the archer scrambling to cover his back.

She’s seen them but before his sake, she wasn’t going to say anything. Y/N tossed a bottle of Tylenol in Daryl’s lap making him relax and the sheets fall from covering him. “The old man is gonna want to check your bandages later. Change them and check for infection. Yknow, the good stuff”

“At this hour?”

“Man was a vet. Overnight shifts to check on the more critical asked for late night checks. Yeah you’re a person but it’s just how he does things”

“Can’t…You like check them for me? I hate being in here”

The pondering look on Y/N’s face took a minute before falling into a neutral expression with a hint of a smile followed by a shrug.

“Your tent is the furthest from the group yeah? By the bike?”

“Wild guess”

“But I’m right, right?” Y/N smiles warmly. “I’ll have to get some stuff then meet yea there. But go out the back, that door doesn’t squeak when opening it” she tells him back on her way out of the room.

It took him a bit to get out of the house given he was stitched up and sore from the incident still. But he didn’t think he took that long when finding Y/N leaning against the tree closest to his tent smoking.

“How long—-“

“I just got here. I am faster than you given the circumstances”

“I wasn’t the one that fell on their ass after carrying me up that slope” Daryl scoffs approaching his tent to unzip it but bending slightly caused a whole lot of pain that he stopped. Y/N tapped his shoulder indicating for him to move as he did with a groan followed.

The Greene tossed her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out before opening the tent letting him in first obviously then entering herself.

“You’re gonna have to take your shirt off again, or at least unbutton enough just for me to get to your bandages”

Daryl sat on his cot with a huff and a bit of an annoyed look infused with self-hatred. “You saw’em”

“I only saw what you’re willing to show” Y/N brought herself to her knees setting her first aid box next to him on the cot watching him from the corner of her eye take off his shirt dropping it on the floor next to her. “You’re not the only one riddled with a past, or…scars that explain it. Alright, may I?” She reached to touch the bandage waiting for his approval which was a nod from his end.

Her touch is so…light Daryl thought watching her work with taking the bandage off with wetting the adhesive so it wouldn’t tug at his skin. Gentle… he held the new bandage for her watching her double check her dad’s handy work. The slightest concern graced her features but immediately dissolved.

“My stitches would’ve been neater. But it’ll do the job” Y/N comments as she took the bandage from his hand and started applying it.

“You also some form of doctor in this family?”

“Fuck no” Y/N laughs lightly. “I’ve lived in the city for so long that I’ve encountered my fill of chaos probably within the first year. But ten years later is when I decided to sell my soul back to this fucking farm”

“You hate it here?” Daryl questions instantly, watching Y/N clean up her stuff before leaning back on her hands on the ground. “This shit is a luxury. Even before the apocalypse”

“Mm. I don’t know you well enough to go into grand detail about why this place is really just a burden. But you’ve seen how the old man is. Imagine being his kid on the receiving end to his bs”

“I guess that’s fair” Daryl slipped his shirt on when listening to her speak. “Some parents aren’t fit to be parents”

“As much as that is true, maybe even speaking from your own experience. Most situations involving multiple children, there’s always a favorite. But in this case, there’s the disappointment and the two perfect daughters”

“Why are you sharing this with me?”

Y/N shrugs reaching into her back pocket taking out her pack. “You’re relaxed aren’t you?”

She got that right. She got him to stop thinking about his injury, and a little bit about how his search was pretty much a failure.

Once Y/N put her lighter away after lighting her cigarette, she only took two puffs before Daryl carefully leaned over taking it from her mouth to give it to himself.

“I’m taking that as my leave” She laughs lightly as she brought herself to uncomfortably stand in the tent, hunching over just a bit.

But as Y/N reached to take her kit, Daryl took a hold of her wrist tugging her into his lap catching a bit of a confused look from her. Making his anxiety rise slightly that he read her kindness wrong and part of her didn’t expect much.

“Do what you plan on doing, Dixon” Y/N brought her arm around his shoulders as her other hand gently made sure his bandage was secure but also place itself on his cheek.

It took him a second longer to think about his action before pressing his lips against hers. The softness of her lips against his made his heart start racing and her hand moved from his cheek to his chest to confirm such.

When the morning came, Daryl woke with a groan sitting up in his coat to find beside him being empty but Y/N still remained in the tent getting her jeans back on. He admired the work he done on her neck but his eyes fixated on the burn scars he caught a glimpse of resting on her thighs. She could sense the staring and tensed only for a moment until her pants were back on.

“There’s not enough make up in the world to cover your attack on my neck and chest. But I don’t give a fuck who notices”

“Don’t know about your family, but these folk don’t know when not to include themselves in other’s business. They are def gonna ask where mine came from” Daryl chuckles lightly bringing himself to completely sit on the cot referring to his own hickeys that were more on the neck and shoulder. Including a bite mark that Y/N couldn’t help herself last night, it was either that or wake the whole tent city. “It’s still early”

“Yeah but just like your folks, my family is nosey. Especially my sisters.” She sighs while buttoning up her flannel even if she does prefer it open, just needs a minute to get inside and in her room before the interrogation starts.

“Y/N.”

Y/N turned to Daryl once she sat on the ground to get her shoes on as she could sense the hint of worry coming from the man and she could only assume was toward what he saw.

“We’re not so different” Y/N states finishing tying her shoes. “Mine were just. Self inflicted”

He couldn’t contain his concern even if in his own special way it was only noticed through his eyes and body language. Y/N could read him and part of Daryl worried about that.

