#the yearning is SO palpable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three | part four

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. queue smiley face oatmeal, grossly misused power tools, desserts on the living room floor, a haircut, and an abundance of nerd metaphors [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie ends up being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general loneliness, mentions of a shitty/traumatic pregnancy, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, you wash eddie's hair!!!! this was low-key requested by anon

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie opens the door and finds a little girl on the steps of his house. Little girl feels generous – she's barely more than a baby. In a set of tiny matching pajamas and white socks stained green from the morning grass, she looks up at him with wide, sad eyes.

"Hey," he says carefully. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Good morning," she says, though it comes out blurry.

"Good morning," he repeats with a breathless laugh, instantly endeared.

He curls his hand around the railing and squats down. She really is very cute and obviously well looked after, although he realises upon closer inspection that she's been crying.

"Where's your mommy?" Eddie feels silly as he asks, but what else do you say when you find kids by themselves?

He's not really expecting her to know the answer. She pouts her small mouth and Eddie freezes up.

"Mommy.” Her breath quivers.

"Don't cry," he says very gently.

It doesn't work, obviously, and she starts whimpering in a way that turns Eddie's heart entirely.

"Let's find mommy, okay? Do you wanna do that? Wanna come and find mommy with me?"

"Yes," she says, though it quickly draws up into a sharp cry.

Eddie treks down the stairs and turns back, waiting. The little girl looks down at the steps and her eyebrows furrow as she places one foot after the other, looking like her socks are stuck to a fly trap.

He holds his hand out. "You got it," he says encouragingly, wiggling his fingers.

Her relief is palpable. Her brows smooth as she takes his hand, so small he can cover her entire palm with the meat of his thumb. She wobbles down the steps and then hesitates at the damp ground awaiting.

Eddie drops his gaze to her wet feet.

She looks up at him. Eddie doesn't think she means to but her eyes are pleading,and he's already moving to pick her up when she lifts her arms into the air.

She's heavier than he anticipates. He quickly gets used to the weight, shifting her against his side with his arm under her butt, her damp foot digging into his abdomen. She rests one hand on his shoulder and the other reaches for his hair. He can't help smiling at her as she pets the dark mess, hand clumsy but well-intentioned.

He walks down past the van and onto dark asphalt, looking up and down the road to see if anyone's around. He figures she has to be a trailer park kid – she can't have walked very far, and she'd been waiting outside. She must've gotten mixed up and thought his trailer was her own, which hopefully means her mom lives close.

The steps up into his trailer are on the right side. Eddie guesses she's come from the right. It's not a great assumption — he's grasping at straws.

"What's your name?" he asks.

She's taken a lock of his hair into her hands. Eddie worries for a second that she's going to try eating it but she only waves it around, looking pleased.

"I'm Eddie."

"Dee," she says.

"Almost. Eh-dee," he spells out, again not actually expecting her to understand what he's saying. He's unsure about kids her age – he's unsure what age she even is.

She babbles something unintelligible and Eddie hikes her higher up his chest. He strides out of the cool shadow and blinks, shielding his eyes against the yellow-white glare of sunshine. The little girl hides her face in his hair.

He hasn't walked very far when he sees you behind the trailer three doors down, pinning clothes that look the same size as the girl's pajamas to a clothesline with unhurried hands. The front door is wide open.

"Your poor mommy," he murmurs as he approaches, "out here doing the laundry by herself and you're halfway to Indianapolis. Musta got turned around, huh?"

You drop a small light blue dress on the floor and cuss just loud enough for Eddie to hear it. You pick it up fast and brush it down, looking over the fabric worriedly.

Eddie cuts over soft grass, giving the baby's waist a pat and holding her ears away from his mouth as he raises his voice. "Hey, is this your kid?" he asks.

You flinch toward him and your eyes go wide – wide, your lips parting and your brows jumping down like you might start yelling.

You're really fucking pretty.

Eddie’s quick to placate you. "She was sitting on my front steps."

You still don't look very happy though your suspicion melds to confusion and then a stab of too-late worry. You rush towards them and Eddie turns his body to encourage the girl's gaze to you. His chest warms when she perks up.

She wriggles in his arms impatiently and Eddie's surprised by how quickly she starts to cry, reaching out for you with insistent grabbing hands as he passes her over.

"It's okay," you say softly, tucking her into your chest.

The difference in body language is unmissable. Where she'd been restless (though more than pleasant) in Eddie's arms, she completely melts into yours. Her little face presses into your neck and her legs curl up. You pat her butt soothingly. "It's okay, baby. Where have you been?" You look up at him for an answer with concern lining your pretty features.

"I'm only three down," he says.

"Oh… Thank you," you say roughly.

Your gratitude is unnecessary. "That's okay. She's real sweet. I opened the door and the first thing she said was, 'good morning,'" he recalls with an easy smile.

Joy lightens your entire face. He feels his breath catch in his throat.

"She did? She said that?"

"Yeah, she did.” He tries not to sound as confused as he feels.

Your eyes close with the force of your smile. You encourages your toddler’s face back and drop your chin to plant kisses all over her tiny cheeks. Eddie feels something foreign yawning in his chest as she starts to laugh, a tinkling sound that's sugar sweet.

He scratches his neck and pretends to look over his shoulder, tamping his smile back into a neutral expression.

"She's having trouble talking," you say, lifting your head as the baby's giggles taper off. "She can talk, she says 'mommy' all the time, but she's s'posed to be saying more 'cos she's almost two and I know she can do it, she's so smart, but-" You cut yourself off and laugh all breathless and sheepish. "Sugar, I'm sorry. I mean- Sorry. Thank you," it almost bursts from you, "for bringing her back. I don't know…"

"You just moved in, right?" You nod. "The lock on the front door- they're all exactly the same, you just gotta shake it and it unlocks. Even someone small as her can could get it open with enough determination."

"She can be very determined," you say ruefully, voice hushed. You're still patting her butt, swaying her from side to side. Eddie's in awe at how quickly she's settled, her button features crumpled by a big yawn. "Always gets what she wants."

"I bet she does, she's a total heartbreaker."

You take a step towards him, your beat up sneakers half a foot from his converse. "She can't help it, she was born this pretty," you say. He loves how braggy you sound.

"I can see where she gets it."

As soon as he says it he wishes he could take it back. Not because he doesn't think it's true – you're really something else – but because he doesn't want to creep you out.

Luckily, he's rewarded for his bravery by another beaming smile, your words warm as you tell him, "They said she was the prettiest baby they'd seen in twenty years up in Eskenazi general."

The name pricks his ears. "You're from Indianapolis?"

"Kind of." You tilt your head to the side. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Eddie." He could applaud himself on how normal he sounds and how not normal he feels.

"Eddie, I'm Y/N. D'you wanna come in for coffee? Or I can make you some breakfast? To say thank you for taking care of my Junie."

"Junie," he repeats, surprised.

You shift from foot to foot. "She's a June baby. And she's getting kind of heavy these days, so. Breakfast?"

He follows you up the steps and through the back door.

"You can leave it open," you say over your shoulder.

He catches an eyeful of your bathroom, an organised chaos that smells intoxicating, the rich scent of jasmine heavy in the humidity chased by something softer. Talcum powder, he thinks.

You murmur something to Junie too quiet to hear and she rouses from her dozing, grizzling weakly.

"It's breakfast time! Is that what you tried to come and find me for, some breakfast? So impatient," you scold her lightly, smiling all the while as you set her into a bright blue high chair with a big yellow duck with orange flippers printed on the cushioning.

You squeeze one of her feet and frown. "Your socks are wet. Did you go swimming in the grass?"

Eddie leans against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He doesn't have any experience with kids. You make it look easy, pulling off her stained socks while she wiggles her protest and tickling the soles of her feet with the tip of your finger until she's happy again.

You turn back to him, socks clutched in your hand. "I'm gonna make oatmeal. Is that something you…"

"I'm an oatmeal fiend."

You grin and do a lap to close the front door. "Sit down. I'll get you some coffee? I got milk and brown sugar."

He throws himself into the seat next to the high chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Brown sugar? Sweetness, you're spoiling me."

Junie laughs. Eddie pulls himself up into a proper sitting position and gawps at her exaggeratedly. "What's funny, little lady?"

She giggles some more. Eddie leans his elbow on the tray of the high chair and pretends to glare at her. "I can already tell you're trouble."

"She likes you."

"Yeah?" he asks, looking at you over his shoulder.

You're half obscured by cabinets as you poke your head out, an open sack of rolled oats in one hand and a small pan in the other. You nod happily and move to the sink. He can hear the sound of the faucet and the burner clicking on, the saucepan sliding over the stovetop.

"I like you," he says to Junie quietly, rapping his knuckles on the tray. "But don't tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation."

"So, uh, how long have you lived here?" you call, almost smothered by the rushing sound of oats tipping into hot water.

Junie makes a funny face like she might sneeze. Eddie watches. "Since I was a kid." He's smiling as he talks, amazed when Junie starts to smile back. He nods his head gently up and down to encourage her. "Too long. Not that it's not nice here."

Junie looks like she agrees.

"For sure, but.. not always where you picture yourself," you say tentatively.

He hums his agreement. "Whatever though, right? A roof is a roof. Even when the roof is made of cardboard and corrugated metal. I mean, all things considered, this is a well kept vessel."

He's not just trying to make you feel better – you really are making a go of it. There's not nearly as much clutter or decoration as his own home but it's twice as clean and every surface brags a clear affection – you fucking love your daughter. There's a framed photo of her as she looks now at the mantle without a single fingerprint on the glass, baby photos in smaller frames hang on the wall.

Smallest of all, a photo of the two of you together. Your hands on her shoulders, your lips and nose pressed to her forehead. You're not looking at the camera, but Junie is, and she's exuberant.

Toys, though few, are arranged neatly under the TV. It's really the type of clean that takes hours. He wonders how you'd ever make time for it.

"You got a job?"

"Yeah, I'm waitressing at Benny's?" You say it like a question. "The burger place?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Randolph Lane, near the laundromat. Does Junie go with you?" he asks. He cooes Junie's name and feels very happy when the girl in question smiles some more, reaching out with her hands. Eddie offers up the same palm she'd taken before and lets her squeeze his fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. "She looks like a working girl."

"Benny said I could bring her with me until she starts daycare next week, so she really is a working girl." You giggle madly and Junie loves the sound, her chubby cheeks rounding as she smiles.

"I knew it," Eddie whispers conspiringly. "You have the face for it."

Junie laughs like something is truly hysterical and Eddie can't believe it, squeezing the small girl's smaller fingers in his and waving their joined hands together.

"She really likes you," you say, closer now.

You set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He pulls his hand from Junie's and moves the hot mug away from the high chair though she'd never be able to reach it as you set your own mug and a pint of milk half-full across from him, the brown sugar you'd promised in a pink and orange ceramic dish with a lid that clinks as he pulls it off.

You double back into the kitchen. This time you bring a baby bottle full of what he guesses is diluted juice and two teaspoons, handing him one with a quiet, "For you."

"Why thank you," he drawls.

He spoons a generous hill of crumbly brown sugar into his cup and swirls.

"The oatmeal needs to soften. Is there anything you want with it? I've got lots of options," you tell him, pouring milk into your own mug. When you're done you and Eddie swap.

He thinks maybe you sound a little nervous and wonders if he's the first neighbour you've met. Or maybe you're still freaked out about Junie.

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't look at you as he splashes milk into the dark recesses of his coffee, watching as it bursts back up to the surface and turns the drink a more acceptable brown. "What do you usually have?"

"Junie gets peanut butter and blueberries."

He tilts his head toward his shoulder just slightly and plants his elbows on the table, the rim of his mug held in tenuous fingertips.

"What do you get?" he asks, thinking that if the baby gets such a sweet treat you must get something equally impressive. He thinks of raspberries and chia seeds, flakey sea salt and bitter dark chocolate.

You blink. "What?"

"What do you have, on your oatmeal?" He punctuates his question with a sip.

"Salt. Sometimes raisins."

You make a nice cup of coffee. Eddie holds it in both hands and leans into the table. "That's it?"

You shrug. Junie starts to whimper about something Eddie doesn't understand. You reach out to hold her hand. "She loves blueberries. Don't you, Junie?"

"Blue," Junie says.

You're smiling as you take another small spoonful of brown sugar. You lick the tip of your finger and dip it into the well of the spoon until a few grains are sticking to you and hold it up to Junie's lips. "She loves sugar, too, but toddlers aren't s'posed to have it. Or so they say." You smile as she sucks the sugar off before wiping your spit wet finger in your pants.

Daughter appeased for a moment, you hold your chin in your palm and turn your attention to him. "Where do you work?"

He imagines this is how a plant feels when the sun comes out. "The Hideout, for now. I'm a very essential and irreplaceable bus boy." He nods very seriously.

"What's after?"

"Music."

Your lips curl into an interested smile. "Music? You a singer?"

"I have a great set of windpipes," he says agreeably, grinning. "But I'm a guitarist."

"And you're in a band?"

"I- I was. Yeah, we were good, too, but everybody graduated and our drummer skipped town. I just sub rhythm guitar for whoever wants me to."

"At the Hideout?"

"At the Hideout." He decides on his next words carefully. You could come see me play. Weak. You're welcome to come see it for yourself. Too strong? You're welcome to come by one night. Bring Junie.

He's not asking you on a date; he's a new acquaintance extending an invitation for you to get out and see a new place. That's all it is.

He opens his mouth to try and suddenly there's a loud clattering. Eddie flinches, blinks, finds that Junie has thrown her bottle of juice across the room.

Eddie waits for you to maybe tell her off like some of the mom's he's seen at Bradley's. A glare, a hissing remark to be good.

You reach over and your shirt rides up your back. Eddie averts his gaze guiltily.

You put the bottle back on the tray, giving him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Junie has recently discovered that every time she drops something I'll pick it up for her."

"Smart Junie."

The bottle falls to the floor again. "She's a genius." You don’t sound entirely pleased, picking the bottle up again and holding it just out of Junie's reach. You shake it up and down. "S'juice. You like juice," you try to reason with her.

Junie reaches for it. You purse your lips. "Be good," you say softly.

Junie takes the bottle and shakes it.

It's a small victory and still softens every feature. Your eyes squint, your bottom lip juts out a touch, your nostrils flare with a pleased inhale.

"Thanks, junebug."

"Tanks," Junie says.

"Thanks," you repeat, bubbly baby talk. "Thanks. Say thanks, Junie."

Eddie watches you encourage her over his coffee. It's quiet, peaceful here in a way nowhere else in his life has ever been besides quiet Sunday mornings with his Uncle. There's only the sound of the gas stovetop burning and your happy, patient voice.

Junie says "Tanks," a couple more times. You don't give up. When she finally says something that sounds almost like a "Thanks," you whip your gaze to his.

"Did you hear that?" you ask. Your pride is evident.

He puts down his half empty mug. "She said it."

"She said it," you repeat, your shoulders moving in the tiniest happy dance he's ever seen. You stand up and take her face into delicate hands. "She's my smarty pants. Aren't you, baby?"

You dot a kiss over her head and head back into the kitchenette.

"Tanks," Junie says animatedly, running on an affection high. She accidentally knocks her bottle over.

"Thanks, Junie," Eddie corrects, righting it.

He finds it easier to baby talk than he imagined. Being nice to little kids – that's easy. Especially as he gets older. When they hit the pre-teen mark is when he starts to steer clear, but even then he can't help doting on them sometimes. Like his club – idiots, annoying idiots, but his annoying idiots. He doesn't hold back with them. He doesn't feel like he's holding back now, either, it's just different.

Baby's want love. Care and affection.

And to pull Eddie's hair, apparently.

Junie's reaching over the gap with a fierce look on her face. Eddie pulls his chair closer and decides to let her try it out. She hadn't given him any reason to worry before, and she doesn't now as she takes a chunk of his hair into her hand. She pulls very gently, likely more that her fingers have gotten caught in his messy curls than any maliciousness.