“You stop?”

“Don’t be—-“

“I ain’t gonna be one of those nut jobs that tell yea “please stop for me”. Only you can really make that decision”

“Well, I did. When I moved back”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Three months before the world ended” and with that Y/N took her leave, leaving the first aid kit with Daryl giving her a reason to come back.

Even if a part of him wanted to go after her.

The two had their alone time a few times before news of “walkers in the barn” spread to the group. Daryl felt a sense of betrayal since Y/N cares so much about their safety in the past few days that she didn’t tell him anything about it. But when he went to the back door where he’d usually meet her, he heard shouting from inside coming from her.

“Walkers in the goddamn barn, old man?!”

“People are in that barn. Good people. I’m protecting the—-“

“They’re already gone! They stopped being themselves the second the infection spread from the bite”

“You don’t know that”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Y/N scoffed pinching the bridge of her nose trying to contain her anger and failing. “I swear to god if I open it—-“

“—You wouldn’t—-“

“—-and find mom in there after you said she just “disappeared”. I’m going to prove you she’s not mom anymore”

Daryl couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the ring from the slap that came from Hershel’s hand meeting Y/N’s cheek. Normally one would cry but instead she kept her composure and decided to reframe from saying another word or she would’ve acted instead. He quickly stepped away when the door flung open seeing the anger in her eyes and body language. The single tear that rolled off her cheek made him act without realizing and gently brushed it away watching her relax but not enough to fall into his arms and stay there. She pulled herself away shooting him a temporary smile before walking into the woods behind the house to clear her head.

The eldest Greene only returned to the shouting happening and then sudden gun fire which led her to grabbing hers on the way over to the commotion happening by the barn. Y/N froze beside her father watching Maggie comfort him while the others started shooting down the walkers that flooded out. She heard quick footsteps coming as she stopped whoever, Beth, from going any further as she held onto her. She held her as she sobbed watching the dust settle and one walker left started stumbling out.

Sophia.

Daryl quickly latched himself onto Carol before she could even get close to her daughter. Her sobs grew louder the more she was restrained from seeing her little girl that was soon ended by the sheriff that left her all alone in the first place. Rick will forever take that as his fault and won’t ever forget it.

It took them all a second to adjust to what happened as Daryl helped Carol on her feet only for her to thrash out so his grasp from anger and loss. Y/N did her best to keep Beth away from the carnage but she slipped from her grasp causing her to follow her little sister to the pile of walkers.

“Beth, no that’s not—“

“That’s our mom!” She cried as she brought herself to her knees beside the corpse pushing the one on top of it off her. “Ma…”

Her screaming caused everyone to act. The men quickly grabbed at her pulling her away from the reanimated corpse as Y/N quickly came through and slammed her foot into the skull of the sicko. There was a pause in the chaos of Beth screaming, Carol sobbing, and a few of them bickering. Just a pause to let what happened sink in.

“Y/N…” Maggie exhaled watching her fixated gaze to her foot coated in the aged blood as she slowly lifts her foot and stepped away. “Y/N, wait!” She quickly followed her as Y/N made her way past their father.

“I never should’ve come back” Y/N frowns continuing on her way to who knows, and on her route she took the pack of cigarettes out from her back pocket tossing them to the ground which only those who knew would understand.

But she kept her lighter.

After taking care of a few things, Daryl was finally left to take care of himself. Even if he wasn’t going to. His anger feasted mainly on himself compared to being toward others, granted he doesn’t have any reason to be mad toward anybody except for maybe Rick or Hershel for that barn bullshit. Or Shane. Hell he was frustrating himself. He wasn’t going to do anything with her in that sense but needed to find her.

It didn’t take much searching because as much as she hated the place, Y/N stuck close for a lot of reasons. Daryl only found her when she tossed an acorn at his head from above where she sat on one of the branches.

“Obviously looking for me”

“Not for that though.”

“I didn’t do anything if you’re thinking—-“

“No. Well, not entirely” Daryl shrugs watching her climb down the tree to be level with him. “You stalled. Stayed in…the corpse”

“If your mother turned, and you had to end her the way I did…you wouldn’t move right away.”

“Thankfully my mom died in a fire she caused”

“Thankfully?” Y/N scoffs watching him shrug again which made an ill laugh escape her lips. “I wish she didn’t die that way.”

“I wish you didn’t have to be the one to end it. Entirely. I’m sorry”

“Daryl…” Y/N frowns looking him dead in the eye waiting for it. Waiting for him to say it even if his anger started to get the best of him in the moment. “It’s not your fault”

“Stop”

“It’s not”

“But it is!” Daryl snapped in her face realizing she flinched and given all the feelings in the air that day, she couldn’t keep her guard up in that moment. “She wasn’t even mine. Not my daughter. How could I blindly care so much?”

“I was like that in the beginning of whatever we are”

“What?”