"What's your fascination with my hair?" he asks her.

In her own home Junie's very noisy. When he'd found her outside she hadn't done much besides whimper weakly. Now, she's a riot of gurgling and humming.

"Are you a singer, Junie?" he asks.

"She sings all the time! She loves the Muppet Babies on TV, but I- uh, I haven't been able to actually get cable, yet. But when I get paid next week…" You come back into view with two bowls in hand. "She'll be in her oils."

Eddie says thanks as you put a bowl down in front of him. There's a smiley face there made up of berries with banana slices for eyes. He feels something crawling up his throat and has no idea what it is, and then something completely different when he sees your own bowl, a stretch of plain oatmeal with no delicious adornment.

You leave and quickly return with a smaller bowl, a baby spoon and a jar of peanut butter.

"Do you want some?" you ask, opening the jar to push the baby spoon inside. "I would've just put it in anyway but then I worried you were allergic."

You hand it off to Junie and she licks at it happily.

"Sure, I'll have some. Where's your smiley face?" he asks.

Your eyes widen slightly. Eddie's not academically inclined but he's never been stupid, and he sees it for what it is, something he's seen in himself and in every other poor kid who didn't bring lunch to school.

"I don't really like bananas," you say.

Whether you're lying or not isn't something he needs to know.

"Well, you're gonna have to share the blueberries with me, I can't eat this much fruit. I got a hearty diet of chips and microwave oven dinners to uphold."

Eddie shovels half of the smile into your bowl. You clutch your spoon in your hand like you want to protest, but no way is he gonna watch you miss out on nice things in your own home.

You smile and don't say anything for a while, rubbing the edge of the bowl with your spoon, your thoughts somewhere else.

Junie's food sits billowing steam in the middle of the table, which annoys the poor girl endlessly. She wiggles and murmurs and sucks at her empty spoon with a growing line between her brows.

Eddie eats and feels much better when you finally start to eat your own meal, leaning back in his chair heavily to loll his head towards Junie. "Your mom makes amazing oatmeal. You're really missing out."

You choke on a laugh and grab her spoon to load up with another small heap of peanut butter. "That is so cruel to lord over her,” you say. “I can't give it to her yet! It's scorching. She has a fragile mouth."

"I'm sure."

He picks one of his blueberries out of the bowl and offers it to Junie, who takes it slowly despite her previously rabid hunger

More oatmeal eating. Eddie ends up giving the rest of his fruit to Junie, your generous dollops of peanut butter more than enough to enjoy the oatmeal. He might argue it doesn't need any adornment at all.

You stir peanut butter into Junie's bowl and wrestle the baby spoon out of her tight grip.

It's a process to watch. You scoop up oatmeal, blow on it until you're sure it's cool, and push it into Junie's mouth efficiently. There's a method to it, the way you lift the handle of the spoon so oatmeal doesn't drip straight back out of her mouth. When it does you scrape the lip gently against her chin to catch it before it ruins her shirt.

It starts to rain. Hard not to notice, a light drizzle opens and sprays down against the windows and for a moment there's no reaction. Then, gasping, you drop Junie's bowl back onto the table in stress.

"Shit, the laundry. Are you okay to watch her please? Sorry. I'll be five seconds," you say, already heading for the back door.

"Sure.” He sounds about as startled as he feels.

The back door shushes open and your feet dip down the steps. Junie is not very pleased with her breakfast getting put on pause, her face growing as unpleasant as the weather outside.

"Mommy," she says, unhappy and loud.

Eddie doesn't think about it as he picks up her bowl. It's more a pulse of feeling than a thought. Feed her and she won't cry.

He blows on a spoonful of oatmeal with likely too much vigour.

Junie's still complaining as he holds it in front of her face. If she's surprised to be fed by somebody who isn't her mom she doesn't show it, her sticky face growing suddenly slack as she realises her oatmeal is back in play. Her lips part.

He feeds her oatmeal, does a very bad job, and tries to gather what's escaped with the spoon as Junie waves her hands around and pokes at spilled food on the white tray in front of her. By the time you come back damp and breathless with the cold chasing your heels he's successfully managed to feed her what was left of her breakfast. He's embarrassed to be caught but tries not to show it.

"You okay?" he asks, looking you up and down amicably.

"S'only a little rain." You push the laundry basket onto the sofa and smile sheepishly. "You didn't have to do that."

"And have the precious little lady starve?"

"Starve!" you repeat, a feigned incredulousness to your tone.

"She was giving me the puppy dog's," he says, shrugging as he takes the spoon out of Junie's wet fingers.

She whines for a second at his robbery but seems to realise she's full, picking her juice back up to shake some more.

You exhale through an open-mouthed smile.

"Thank you. She's gonna love you now, she loves anyone who gives her food. She's a real cadge at the diner. Never seen so much free cherry pie in my life," you remark, turning to what looks like your diaper station. You wade through a mess of things he doesn't recognise and pull out a packet of baby wipes.

"And her mom? Is her affection so easily garnered?"

"Takes more than a cherry pie to win me over," you joke, sitting down in your chair in front of the high chair with a soft sigh. You pull out one of the wipes and take Junie's wrists into your hand, wiping her fingers clean methodically. "I need at least a squirt of whipped cream on top before I consider any fondness."

He chuckles and you laugh too. It's short-lived, your lips pursed as you wipe Junie's face clean. She hates every second of it, writhing in her chair like she's being tortured as you clean a mess of brown and blue from her round chin.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. Done, done," you say, holding your hands up in surrender.

She pouts.

"Don't be like that," you scold her mildly. "Look how lovely and clean you are now! Eddie can see how pretty you look again."

You slide your hands under her armpits and pull her out of the highchair, groaning.

"Oh, there you go. Where's Mr. Bear gone, baby? You can play sticky bricks with him so I can get ready for work."

Work. Work. Where Eddie was going. Where Eddie is very likely supposed to be. He checks the time and his eyes flare, standing up abruptly. You turn toward him with Junie anchored on your hip, both wearing matching expressions of curiosity.

"Sh-“ Don’t swear around babies. “I'm sorry, I got somewhere to be that I totally spaced on."

You blink. "That's okay."

"It was sick to meet you," he says.

You blink some more and walk to the front door, pulling it open as an understanding smile curls your lips. "Super 'sick,'" you say, bemused. "Thank you so much for bringing Junie back. Really, I mean, if anything ever happened to her." You don't finish because it's obvious, your bright tone underlain with a burning fear.

He walks sideways out of the door and down one step, knowing he's super fucking late but not caring too much as he says, "Listen, I can bring you a deadbolt."

"You could?"

"Sure thing. Make sure this little lady," and he says it chidingly, directing his gaze at Junie who goes all shy and smiley from the attention, "doesn't go on anymore morning adventures. Especially without her shoes."

"That would be… that would be awesome, Eddie. Thank you."

He waves his hand and descends the last of the steps. "I'll come around tomorrow?"

It's a Saturday today. He's not surprised that you're both working the weekend, but he is surprised that you're working Sunday too when you say, "Would after five be okay?"

"That's more than okay. Bye, trouble," he says to Junie, bringing a hand up to shield his hair from the drizzling rain.

You look lovely on the stoop, fresh-faced and in your lounge clothes. You tug Junie up your chest and take her hand into yours. "Say 'bye', Junie," you tell her, waving her hand. "Bye! Bye-bye, Eddie."

"Bye Junie!" he calls, waving at the little girl with great fervour.

"Bye!" Junie calls back.

You both grin.

You're super tired from work and exhausted from an upset daughter. Even now Junie fusses. She hasn't been getting her naps because you can't set her down anywhere that isn't the wooden high chair in Benny's restaurant, which is months of a routine disrupted.

You're not mad at her – the opposite, you feel awful to mess her up like this, awful that she's so upset. Trying your very best to calm her down, you're swaying her from side to side in the middle of your messy living room with your hand patting a steady rhythm into the narrow breadth of her back.

"I know, baby, I know. I'm sorry. You'll get your nap tomorrow, I promise," you say, trying for softness and missing, desperation eating at your tone.

You try not to have a heart attack at the thought of her first day at the new daycare. I can't think about it, you tell yourself, moving your thoughts onto the Sunday checklist.

Junie's been fed. Unfortunately, she's the kind of wound up where the only solution you can think of is to get her in bed. If you can get her down soon she'll sleep until maybe 4AM. Not ideal; you'd prefer she slept later tonight and woke up at a healthier 6AM with you. When she does wake, no matter the time, you'll have her eat something substantial for breakfast and take a much needed bath.

Laundry, bills, cleaning, it all runs through your head. Junie's hair, her snacks for daycare, her clothes. Does she have clean socks for the week? Does she have a vest top for tomorrow?

Her crying grows loud and you can't think of anything except how overwhelmed you feel.

"It's okay, baby, just go to sleep." You shush her softly.

Somebody knocks the door.

You and Junie are similarly nonplussed. Her crying ceases for a second and her head turns in tandem with yours.

"Oh. Oh, you know who that is, huh?" you ask her, making for the door while her cries are still on pause. "That's our new friend Eddie. You remember Eddie?"

You pull open the door. There he is on the porch with a bag and a plastic case, wearing a shirt with short sleeves. You realise for the first time that he has tattoos.

"Hi," you say.

"Hi. Hi, Junie," he adds, looking at her tear-stained face. "Have I come at a bad time?"

"No, you're good. You're great, thank you for doing this." You lean back against the door and Eddie skirts past you. That close, you can smell the heavy sage and sandalwood of his cologne and see the beauty mark under his ear, dark hair tucked behind the shell.

He stops in the middle of the room and puts down the plastic case. "I'm gonna try to do it. Try being the essential word, and I make absolutely no promises." He makes a small cross with his hands leading out and the bag falls from the crook of his elbow to his wrist.

It sounds like more than a deadbolt. Eddie sees your gaze and jumps into theatrics that hook Junie's attention straight away, ruffling through the bag. He pulls out a VHS tape and then a second, one old and one newer.

"For your consideration." He presents them grandly against his check, his eyes flitting from your daughter to the tapes in wait of her reaction.

Junie has no clue what a VHS is. She thinks the TV is magic.

You swoop in and gasp loudly for Junie's sake, having identified his proffered tapes immediately.

"You know what that is?" you ask her, pointing at the slipcover. "Muppet Babies! There's Kermit and Fozzy and Rowlf and Gonzo." You touch your finger to each puppet in turn as you reel off their names.

Junie looks up at you like maybe she remembers, so you start to sing the theme tune for her. "Muppet Babies, they make their dreams come true. Muppet Babies, they'll do the same for you!"

The song jogs her memory. She starts her nonsense singing in a valiant but juvenile effort to recreate the music, dancing in your arms.

You sing it again for her as you lower her to the floor. She doesn't whine to be picked back up, a great sign that her mood has turned, instead walking to the TV, a small silver combi with a bubble screen. She raises her arms up high and starts hitting the TV stand with her palms flat.

Eddie looks to you as if he's checking that it's alright before crossing the small space and turning on the TV, your relieved smile more than enough encouragement. He's careful not to step on Junie's feet, surprised when she walks into his leg. She grabs onto his jeans and looks up at him with wide eyes.

Eddie visibly softens.

It's kind of crazy to see him, this metalhead dude covered in dark tattoos and wearing safety pinned jeans looking down at a toddler with nothing but patience in his eyes.

He drops his hand very lightly to her tiny back and pushes in the tape. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Junie says.

She doesn't let him touch her for very long, falling to her knees to pull out the bin of stickle bricks hiding underneath as Eddie fast forwards through the adverts and then turns up the volume until the Muppet Babies theme is echoing against the wood panelled walls..

Junie's eyes dart up the screen, two bricks held in her hands and a great smile on her face.

"Where did you find that?" you ask, in awe.

He steps over her and comes back to your side, crossing his arms over his stomach with a smug smile. "Not telling. Ruins the magic. Got The Bugs Bunny Show for when she gets bored of Miss Piggy."

You smooth down your rumpled black work skirt and smile shyly. "I can pay you back… Next week."

He looks lost for words for a split-second. It clears fast, and he says, "Tell you a secret. I have a friend down at good old Family Video that let me have 'em for nothing."

"Yeah?" you ask, unsure. You worry he's lying to make you feel better.

"Uh-huh. Friends in high places," he brags sarcastically.

You turn to watch Junie smile for the first time in hours and have to scrub your face to hide how shattered you feel. It's been a really long week. Your relief is a physical thing, a hand on your shoulder. You feel yourself deflate.

"You okay?" Eddie asks.

You press the backs of your hands to your cheeks. "Thank you. Really. You saved me."

"Yeah?" he asks, dialling up the drama. He lifts his chin high. "Would you say, oh, I don't know, that I'm your hero?"

It's his clear joking tone that saves him. If you'd detected even a smidge of genuine expectancy from him you likely would've shoved him out the door.

"Mm-hm. My hero," you croon, both of you grinning.

He turns back to the grocery bag and pulls out a bottle of juice. "I was gonna bring coke but I didn't want Junie to feel left out."

You move to the cabinets and can't believe how nice he is. You get a little warning stab, that feeling of if it's too good to be true… and shake it off. Maybe it'll turn out that way and you're not gonna do anything stupid to chance it, but he seems like a normal guy. A good neighbour who wants to be your friend.

You're in dire need of one of those.

"What was wrong with the little lady?"

You pour juice into a glass for him, less into a glass for you, and a half-inch into a clean baby bottle. "I can't get her down for a nap when she's with me at work and it really caught up to her today. She-" You yawn so wide it hurts your cheeks, covering your face with your arm.

Eddie looks up from where he's kneeling in front of the open plastic case he'd brought with him. "Caught up to you too, I think."

"A little." You smile ruefully.

He holds something red and black in the air. "This'll wake you up," he says.

It's a small hand drill. He presses down on the trigger twice in quick succession and Junie lies down on the floor to look backwards at him.

“Woah,” you say.

Junie rolls onto her knees and then stands. She's in that stage of walking where she can mostly do it but has a great tendency to trip over anything that might be in her way, and she stumbles as she approaches. Eddie moves the drill away from her and opens the case wide to show her his array of drill bits.

"How'd you like them, Junie?" he asks. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"What do they all do?" you ask.

"I don't have the foggiest," he says, grinning up at you. "And I really wanted to be cool and pretend that I did. I was going to, but you asked me that and now we're sunk."

Junie pokes at all the silver metal and turns away, bored, to return to her cartoons.

"I'm sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

"You should be." He shakes his hair out. "Can't say woodshop was something I ever paid much attention to in school."

You squat down beside him where he's counting the screws out for the deadbolt he'd acquired for you, your small cup of juice in hand. The deadbolt isn't new but it's clean of rust and that's all you care about. It doesn't need to do anything besides work.

"It can't be too hard though, right?" you ask quietly. There isn't any need to talk loudly this close to him and your head is starting to hurt from a long day.

"I hope not." He passes you the drill. "Hold onto that?"

He stands and you follow, the deadbolt frame in hand. He turns to your front door and holds it up to the frame, far from the door knob. "Where'd you want this thing?"

"Wherever you think is best," you say quickly.

"Got a pencil?"

You don't. You're ashamed to offer him a cyan blue crayon from Junie's arts and crafts. He takes it with a gleeful smile and uses it to draw a line under the deadbolt's two parts to make sure they fit together once they've been drilled in.

Junie starts fussing and you squint at her, trying to guess what's wrong. You leave the drill on the small table by the door.

"Junie, you want some dinner?" you ask, walking up behind her where she's stood watching TV. You rub her shoulder and lean over her, your face upside down in front of the TV. "I don't think you're hungry. Let's change that diaper."

She certainly doesn't want you to. You turn to Eddie where he's making clumsy crosses on the door in place of the screws, his brows furrowed.

"I'm gonna go get her some jammies," you say, and then wince. "Pajamas."

"Jammies," he repeats. You hate how happy he looks.

A hot flush washes over you. "She's the only one I talk to."