“Caring so blindly. I didn’t know you and I came and saved you. Well until that annoying blond put a bullet in you…almost. Then I saved you. In my own way.” Y/N crosses her arms bringing herself close enough to lean against the tree she was just in. “Sometimes, you just care and don’t need a reason. Then the more you know a person all the reasons come to light”

“I care about yea, yknow. Even when I didn’t know a thing”

“You cared about her, without knowing a single thing. From what I heard, there is a person at fault but even then? Rick shouldn’t bully himself for a child running from danger. Kids don’t listen. That’s why they have parents to care for them. Or siblings. It’s harder when the kid has to care for themself. But that’s beside the point…” She turned her head in the direction of the house. “It’s all a shitshow. The end of the world. But we make do with it. Care about those we’ve just met or learned more about in such a little time”

“We need all the people in our lives for as long as we can” Daryl frowns bringing himself closer as Y/N moved her arms to her sides watching him get close enough that she could feel his breath on her. But he brought his forehead to rest against hers, feeling her hands find purchase on his neck. “You’re allowed to fall apart”

And she did. In the comforts of his presence then his arms…and his warm embrace. Things continued to escalate at the farm that eventually, it was set ablaze. All the commotion caused everyone to scramble, lose a few, and meet up on the highway. Daryl’s anxiety shot up when he couldn’t find the eldest Greene sister with her other sisters that were driven to “safety” by Glenn and Hershel.

Then the rustling of the woods were heard and few thought it was more of the walkers. But suddenly, Y/N stumbled out falling against the slope that led to the freeway and before any of her remaining family could rush to her…Daryl was already at her side helping her stand and she was met with a tearful gaze coming from the man that she didn’t care about keeping it a secret anymore…Y/N pressed her lips firmly against his for a short lived kiss before he brought her entirely in his arms holding her.

“Oh you so owe me” Maggie made the comment toward Beth as she glares at her sister. A bet was made. If that wasn’t clear.

“How long have—-“

“No time to act like a father right now. We need to find shelter for the night.” Rick cut off Hershel and gave Daryl a look to start the ride with his bike since he can maneuver and find a path easier. But instead of Carol being on his bike, Y/N took that spot rightfully and not like Carol was complaining.

It was a short ride but long enough for Daryl to realize Y/N’s trembling from the shock of watching her home burn and the struggle of getting out of there alive. She didn’t go unscathed but the cuts were small and not so deep. Daryl still took care of them.

After Rick’s whole speech, it was time to call it a night and stick close to everyone. Daryl took first watch which meant Y/N sticking with him.

“Your old man didn’t look too happy about us”

“He’ll have to get used to it.” Y/N whispered to him feeling his arm snake around her shoulders keeping her close. “Cant believe it’s gone”

“I’m sorry”

Y/N shrugged a little before bringing herself closer to him enjoying the warmth he emitted. “Least I got these on my way out” she pulled out her pack of cigarettes which made a laugh escape Daryl’s lips.

It took some time to get used to the idea that they were going to be moving a lot until something more permanent came along. But they also needed something permanent to come by the end of nine months because Lori was pregnant.

Everyone noticed how stressed Rick would get when Lori would shut him out for his decision making that lead them here so a few did their best to keep that level low.

“Daryl and I are gonna go hunt for dinner while my old man and Carol set up camp for the night” Y/N informs Rick on her way out. “Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog should be back soon with whatever they scavenged from the few houses around”

“Thanks Y/N, be back before nightfall” Rick stated watching her nod before following Daryl out of the house they decided to make their shelter for the night.

As much as they did what they told Rick what they were going to do. They planned on other things.

“Fuck—-“ Y/N cursed adjusting herself against the counter even with Daryl pinning her against such. “Maybe we do this on the floor next time” her hands slipped resulting in Daryl picking her up still deep inside her velvety walls and forcing her against the wall.

“Better?” He huffed watching her arms move to find purchase around his neck.

“Yes, please continue” Y/N begged as Daryl instantly latched his lips against hers picking up the pace thrusting inside of her using the wall to his advantage so he could bring one of his hands to her clit helping her reach her release.

Her toes curled and heels dug into his back when she reached her high and felt Daryl remove his hand from her clit to have a better grasp on her while he quickened his pace and thrusted harder reaching his own release, spilling inside her warmth. They held onto each other catching their breaths.

“Holy shit…” Y/N gasps softly when Daryl adjusted his stance still inside of her. “So…”

“Round two?” He smirks followed by one appearing on her features pressing her lips against his. Before the two suddenly flinched to the sound of a spring lock. “Shit”

“Mm. Maybe later?”

“Imma hold yea to that, sunshine” Daryl kisses her once more before pulling out of her helping her gain her balance using himself as her steady.

After helping clean up, Daryl checked the trap they set pulling out a raccoon that unfortunately met its end. Y/N stepped out carrying a few finds that would help a few with keeping warm during the colder nights. Blankets, sweaters, etc.

“Think we should set up a few more traps before we head back”

“Sounds good” Y/N extended her hand for Daryl to hand off the raccoon so he could set them up. “I’m gonna put some of these things by your bike so I can sweep around”

“Be careful yeah? I’ll join yea when I’m done”

Y/N kept the catch attached to her backpack on her while the blankets and clothes were left on his bike. She went through a few houses near the one they both were in and stopped in one of the few two stories finding a few more canned goods and took note of how secure the building was. Maybe they could move there for a few weeks? She thought while stepping through the place some more, stopping at the fireplace finding the photos coated in dust. She extended a hand toward one deciding to dust it off and find an old married couple behind the glass. They looked happy. In love. Y/N didn’t quite understand the feeling she was feeling in her chest when staring at the picture of a random couple.

“Anything good?” Daryl’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts as she sets the picture back where it was.

“Nothing I haven’t already put in my bag. I’m ready when you are”

Heading back was quiet and that didn’t concern Daryl much given it was getting late. But Y/N started to act off that it even concerned her. She was more exhausted than usual, finding herself sleeping more in her spot of the house wherever they moved, she ate less, took more of the first night watch shift, and went out less with Daryl. Every time she did, Daryl mainly kept an eye on her and their conversation was smaller than usual. This has been going on for a month, and they’ve been house hoping for three so far. It was about to become winter.

Y/N was taking a longer night watch given Rick, Daryl, and Glenn decided to head out for a small hunting trip to bring back enough game to last them through winter. Even if Daryl said he was going to hunt through the cold months just not as frequently. She was once again lost in her thoughts while looking out into the darkness staring occasionally at the trigger line. Worrying about the group, missing Daryl, fearing what could happen—

“Sweetheart?” Hershel whispered for those sleeping inside but was loud enough to get Y/N’s attention. “How are you feeling?”

Ever since the fire, Hershel has been trying to rekindle the father daughter relationship with his oldest. Even if in her head, he’s always going to be her dad and it wouldn’t take much to repair it. He’s already apologized enough. But she expected it again tonight.

“I’m tired”

��I’ve noticed. Are you falling ill with somethin’? I can go out with Maggie to go look for—-“

“No, no. I’m not sick” Y/N frowns watching her dad take a seat with her. “I don’t feel good. Yeah…but the other thing is just. I love him but I’m afraid to tell him”

Hershel couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him which only brought a glare and a huff out of his daughter. “I told your mother that I loved her, first. She didn’t say it back and honestly? I didn’t expect her to. I just want her to know that I loved her. Then a few months later she tells me she loves me too. For some they say it immediately back, or they take a while. But that doesn’t mean what they do for you, has zero trace of love toward you.”

Y/N couldn’t help the little tears that spilled from her eyes when her dad said such. Hershel gently brought his arm around her shoulder bringing her in so she could rest her head on his shoulder continuing to cry if she needed.

A couple more days passed and the sick feeling turned into vomiting and migraines every other day. Y/N couldn’t shake a feeling and decided to act on it.

“Y/N…” Beth shook her older sister awake as Y/N slowly sits up looking to the other side of her seeing Daryl still fast asleep then she turned to the window finding it still dark out.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers tucking the loose hair in Beth’s face behind her ear.

“I started my period…and I don’t have anything…”

Y/N nodded knowing exactly what she was asking as she tugs her pack over to them rummaging through it. She then realizes she missed her period.

“Uhm. I don’t have anything, love. Maybe ask Mags in the morning? I’ll ask Carol if she’s stumbled across any”

“Okay…” Beth frowns watching her sister go into her bag knowing she at least had pain meds and gave it her to see a small smile form for a moment before she shuffled back.

Her anxiety started to eat at her and she knew the only way to know for sure is to get a test. But that will wait for the morning.

“Hey I’m gonna take a car into the nearby town. Sweep the place one last time before we move again before the weather goes from just cold to snow”

“Sounds like a great idea.” Rick stood up grabbing his coat. “I’ll tag along with you and Daryl”

“If Daryl wants to tag along. I was gonna ask Mags” Y/N states receiving a confused and concerned look from Daryl while her sister lights up with a smile. “Maybe you and Glenn can do one last hunt and check the traps before we move?”

“Alright. But he’s gotta keep up with me like yea do”

“He will” Y/N laughs softly smiling as Daryl snuck in a kiss on the cheek when no one was looking. “We’ll be back before nightfall”

“Yeah I’ll make sure to get some baby stuff if we come across it” Rick tells Lori only to be met with an avoidance in her gaze as her hand stayed on her already showing belly. Y/N couldn’t help the staring toward the two before squeezing her eyes shut and quickly stepping out once she got her backpack and a coat.

Maggie took care of driving and Rick took the passengers, leaving Y/N alone in the backseat scribbling in this journal Maggie found for her on a run with Glenn. She mainly wrote her concerns and the obvious one plaguing her mind was

Is she pregnant?

They were reckless, now he’s going to leave her.

Does he even like kids? He doesn’t talk much to Carl…

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong” Rick frowns looking out the window as Maggie turned to him for a second with a confused look. “She’s mad about it all. What happened with Shane and being pregnant in the apocalypse. She thinks because she had a c-section she’s more likely to have another and we don’t have the tools for it. So it stresses me out…thinking I’m gonna lose my wife. But I can’t voice those concerns because she’s mad at me. Pregnant and mad”

“Pregnancy makes women feel all their emotions times 100, Rick. It’s going to be rough for a while” Maggie pats his shoulder glancing back to find Y/N looking a bit more pale than before. “Sis, you alright?”

Without another word, the second she felt the car stop…Y/N quickly ran out ditching her things and going to vomit into the near by bushes. Maggie frowns unbuckling her seatbelt and about to check on her when she noticed her journal in the backseat. Her hesitation made Rick get out to check on her older sister while she picked up the book to read it.

Maggie wasn’t going to tell Y/N she read it. But then read those entries and felt the same anxiety her sister felt for a moment.

Maggie gave Y/N some time to recollect herself after bolting out of the car. But she didn’t mean to corner her in the pharmacy section of the mini grocery store.

“Mags what’s up with that look on your face?”

“I uhm. I’m sorry”

The apology caught Y/N off guard until Maggie just let it out.