Again, that awful softening of his features. He's got the biggest, brownest eyes you've ever seen. "Why don't you get changed, too? I'm gonna start drilling." He waves the drill and you don't like how loosely he holds it.

"Please don't ruin the door."

A wolfish smile. "No promises."

You leave all the doors open. Eddie's nice but you're not stupid – if he plans on kidnapping her or something evil this is the perfect time. Though, you suppose, he could’ve abducted her when he found her outside.

You shed your uniform and pull on a pair of loose fitting pants. You can't find a clean t-shirt, probably because you own a grand total of three, and you get distracted when the drill starts whirring and Junie screams.

You know in your heart that it's just a baby scream rather than a sign that she's in pain and you still can't let it lie, rushing down the hall. You can see her, see that she's uninjured, only looking at the drill.

She's excited.

"You like that?" Eddie asks her. "Is that funny?"

Junie claps her hands together and reaches for the drill.

Eddie frowns. "Sorry, you can't have it. I gotta finish the door for your mommy. Why don't you build me something with your bricks, yeah? Something big."

Junie reaches up for the drill again.

"I can't, Junie, it's too dangerous. Don't want you to get all mutilated." You wrinkle your nose at what he's saying. He turns the drill towards his chest and touches the drill bit to his collar. "Look, see this? It's not for little hands."

Junie steps over the case of things on the ground and leans against Eddie's legs, insistent.

Your mouth drops open as he starts the drill and puts on some fake anguished screams. "Ah! Oh my god, it's eating me!"

Junie starts laughing at his fake screaming. Her eyes widen, her hands clinging to a rip in his jeans.

"Think that's funny, do you? Heartless girl. Where's your juice gone, hmm?" He holds the drill behind his back and points to her bottle on the side of the couch where you'd left it. "You want that?"

He goes over her head to grab it and encourage it into her hands. "Yummy," he says, his eyes moving to where you stand in the door past the kitchen, eyebrows jumping up. "Everything okay?"

"Screaming," you say, awkward in your breathlessness.

Eddie's eyes stay resolutely on your face. "She's okay. The drill is exciting. You're shirtless, you know."

You spin on your heel and back into your room. Your heart a jack hammer, you sieve through clothes until a rumpled t-shirt that smells of deodorant but not sweat appears and shrug into it.

Junie has a much better selection of clothes. You pick out some matching pajamas for her and a thick pair of socks and tuck them under your arm with her changing matt.

When you return this time, Eddie's drilling a third and fourth hole into the wall next to the door and Junie's watching with the teat of her bottle in her mouth, chewing but not drinking. You lay her mat down on the floor and grab her with a big sigh.

"Alright, Junie, let's get you all fresh for bed."

You change her diaper and she doesn't misbehave too much, Eddie's general presence a distraction. Soon she's sitting in your lap, dressed in new pajamas and smelling of talcum powder and baby creams, her wool socks soft as you rub your thumbs into the instep of her feet.

You sit on the floor watching Eddie drill the screws into the deadbolt frame. Junie slouches against you, her head digging into your chest and her tired arms struggling to hold up her bottle. You hold it up for her, watching Eddie's hands and his arms, how they move. Muscle and ligament tense under the skin, tattoos warping, his bats propelled into flight.

"I like your tattoos," you say.

Eddie stops drilling to look over his shoulder. "What?"

"I- I like your tattoos."

He lights up. His back straightens out and he turns back to the lock, giving the last screw a final good twist. The door makes a groaning protest and then it's quiet. Just Muppet Babies, Junie's soft suckling and the compliment you'd given adrift in the room.

"They're pretty sweet," he allows. You can hear how pleased he is though he won't look at you.

"They're cool. Have you had them long?"

Eddie starts to tell you all about them, fiddling with something you can't see on the door.

Junie decides that she doesn't want to be sitting anymore and turns in your arms, hands coveting your neck. You lift her into your chest and rub circles in her back, the weight of her emptying bottle on your shoulder. Soon, her small arms go lax. There's a rush of air as her lips open from the teat and the bottle tumbles to the rug with a dull thud.

He pulls open the door. Cool air rushes in. He closes it, slides the deadlock into place, and then pulls hard to make sure it won’t come free.

It’s solid.

He laughs triumphantly and Junie stirs. You pat her back and make some quiet shushing sounds and Eddie turns around, a slip of his teeth on show as he grimaces.

"Sorry," he whispers.

You shake your head. "You're amazing. Thank you."

If his cheeks weren't pink they are now. He leans into it, hiding one cheek behind his hair. "Stop," he says, exaggerated.

"I'll make it good, I swear," you whisper, covering Junie's ear with your hand. "I'll make you the best dinner ever. I'm the best at Kraft's mac and cheese, or-" You flush hot, realising that mac and cheese might not be the treat you think it is to him. "Or we can order in," you say, doing the maths in your head. You can't afford it, but maybe Benny-

"Kraft's mac and cheese? You're spoiling me."

You beam.

Eddie cleans up the small mess he's made. You're afraid to move quite yet in case Junie's not really sleeping, though she's a dead weight in your arms, and you watch Eddie walk through the room with both caution and ease.

"Oh, you don't have to do that,” you say.

He folds the baby blanket in his hands and puts it back on the armrest of the couch before moving on to the stickle bricks, not looking at you as he says, "Just earning my wage, doll."

You can't watch him clean your home. You wrap a tight arm around Junie and rise to your feet. Eddie sees your approach and his movements grow faster, rushing to clean up the mess before you can stop him. You don't know who starts first but you're both laughing as you grab his wrist.

"Stop!" you whisper, mock-furious. "Stop cleaning."

"Sh, you'll wake the baby."

You shake your head in bemusement. "I'm gonna go set her down. Then mac and cheese."

"Take your time. Lots of things for me to clean up out here," he says with a mock sincerity.

You drift down the hall and turn back to sneak a glance at him. He's pulled Muppet Babies out of the TV and is rewinding it around his thumb, a small smile on his lips as he hums the theme tune to himself.

With Junie finally in bed for the night you take a quick peek at yourself in the mirror on your nightstand and cringe. You look tired. You give yourself a big smile and feel better; a smile makes even your most exhausted features look pretty.

You slap on some chapstick. You know, to counter your dry lips. It shines.

Slipping out of the bedroom, you close the door as quietly as you can manage.

Eddie's standing at the end of the hallway. You expect to feel scared. Instead, you’re perplexed.

"Hi?" you whisper.

"Can I use the bathroom?"

You laugh. "Yeah. Course you can."

You have to pass each other in the hallway. His hip bumps your hip, a short rub of fabric.

You're still thinking about it when he finds you behind the stove, half asleep with your face in your hand. It's the kind of tired where your eyes keep slipping shut, not aching so much as blurry with a heavy head.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, sitting down at your cramped table.

You hum. "Hm. Just tired." You give him a guilty smile as you tip the bigger portion into his bowl. "Sorry. Mac and cheese with bacon bits for you, my hero."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

The fatigue ebbs a little.

Eddie’s easy to talk to. He makes you laugh. When you say goodnight, he looks back over his shoulder twice.

It's a funny coincidence that Eddie sees you Friday night. He never grocery shops on a Friday but he knowd when his uncle gets home in the morning there won’t be anything for him to eat after his shift. He takes a sharp turn towards the TV dinners and there you are at the bottom of the aisle with Junie in the seat of the cart. You're talking to her like you'd talk to anyone, though you didn't sound so saccharine sweet over mac and cheese. Close, but not quite.

"What do you want?" you're asking. "Ham and pineapple or mini pepperoni?"

Junie holds her hands out for both boxes. You let her take them and the two of you puzzle over the pizzas, heads bent together.

"Pepperoni, right?" you ask her, quietly enough that he almost misses it.

"Peroni," Junie agrees. You let her keep the box and put the other one back in the freezer.

"Pepperoni," you correct, absentminded.

"Peroni."

"Pepper-roni." You sound it out slow, looking at a scrap of paper in your hand.

"Pepper."