“You’re pregnant?” Maggie frowns and the negative look on her face only made Y/N feel so much worse on the matter. But instead of tears, it was anger.

“AND?! So what if I might be pregnant? Like that isn’t going to be a fucking issue when we already have a pregnant woman in the group and look how she and her man are doing. I haven’t even said I love you yet to Daryl and I don’t even know if he wants kids” then the tears suddenly broke out as she stared at the pregnancy test box she had in her hand. “I can’t get rid of it. I don’t want to lose him. The universe took too much from me already, I can’t lose anymore” she sobbed, Maggie didn’t wait another second bringing her sister into her embrace holding her protectively.

“Y’all are gonna try and see if that car works? Just the two of you?”

“It’s not the first time I hot-wired a car by myself” Y/N stated with Maggie nodding to confirm such.

It’s not that Rick didn’t trust the two, it was going to be night soon and that was his concern. But he also needed to get all their findings back.

“Fine. But you have to camp out if it gets too late”

“We’ve got this. If the lights work, we’ll drive back” Maggie smiles as Rick sighs letting them rock and leaving.

The two gave each other a look and Maggie went into her bag taking out the few pregnancy tests handing them to Y/N. She went back inside one of the buildings to do her business while Maggie got started with hot-wiring the car.

“Y/N I don’t feel good…”

“Yeah I know, bug. I’m sorry I’m working as fast as I can” The sixteen year old Y/N tugged on the wires from under the dash to get the car started while her baby sister Maggie continued to groan in the backseat. Being left to babysit while the folks went into town was killer. Especially when no one expected Maggie to have a skyrocketing fever.

“Sis…” She cried the entire drive as Y/N did her best to be a smooth driver into town and to the nearest ER.

“I’ve gotchu, bug. Everything’s gonna be alright”

“Everything’s gonna be alright” Maggie frowns rubbing Y/N’s back as she did her best to contain her tears while they drove back.

“It won’t…it just won’t” Y/N wiped away her tears taking the remaining time back to collect herself. She took out the cartoon of cigarettes from her bag staring at the thing knowing her sister’s gaze to burning a hole into the side of her head. “I’m not going to do them, bug” she frowns rolling the window down and tossing the box out hearing the sigh of relief.

“Good…I need to keep you safe. So it keeps my niece or nephew safe”

The smallest joy brought a temporary smile to grace Y/N’s features even if the uncomfortable anxious feeling clawed at her back over how Daryl will react.

When they arrived back, both Glenn and Daryl were waiting outside the house that was lit from the fire T-Dog got started in the fireplace to keep everybody warm. Glenn instantly went to Maggie’s side checking her in his anxious way that was immediately reassured. But Y/N remained in the car with her head down, driving Daryl nuts internally until he noticed Maggie give him a look to join her and that only made his anxiety worse.

“What’s wrong with—-“

“Just let them be. Cmon, gotta give Beth something” Maggie smiles tugging Glenn along back inside until it was just Daryl and Y/N.

The archer shut the door once he entered and before he even said a word, the eldest Greene daughter exhaled.

“I’m pregnant”

Daryl expected more from her but was met with her silence and honestly, that made him worry for her instead of thinking of his feelings about the news. This explains why she hasn’t been feeling well—-but she could’ve let him in. Makes sense why she wanted to go on a run with her sister—-but he could’ve been there for her. Y/N found out alone for a moment—-yet Daryl could’ve help her the second she did.

“You thought I would leave yea”

Y/N instantly shot her head up turning to him as if he read her mind. Daryl gave her a bit of a disappointed look that was met with brimming tears.

“I’m not gonna leave yea. Never.” Daryl stated as fact which led the tears to spill. “I just wish I help you through it. Yeah you had your sister. But you mean so much to me and this is our future. I wasn’t gonna go anywhere before, I definitely ain’t now” he finished his thought as he stepped out of the car rounding to Y/N’s side and gently pulling her into his arms letting her sob into him as he protectively held onto her.

The winter started to present itself and the news stayed within the three (four if you count Maggie blabbing to Glenn, which was only a matter of time before they all knew). Which led to once they found their home to hold off the winter, Daryl brought himself inside after checking the one trap he placed sitting down beside Y/N.

“There’s something we’ve got to say to you all” Y/N started and felt anxious with everybody staring. Guess the fire took away more than just their safety, but her confidence.

“She’s pregnant” Daryl finished resting a hand on her thigh gently rubbing his thumb in a soothing motion for her to relax.

Before any positive thing said can be thrown up in the air. The shocked expressions turned instantly to confusion and toward Lori when she scoffed toward the news.

“Seriously?” Lori beckoned Y/N to confirm it herself as she did with a nod even if her expression fell when the woman started laughing. “Great that’s just great”

“Lori—-“

“No, shut it Rick. It was already trouble taking care of my pregnant self. What makes y’all think we can take care of two? You two should’ve been more careful and found abortion pills”

“Woah! You don’t get to get to be a bitch just because you’re pregnant” Carol hissed drawing a shocked expression out of the Grimes who quickly turned to her husband for a defense. “No you started this on your own and you will finish it”

“None of us asked for you to be pregnant.” T-Dog adds abruptly. “That shit just happens sometimes. No timing is ever perfect”

“But still—-“

“No you don’t get to talk to my——“

“girl like that” Daryl snapped cutting Hershel off. “Don’t take a good thing and fucking stomp on it just because you’re miserable. You have to remember a few of us have some bullets against yea and I ain’t afraid to fire every single one of them if you come at her again” he frowns bringing his arm entirely around Y/N keeping her close, ignoring the tense look on Lori’s face as Rick’s disappointment turned to a bit of sadness when hearing such. But it was quickly shifted to a smile when his son turned to him then toward the two.

“Congratulations?” Carl laughs the tension away resulting in Beth quickly moving over to hug her sister as Hershel made his way patting Daryl on the back before kissing the top of Y/N’s head.

They were going to be okay. Their village will make sure of it.

The winter months were brutal and miserable for everybody. They had to move once through the cold because the roof collapsed in a section of the old house that made it dangerous for everybody. The group ditched their cars and stayed in the neighborhood just for the winter because of the snow. They’ll go back to the cars later, T-Dog and Beth took care of carrying their extra items that weren’t apart of everybody’s individual packs. Carol and Hershel took care of getting the fire going and getting food for the day ready, Hershel also took care of checking both Lori and Y/N every now and then to make sure they are alright. Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl were the ones in the watch rotation and as much as he protested, Y/N would tag along with Daryl.

“No”

“I’m not that pregnant yet, Daryl. I can go out with you.”

“It’s snowing”

“So?”

“I go huntin’ by myself all the time and I’d rather yea stay warm than suffer with me”

“And you think it’s going to sit well with me having you suffer the colder conditions?” Y/N glared at the man getting frustrated with the back and forth, Daryl was going to argue again when he noticed both of her sisters shaking their heads not to try. Pregnant or not, she will continue to argue until she’s blue in the face.

“Fine. But layer up” Daryl states letting her get ready as he goes into his pack taking out his poncho to put it on over his layers.

The two went through the center of the neighborhood, Daryl hating the snow and Y/N enjoying it. He only hated it because it made tracking animals difficult and before he could tell her about heading back…

“I love you” Y/N tells him watching him freeze in his place as she anxiously adjusts the rifle on her back gripping the strap. “I don’t expect you to say it back now or in a few months or years. I just needed you to know that I love you and you mean so much to me”

Daryl brought himself close pressing his lips firmly against hers bringing his arms around her. They enjoyed themselves for the moment until Y/N heard shuffling and expected a walker but when she looked behind him. There were deer. But when Daryl got a look, he stopped her from readying her rifle which brought out a confused look from her until she noticed a buck making its appearance along with two babies.

Now they were watching the family just be, making Daryl look over to Y/N watching her smile at the display as he brought his hand to rest on her small bump. She glance to his hand for a second before smiling more and resting her hand over his before continuing to look at the deer family. Thankfully on their way back they got a bunny and a few squirrels that made themselves known in the winter.

It wasn’t long before the warmer months came back and Y/N couldn’t ride on Daryl’s bike anymore. She stuck with Glenn and Maggie and with the moving from house to house increasing. T-Dog and Rick took lead with sweeping the houses they come across before the group resided but Daryl followed behind after checking on Y/N. But when herds came through, they didn’t wait and went straight back into the car and only the road.

“Let’s go hunt” Daryl tells Rick watching him nod as Hershel held him back to talk about Lori’s condition given she’s in her ninth month compared to Y/N in her seventh.

Daryl picked up his canteen from his bike going to Y/N and making sure she kept hydrated when the weather got dangerously hot.

“Gonna go hunt with Rick. We’ll be back soon”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

“You too” Daryl quickly kissed her cheek before going with Rick.

The two stumbled across the prison, which then led to the group taking out walkers in the field to give them shelter for the night before heading inside. The group huddled by the fire talking about Rick, what the prison could do for them, and a few miscellaneous things. Maggie happily let her older sister use her lap as a pillow as she laid on her side using her blanket to cushion her belly from the ground.

“Lot of movement today?”

“Yeah…fucking think this baby loves kicking my ribs” Y/N huffed out a laugh as Maggie brushes back her hair smiling at her watching Daryl return to the group with Carol. He knelt behind her resting his poncho over her before getting comfortable. “Done with watch?”

“We’ve got a gate. Besides, if shit happens it’ll alert all of us and Rick hasn’t left the gate”

“You check on him?” Y/N whispers to Daryl when she moved onto her back for a moment to look at him.

“Do I have to?”

“No, but he shouldn’t have to burden what’s going on with him alone. Even if you don’t quite understand it”

Her words rung in his head especially when they dealt with the prisoners, then the Walker outbreak, losing Lori, almost losing Hershel and Carol…it was a lot. Things seem to only escalate and it didn’t help that all the commotion rendered Y/N speechless and she hasn’t spoken a word the moment Lori died.

She could die too

He will raise this baby alone

What will happen to her family?

She can’t die

She won’t die

Y/N stayed by the gate when they left and she knew her dad and Carol were watching her every move that when the cars pulled in she stepped away after opening one of the doors herself even when Carol came with her protests.

The car pulled in and Y/N waited for Daryl to come out but when everybody except him, she gave Rick a confused look while he hung his head.

“Daryl’s not coming back” Glenn ripped the bandaid off watching his partner shoot him a glare for not taking easy. But in Y/N’s head he did the right thing by just going for it.

“We ran into his brother and he’s not a great guy” Rick started. “But blood is blood from what Daryl told us…we just. Can’t let someone like Merle in the prison with us. He’s not a good guy and I’m sorry but Daryl’s not—-“ when he reached to lay a hand on her shoulder, she immediately smacked it away.