"You'll get there. Do you think we need shampoo this week?" You start jovial, but quickly lose your sprightliness. "Maybe I can put some water in the bottle and just… shake it up. No, we definitely need it."

Eddie watches you look over the cart. He knows exactly what you're thinking, What can I put back?

"Hey!" he calls, walking a little faster to try and hide how he'd been listening.

You turn on the spot and smile as soon as you see him. Junie, to his delight, is even more excited.

"Hi," she says, hands thudding along the cart's handlebar.

"Hi, Junie. How's my favourite neighbour?"

She babbles.

"I'm psyched to hear it. How about you, sweetheart?" he asks, parking his cart next to yours.

You're looking very tired. Still in your work uniform with a hoodie thrown over the top and your smart flats swapped for a pair of converse with the laces undone. You pinch your cheeks up into a big smile. He guesses that with a baby you've gotten very used to hiding how you feel.

You don't hesitate to lay it down thickly. "I'm really good."

"Yeah? How's Junie liking daycare?"

You cover your hands with your sleeves. "She loves it. Loves napping again. She-" You frown. "She doesn't like the mornings. Dropping her off. But after." You nod with a tentative smile "Yeah, it's nice to pick her up."

"Uh-huh. How's work?"

"What?"

"How's work for you? How's Benny's?" he prods.

"You're asking me about work?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Nobody ever asks about work," you say.

You can't look at him as soon as you've said it, your eyes moving back to the grocery list in hand. It's an old envelope, and it crinkles under your squeezing fingers.

"Sorry," you mutter.

Eddie bites back a frown. "Well, I'm asking."

He holds out his hand for the list and you give it without thinking. He adores your handwriting the second he sees it, scanning the list for anything in this aisle.

"Hey, tell me about it," he prompts at your silence, pushing his cart. It takes you a millisecond to catch up, but when you do you're near frenetic.

"Well, I messed up like, five different orders today. And when I had Junie it was like they didn't care 'cos she's cute, but now she's not there they get pretty angry pretty quickly."

"She's like a magic item."

"Right," you say, sounding like you have no idea what he's talking about. "She was my lucky charm. 'N now when I mess up I gotta practically beg some of those guys to leave Benny alone. He's too nice to me already."

"Are they all terrible?"

"No, the regulars, guys in there everyday, they're all great. They're too generous. Benny's too generous. I know he's fluffing up my tip jar. I hate that. I don't want him-" You flinch. It's strange. Eddie takes a small step closer to you and waits for you to continue, but you've lost all steam. "Sorry, I don't mean to weigh you down with all of this."

"I asked. And I get it."

"I don't want him to feel sorry for me."

"Hey," he says, reaching out for a box of cereal on your list. He presents it to Junie and shakes it around, "who said anything about all that?"

"No, I know, I just-"

Junie smiles her approval and he chucks the cereal in your cart with a rattle of metal. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I swear. I get it. I- You said he's a nice guy, right? So maybe he doesn't feel sorry for you at all. Maybe he just likes you. He owns that place. I don't think it hurts him to put an extra twenty in your tips."

Junie reaches up. You turn to her and lean down until your face is a few inches from hers. "I wish I didn't need it," you say quietly.

"I know."

Junie puts her hand on your cheek.

You sniff, not crying or anything like that, only breathing. "Thanks, Junie," you murmur.

"Mommy," she says. She sounds a little concerned.

"Let's go get something yummy, baby." You stroke her face lightly. "I'm thinking canned peaches. Or pears, um. Fruit cocktail. And condensed milk," you add, sounding unsure.

"I got a can or two of that laying around," Eddie says, because he knows that shit is expensive. "Wayne hates sweet stuff."

"I couldn't-"

"You let me come over for one of those mini pizzas and I'll bring the dessert," he says, like he knows you'll say yes. He doesn't know. Eddie Munson’s an expert in pushing his luck.

Junie starts clapping her hands together.

"I think she's decided," you say.

You're terrible with a can opener. You whine to yourself as you struggle to get open the second can. Eddie had insisted on peaches and pears and fruit cocktail, because he wanted to try them all apparently. And then some dramatic speech about little kids getting spoiled.

You can hear him now in the living room with Junie. They're laughing in a way that you're worried about, that guilty, hushed giggling that raises your hackles.

"Shush," Eddie says, faux-angry, "your mom's gonna hear."

"Shush," she repeats with much more enthusiasm.

"You shush! Look, don't do that, Junie, you're gonna get it tangled in your hair," he says.

You carry the can and can opener with you into the living room. Something about tangled hair gets your heart racing.

"Eddie, please don't let her get stickies in her hair," you say quickly.

"They're called stickles," he says, dropping back onto his hands, head over his shoulder to give you a bright-eyed smile.

"I know what they're called. Junie can't say stickles."

"Stickles," she says.

"She couldn't when I got them," you amend.

He's up quicker than you can really take in, hands extended. "Let me do it," he says.

He works the can out of your fingers. It's more contact than you've had with somebody who wasn't your daughter in a very long time and it leaves you shell-shocked. Eyes on his nice hands, bigger than yours with thicker fingers and his riot of rings. He presses the can to his chest and hooks the opener, peeking between it and you intermittently.

"Go see what we made for you," he encourages. "I'll do it."

His arm brushes yours as he moves to the kitchen and that's worse than his fingers. You rub where he'd touched and drop down on your knees next to Junie, looking over the stickle bricks with a smile. It's a heart, poorly construed and of tens of colours. It falls apart when she tries to pick it up so you help her remake it, cooing.

"Thanks, baby. This is for me, huh? You're so sweet." Your voice drops to a murmur. "My sweet girl. Wanna cuddle?"

You open your arms out and she doesn't seem very interested. "Please?" you ask, vying for her waist.

She lets you pull her into your lap. When you actually start to hug her she does her lovely melting thing that she always does, a floppy fish in your arms but with tiny squeezing hands. You giggle at her antics and lift her up so her face falls into your neck.

"Thanks for my heart, Junebug." She snuggles her head into your neck, hair squished to your skin. "I love you," you whisper, rubbing her back.

"The works," Eddie announces grandly as he appears, two bowls in hand.

"Eddie, that's too much for her."

"She's a growing girl."

"A growing girl with a tiny tummy," you say turning her around in your arms. "Tell you what, you have that one," you point to the biggest one, "and we'll share that one."

"How about you share the big one?" he asks, though it hardly sounds like a question. He sits down and places the bowl in her lap.

You grab the spoon before she can and stir up some of the fruits. "Wow, look at this! You gonna say thanks? Thanks Eddie.”

She doesn’t say thanks — her mouth is too far open to form words. You make quick work of shovelling fruit and condensed milk inside, chilled enough that she shivers in your arms.

“Yeah, that’s good,” you say agreeably.

She gets enthusiastic enough to take the spoon and you let her, even when she totally mauls the food, eating so loudly that Muppet Babies becomes inaudible.

Eddie eats slowly. You can feel his gaze. “You’re not gonna have any?” he asks.

You’d felt it coming. Your answer is clumsy anyways. “No, I will. I just… I always have her leftovers,” you say, sheepish.

He stands up.

You’re gonna ask why when Junie tips fruit down your legs, cold on the naked skin of your ankle. You dab at your pajamas with a small sigh. There’s no point in getting upset. She’s a messy eater but they all are at this age. Honestly, it’s nice to see her attempting to use a spoon rather than her hands.

“You’re doing a good job,” you say. You’re not totally sure who you’re talking to.

“Tada!” Eddie cheers, wielding a third bowl of fruit. “Swap with me?”

“What?”

“You think Junie’ll come sit in my lap?” he asks. He doesn’t wait, really. He holds out the bowl and you take it on impulse as he sits down heavily.

He takes her into his lap with a cheerful groan. “Oh, c’mere, sweetheart. There’s enough milk on your chin to bake a cake.” He wipes it with his hand. He doesn’t so much as wince at the mess.

You stare. He eases the spoon out of her grip and scrapes up a half-spoonful of what looks like pear and feeds it to her with the same kind of deftness of hand that’d taken you months to learn.

He can feel your gaze, evidently, because he looks up. There, you catch it, that slither of insecurity he hides well.