“You touch me and I cut your goddamn fucking hand off” Y/N glares at the retired sheriff watching him nod and step away. She glances down to her belly shutting her eyes tight turning away from everybody and started walking back to the prison.

This baby is half her and half him.

If the roles were reversed, she would’ve left with her sisters.

But that doesn’t make it okay for him to go.

“Has she spoken to anyone? Was snapping at Rick the only thing she said?” Carol asks Maggie as she nods while the concern grew on her face.

“Our daddy went to check on her and the baby. Heartbeats good. But going from a lot of movement to it being still…He thinks we should only worry if it stops for the remainder of her pregnancy.”

“Someone should get her to move. Walk around the prison or somethin’. Sitting there will make it worse for her” Hershel shared his concern as the three looked at Y/N sitting on the mattress Daryl pulled out for him originally on the catwalk.

“Nah. Get in an actual bed” Daryl protested Y/N sitting on the mattress but she did anyway.

“Last I checked a mattress is an actual bed”

“Don’t be smart with me, woman” Daryl sat up leaning into her space watching her stern look fall when he started showering her in kisses. “Least lay down with me”

“I wasn’t gonna stay sat up this entire time” Y/N playfully shoves him.

Y/N brought her attention to the young grimes bringing himself up with stairs with two bowls of food. Carl sat down beside her handing her the second one but she refused.

“Please?” Carl frowns watching her gaze turn to him with a look of ‘why?’ as in why would he be doing this for her. “We’ve…uh. We’ve lost enough people”

A sigh escapes her lips as she gently caresses the young one’s cheek giving him a small thoughtful smile before taking the bowl from him and eating.

“Y/N whisperer” Maggie whispers to Beth as the two were the ones to have Carl send up the bowl because Y/N wouldn’t snap at somebody who recently lost their mom.

They both froze when her gaze turned onto them when she finished the bowl of stew. Y/N handed the bowl to Carl as he stacked the empty bowls getting up but noticed her get up with him. She struggled at first and gestured toward one of her sisters to help as Beth quickly made her way up the steps helping her.

“Take a walk with me?” Y/N asks her youngest sister as she smiles nodding. Once the two met the end of the steps. “You too?” She asks Maggie watching her smile warmly.

Soon the three sisters were on the other side of the prison walking in silence and staring at the occasional walker but kept their focus on what’s in front of them.

“If something happens to me. The two of you will take care of them yeah?”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, sis. Nothing” Maggie’s smile instantly faded when her sister said such.

“I know, bug. But please”

“This is your first. Nothing like what happened to Lori will happen to you…” Beth frowns trying not to cry at the thought of losing her older sister. “Can’t lose you…I won’t have it”

“Beth, sweetheart, I know everybody is going to do everything they can to not let the worst case scenario happen…I just. Need the reassurance”

“They will be loved and cared for…if worst comes to worst.” Maggie brought her arm around her sister as Beth did the same, both on either side of Y/N. “We all will be okay”

The moment they got close to the main entrance, the gates were being opened to let in Daryl with his brother Merle shortly behind him. Y/N watched Maggie retract at the sight of the older brother as she brought herself over watching Daryl light up slightly but avoid her gaze.

“So you’re Merle”

“And you’re the woman my brother knocked up. Boy would not shut up about you being the reason he needs to come back. Who woulda thought someone softened my baby brother” Merle smirks and before another word came out of Y/N, everyone around watched her sock the man hard enough in the face that the force knocked him on his ass.

“Your brother is amazing to me even if I want that punch to also be at him for leaving” Y/N frowns looking down at Merle as she held her belly a moment followed by a sigh. “But that was a hundred percent meant for you”

“You just fucking met me”

“You kidnapped my sister and her partner. Beat him to a pulp and let that disgusting man touch my bug.” Y/N stared blankly at the man as it held so much anger that made him nervous. “Just be glad Daryl is your brother. Or I would’ve put a bullet in yea” she stepped away with Beth and Maggie following her while Daryl helped his brother to his feet.

“I like her” Merle smirks and was immediately manhandled by Rick to be put in their makeshift cell since they’re living in the actual ones. The same cell Michonne was in until she got on their good side.

Daryl hesitantly went to the catwalk finding Y/N there as he brought himself to sit with her. The silence was killing him but the way she soften when he returned to her. She couldn’t help but take his hand into hers while the other continued to rub circles on her belly.

“Are you—-“

“Oh I’m mad. But I have to keep calm or the baby won’t move” Y/N frowns feeling him let go of her hand to bring his on her belly thinking it will work…and it did. It was the smallest kick but it got tears to form in Y/N’s eyes making Daryl wipe them away and try to contain his own for his actions. “Are you okay? You ain’t going to leave again right?”

“Right. I ain’t leaving…I promise. I really promise this time” Daryl brought his arms around her holding her as she adjusted to lay comfortably in his embrace.

The plan about the governor escalated and succeeded. He was no longer a threat, but they lost so much in the process. Y/N found herself in the field where they buried their own, holding a flashlight for Daryl as he was burying another body. But it was his brother. The others wouldn’t approve but Y/N knew how much Merle sacrificed and thought he should be honored in a way. Daryl appreciated it. Even if he couldn’t control the tears that fell when he finished burying him. Y/N the best she could, wrapped her arms around him resting her cheek against his back.