You pick up your bowl and start eating. It’s the nicest thing you’ve eaten in almost two years. You’d die for Junie. You’d do worse. But to eat, to know she’s fed — gorged — to know you can sit here and eat this whole bowl of fruit all to yourself and you won’t have to put it down, that’s heaven. It’s better, because you never let yourself have anything nice if you can help it.

The fruit turns to a lump in your throat and you swallow it, sniffling. Your lashes grow heavy with unshed tears and you keep your gaze resolutely on your dessert. When was the last time you had something this nice all to yourself? When was the last time somebody ever went out of their way to be this nice?

It’s a small gesture and a huge one. A tear dribbles down your cheek. You lick it away and keep on eating.

Eddie starts to come around every Friday. It’s a good deal; you make dinner and he makes dessert. After that first time he makes it his mission to give you heaping bowls too much to eat most of the time. Soon, he’s coming a few days a week, not always long, sometimes until the late hours, though you tell him desserts are a Friday only occasion. He complies grudgingly.

You make your first friend in years, and it’s so sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Or what possesses you to offer to cut his hair.

Eddie's sitting on the couch with Junie, his big thigh to her little one and a picture book spread between them whilst you clean the kitchen. He's not reading to her – she's trying to read to him. She can't read, of course, but she can remember some of the words in relation to the pictures. She pokes at the blue cat and says blue. She pokes at the blue dog and says blue. She also points at the red cat and says blue. It's a learning curve.

Eddie gives corrections and encouragements just as you would. You smile at him from behind your cup of water.

"He's red, sweetheart," he murmurs, arm around her shoulder to hold the book's edges. "Red cat."

"Red cat," she repeats with enough accuracy to make you choke on your water.

Eddie gasps almost as loud as you do. "Right! Red cat! You're so smart, junebug, I can't believe it," he praises, squeezing her shoulder. His gaze meets yours and he smiles.

You send him back your sweetest smile. If he wasn't always so nice to you you'd like him anyway because of how he treats Junie, like she's the fucking sun.

She gets so excited when other people are happy that she starts laughing, standing up and trampling all over his legs to give him a hug. She's given him half hugs, she's fallen asleep by his side and loves to pet his hair, but this is a proper, tactile hug. Her arms wind around his neck with purpose and as soon as his surprise has faded he brings his arms up to hug her in turn, laughing delightedly.

"You're such a smarty-pants," he praises, rubbing her back with a boyish brashness.

She squeals as he squeezes her, his fingers digging into her ribs. Never cruel, only tickling her. She eats up every second of it and buries her face in his neck, laughing her wound up baby laugh that always brings a smile to your face.

"Ooh, she's so smart. First blue, then red. Next you'll be saying indigo, and vermillion, and-"

He cuts off when Junie gets one of her nails caught in his hair. She jolts and whines like it hurts and he goes rigid. You move forward to play mediator but he's already pulling her away gently and making small shushing sounds. "Chill out," he chides lightly, "I got it. Here." He pulls the hair from under her fingernail and rubs the pad of his thumb over her hand. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he apologises, pouting at her scowl. He envelops her hand in his and waves it around. "Forgive me?"

She doesn't learn her lesson, pushing her hands back into his hair, probably less kind than what’s ideal. Eddie doesn't flinch.

You sit on the armrest gingerly. "Can I ask you something?"

Eddie looks over Junie’s head. "What's that?"

"Have you always had long hair?"

He doesn't balk. "No, of course not. I fu-" He clears his throat. "My mom was the best, and I fit in just like everybody else growing up. When I ended up with Wayne I was-" He smiles. It's the kind of rueful grimace that says, You didn't ask for this.

You smile encouragingly.

He drops his gaze to Junie, worming his arms around her in a loose hug as she continues to play with his hair. "I was mad about everything, and I remember him asking when I wanted to get my hair trimmed and I said ‘never’. Took a few years for it to grow past the awkward stage," he bares his teeth and nods toward his shoulder, as if allowing his past misdemeanour. "But now I'd say it looks pretty sweet."

"I love your hair," you say.

Eddie beams. "You don't think it's too long?"

Emboldened by his reaction, you slip off of the armrest to sit next to him, turning in until your knees touch. Junie, loyal as she is, climbs straight into your lap with a babble.

You pat her back with one hand and raise the other cautiously for permission. Eddie flares his eyes wide, as if to say, You want to? Go on.

You take a lock of his hair between your fingers like Junie had moments before. "I like it like this."

"But?"

You look at the ends, an inch of limpness where the rest curls. "You haven't had it cut since you were a kid?"

"Maybe not that long, but it's been a while. I do it myself sometimes." He gestures to his bangs. He speaks quietly. A rarity though not unknown for him to be so hushed.

You tuck the curl you'd been examining behind his ear carefully.

"Do you think my hair looks good?" you ask.

"Sh- Sorry, of course I do. I swear I was gonna-"

You shake your head, laughing. "Not like that. What I mean is, I cut my own hair. I cut Junie's, too, and I could do yours if you wanted me to."

He goes quiet.

"Only if you wanted. I know it's a lot of trust, so-"

"Would you do it now?"

You hold Junie's head away from yours to prevent a loving headbut. "Right now?"

"I'm in dire need."

He throws his big brown puppy dog eyes your way and you couldn't say no if you wanted to.

You explain how he needs to get it wet first and how the shower head in the bathroom doesn't detach. "It's, like, built into the wall."

"I could go home, come back?" he suggests.

"I can do it over the sink?"

Eddie can't remember the last time somebody washed his hair for him. He knows there must've been a time, some place in his life where his mom or dad had done it for him. He thinks that, if he'd asked, Wayne would've tried it once or twice growing up, but now Eddie's most definitely at the age where having his hair washed is a foreign luxury.

And it does feel luxurious.

It shouldn't; the sink basin is very small as they tend to be in the trailer kitchenettes – small sink, small stove, small small small – and Eddie has to crane his neck. Already the space between his shoulder blades aches from being bent over, and he can't breathe well, smothered by steam.

But your hands. One shields his eyes from run off, a gesture unnecessary and far from lost on him, while the other massages shampoo into his scalp. He'd been surprised when you started because you hadn't mentioned washing his hair, and he'd said, "You don't have to do that."

You'd hummed. "Well, it's kind of a waste not to."

That was that.

Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and if his eyes weren't already closed they would've fluttered shut. He nibbles his lip and tries very hard not to show outwardly how nice it feels. Your left upper arm rubs against his back as you scrub at his roots, your right soaking wet beside his face, covering his eyes uselessly. He doesn't mention it. All this touching, he doesn't want it to end.

Your proximity honest-to-God sets him on fire. Your body pressed to his is a flame over his ribs.

"Maybe we shouldn't cut it at all," you say, stroking wet bangs away from his forehead. "It's soooo long."

"Can’t do it?" he teases.

"Keep your eyes closed, okay? I'm gonna rinse."

It's a comforting process. You dip your cup into the water. It fills with a wet glug, the rim shushing against the basin's bottom. You hold it over his head and pour carefully, heat caressing his scalp as the soap is washed away.

It's over too soon. You grab the towel you'd procured and tuck it around his shoulders, wringing all the excess water from his curls back into the sink. You encourage his head up wordlessly and he stands there, arms useless against the countertops edge, water sloughing down his face as you press the ends flat between your hands.

You lift his head and push his hair back with your hands, raking your fingers through it and laughing as soon as his face appears. "Eddie! I'm sorry, you're totally drowning."

He chuckles. They fade away as you pinch the corner of the towel and start to dab his face dry, dragging the rough material over his cheeks with an expression he can't read on your pretty features. Almost pensive, not quite.

"There," you say under your breath. "Saved you."

"My hero."

You smile at him softly before spinning on your heel. "I gotta find the hairbrush. And the good scissors." You look into the living room quickly and then turn to the hall leading to your bedroom.

Eddie looks into the living room too. Junie's not upto much, only watching TV, unusually subdued. He doesn't disturb her despite the itch to go over and play.

One of the muppets starts laughing about something and she laughs too.