“He did good”

“He did good…”

About a month went by and the Woodbury infusion went smoothly, and those started helping making the prison more of a function home. The one finished thing was the water plan that T-Dog brought up, thankful for him.

“You’re hovering”

“Okay?” Daryl scoffs leaning against the cell door to their room. “It either me or your old man”

“As if he’s not already there” Y/N turned to him with an annoyed look listening to Daryl sigh before Hershel made himself known. “I’m not going to fucking pop”

“That’s a creative way of putting it. You’re close to your due date. We want you to be safe”

“Yeah whatever.” Y/N pushed herself up and off the bed as they both were quick to her sides. “Okay I will kick that fake leg and make you fall and kick him in the balls if you both don’t stop hovering”

“Okay I will listen but I ain’t stopping him” Hershel pats Daryl’s shoulder. “Call me or Dr. S for any change”

Daryl nods watching him go as he gave a blank look to his girl crossing his arms. Y/N instantly glared at him but he kept his stance.

“I want to take a walk”

“I’ll go with yea.”

“Fine. But I’ll punch you over if you pick me up when I’m too tired” Y/N waddled past as he crossed his heart before following behind her.

There was a lot of commotion outside. Rick started working on the farm with Maggie, Glenn and a few Woodbury folk were clearing walkers, Tyreese was helping Carol build the outdoor grill along with Sasha helping with getting tables in, Beth was taking care of Judith as Carl rambled on about some comics that Michonne found for him, and Michonne was out on her weekly runs. Daryl helped around but mainly took the morning and night shifts when Y/N was asleep so that he would be there for her the rest of the time.

“Alex?”

“Nah, we ain’t having a boy anyway”

“I get it. But if it happens we still need a name”

“Robin goes both ways”

“God you’re so fucking lucky I like that name. And Fallon. But not for a boy name”

“Mmm…” Daryl glanced around thinking about a name for her sake. “Mark”

“Do you like Mark?”

“No”

“Then why did you—-“ Y/N scoffed. “Hunter’s mark?”

“You wanted boy names” Daryl shrugs. “Mark is a name. Hunter is also a name”

“Next thing you’re gonna say is Striker and that’s because of a brand of crossbows” Y/N continued to walk leaving Daryl a bit surprised that she knew that before catching up with her.

They were walking for two hours and Daryl was confused for half of the walk wondering why she even decided to walk for that long. Until she went back inside grabbing onto his shirt giving him a pain filled look.

“I thought it was nothing”

“What was nothing?”

“The fucking pain, Dixon. It’s too much”

It clicked a little late for Daryl but he instantly picked up Y/N only for her to start punching his chest in protest. “HERSHEL!” He shouted for the man while bringing his girl to the infirmary of the prison.

“Stop” Y/N whines hunched over in the bed as the contractions were awful for her. She smacked away Hershel’s hand when he tried to get a blood pressure cuff they found on her. “It’s too much. I’m not ready” she sobbed.

“I know sweetheart but the baby is. I’m gonna—-“

“Hell fucking no. I’m not having my dad check down there” Y/N covered her lower half with the blanket as Daryl felt her squeeze the crap out of his hand. He can take it.

“Beth. Get Caleb right now” Hershel shouted watching her exit the room as a small group formed at the entrance. “Unless you’re helping. Keep that area open”

When the other doctor arrived, Y/N was already reaching an uncomfortable amount of pain as she leans into Daryl feeling him rub circles on her back not like it did much. The words the doctor was saying weren’t registering but when he gestured for the blanket to look making her nod quickly.

“Yeah baby ain’t waiting. She’s crowning. We have anything for gloves?” Caleb asks as Hershel shakes his head before handing him a towel to catch the baby in. “Well alright.” He set the towel down for a moment and dunk his hands into the bucket Glenn got once he was asked earlier so it would be a bit more sterile. “You have to push on the next contraction”

“No…” She whined gripping Daryl’s hand tightly again. “It hurts I don’t want to”

“You have to sunshine. You have to push”

“But I’m tired” She whined followed by sobs as Daryl brushes the hair out of her face pressing his forehead against hers.

“Cmon sunshine. We gotta meet our little one” He whispers to her looking her in the eye as her voice started to tremble. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N. You’re being so strong right now and gotta continue to be alright? You gotta push now”

Y/N started to sob even more from the pain, the anxiety, the deceleration. She nodded listening to her partner as she waited for the next contraction to push resulting in her screaming which had a bit of an echo through the parts of the prison close to the infirmary.

“Good almost there” Caleb reassures. “One more big push”

“One more sunshine. One more and our little one is here”

One more push…led to the room filled with sobs. Tears from Y/N continued, tears broke out from Daryl, and the loud sobs that erupted from their baby girl being handed to the mother. Soft congratulations left the doctor’s mouth but nothing registered as the two’s attentions were glued to this little girl. A healthy little girl.

“You did good, mama” Daryl choked up wiping his tears looking at their little girl in her arms finally calming down. “She’s perfect, yeah?”

“So perfect” Y/N sobbed through a smile turning to him as he instantly kissed her. “I love you…”

“I love you” Daryl smiles keeping his family close.

When night fell, they moved back into their cellblock once everything was cleaned up and Y/N was well enough to walk. She was fast asleep in their bed as Daryl was wide awake sat up in the bed beside her holding their little girl that looked up at him with the same blue eyes he had.

“You are…so perfect, Robin”

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

612 notes · View notes