"What are you smiling about?" you whisper from behind him.

"Nothing," he says quickly.

You raise your eyebrows. "She has a nice laugh, right? Doesn't matter how bad I feel, she laughs and everything's okay for a little while."

He feels a fond stab in his chest. "Her laugh's like yours."

"I guess we do sound the same."

You do, but it's not really what he'd meant.

The metal sound of scissors snapping. You wield them at him faux-threateningly and shepherd him into a chair you've dragged to the middle of the kitchen.

Eddie fights goosebumps as you pull a brush through his hair, loses when you take a lock at the front between two fingers and stop about an inch and a half from the end.

"I'm gonna do that much, okay?"

You're a quiet hairdresser. Eddie doesn't care, he can talk for Indiana, but there's something so sweetly simple about the quietude, just your hands in his hair, the snipping of your scissors and Junie's occasional excited chattering. You start to hum a song Eddie doesn't recognise about halfway through. It's melancholy. He doubts you realise what you're doing.

You draw silent as you round to the front. Eddie watches your hands work for what feels like hours. You have really pretty hands, not perfect, burnt fingertips and neat little nails. They smell like honey hand soap.

You pull two locks from the front together to make sure they're the same length. His curls will hide any discrepancy, he knows from experience, but he doesn't want to tell you that. Selfishly, he wants that extra time with you this close.

You work your way between his legs to comb his half-dried bangs. Eddie looks up at you with wide eyes.

"You want me to trim these, too?" you ask quietly.

"If you please."

You huff a laugh through your nose and start to trim his bangs carefully. He closes his eyes, and maybe it's the fact that he can't see you that gives him the confidence to reach out for your hip, a touch that can't be defined as amicable. He curls his fingers into the soft material of your shirt and feels the heat of your skin underneath.

You draw closer, as close as you can be.

"What made you decide on bangs?" you ask.

"Zits, mostly."

He can feel your laugh under his hand.

"I used to… I used to powder my face," you confide, a murmur, "like, an inch thick to try and hide everything. Being pregnant makes you so-" You pause to snip some hair, comb it away. It tickles his face. "Well, it makes you spotty. Or it made me spotty. It actually made me really sick."

"That's must've sucked," he says earnestly.

"It- Yeah. I guess it did. I don't know."

He hadn't meant to bring up something unhappy, but he's hungry to know. "Were you on your own?"

"Mostly."

"What was the worst part?"

"Being scared all the time."

He'd been expecting morning sickness or aching feet. "You were scared?"

"I honestly thought I was gonna die, Eddie."

He opens his eyes and leans back in his chair, hand flexing over your hip, as he tries to tamp down his surprise.

"It was," you mess with his bangs with the tip of your ring finger, "hard. I felt sick all the time, and when I didn't I would make myself sick worrying about her. What if I eat something or I catch something and it hurts her? What if- what if it all works out perfectly and then I can't look after her?"

"Did it work out perfect?"

You rub your lips together. "Uh, I guess so. It took a long time, and it hurt," you sound especially unhappy with that part.

He strokes up your waist, wanting to soothe the small crease between your eyebrows. "By yourself?"

"Yeah, by myself."

"I'm sorry."

You tuck his hair behind his ear and grin at him. "Now what are you sorry for?" Your hand lingers near his cheek. Slowly, you turn it, pressing the knuckle of your index finger into the skin under his eye and rubbing a small line. He worries he’s in love with you right then and there. "Not like you're the one who knocked me up."

You drop your hand and Eddie really doesn't want you to go anywhere, his grip kind but steadfast, bringing the other arm behind your back in a loose hug. "Who was it?"

"Just some guy. Nobody. Nobody worth thinking about."

"How old were you?" he asks.

"Why are you asking me all this stuff?"

"I wanna know about you."

You bring your hands to the towel around his neck and pull on it mildly. "I was sixteen. Seventeen when I had her."

He drags his fingertips up and down the small of your back lightly, almost like he's playing guitar. "I'm sorry you were all by yourself. That young. When I was sixteen I was still watching The Bugs Bunny Show."

You giggle and your hands move up to the side of his neck. He can hardly breathe, afraid to dispel whatever enchantment it is that he's under.

"Could be worse, huh? I'm nineteen and I still watch Muppet Babies," you joke.

"Why wouldn't you? It's the pinnacle of modern television."

"Yeah?"

Your beaming smile hits him straight in the chest. He thinks about how beautiful you look and can't stop, hiding his face in your stomach to stop from saying something stupid, laughing loud. You laugh in tandem, hugging the back of his head until your giggles peter out.

A small hand on his arm. You both turn at the same time and find a very unhappy Junie.

"What?" you ask her. Then, teasing, "Are you jealous?"

You lean down to pick her up. Eddie's gutted to lose your touch and then quickly exuberant when Junie ducks out of your arms to grab at his legs.

"Oh my god, yes," he says, holding out his hands.

Junie tries to take them and he slips them under his arm, pulling her onto his thigh with a big sigh. The sigh is half the fun, a theatrical reluctance when really he's always happy to have her climbing on him.

As soon as she's in his lap she's pleased, turning her head so she can watch the TV across the room.

You roll your eyes at his smug smile. "Shut up. She just wants what other people have."

"And you had me?"

"Shut up, Munson, seriously," you say. You don't sound half as mad as you're trying to.

Eddie takes a drying curl between his fingers and pokes at the side of Junie's face. "Whatever you want, sweetheart," he says, grinning when your daughter starts to squirm on his thigh.

He grins at her and tickles her until she's curling in with her chin dropped to her chest, smiling despite herself.

His fondness colours every word as he croons, "I got you."

Junie sounds about as outraged as a toddler can be when he tickles her nose and then drags the tip of the freshly trimmed curl under her eye. He draws a big circle around one of her cheeks until it's kissing her chin. She dissolves into giggles while squirming to get away from him and so he stops, only for her to blink and tug at his wrist.

He tickles her until she's screaming.

You pause on your knees where you'd been sweeping up his trimmed hair to look up at her and he's struck with guilt. "Y/N, you don't have to do that. I'll do it."

"No, you're okay."

Eddie finds his gaze drawn to your thighs, spread out as they are in your kneeling position, and then stolen by Junie as she almost topples off of his lap.

"I think…" he begins quietly, speaking to Junie though it's just as much for you, "that your mom deserves something nice for my haircut. What do you think?"

"I don't think that," you say.

"Wasn't asking you," he says seriously. Back in baby mode he continues, "What's mommy like, huh? What's her favourite thing in the whole world, besides you?"

"Sleep," you say.

"Well, I can't help you there."

"You help me there all the time. Junie sleeps like a log every Friday."

"Food coma," he says knowledgeably.

"You really don't have to get me anything, Eddie. My services were administered charitably."

He pushes his hands behind Junie's back and pulls her to his chest before standing. When he has her secure in one arm he pulls the chair back to your small table and tucks it in.

"Get up," he says to you. "I'll do it, alright? Swap with me."

You ignore him until he starts kicking you in the leg. "You're ridiculous!"

"You're ridiculous. Seriously, get up. You're not a serf." He returns your glare. "I'm a big boy, I can clean up after myself."

"It's my house."

"If you don't let me-"

"Christ! Okay." You drop the dustpan and brush sullenly, wiping your hands together as you stand before taking Junie out of his arms. "I'll make dinner."

"No you won't! I'm gonna order takeout," he says factually, already on his knees and sweeping.

"No you're not."

"I am. Me and June already talked about it. She's craving Marino's pizza."

"I'm not gonna let you use the phone."

"I'll walk to my place and order the pizza to here."

"Eddie-"

"Why are you being a hardass?" he asks.

"Fine! God, clean up your gross hair and order your stupid pizza. You're making me crazy," you say, collapsing onto the sofa with a little oomf, Junie's weight hitting you hard in the chest. She moves into a sitting position and pulls your shirt up, hands moving across the space under your chest.

Eddie throws himself into cleaning all the mess you'd made for him, the hair and the towel and the sopping wet draining board. He washes the dirty baby bowl on the side and fills up one of Junie's bottles with water, then a glass for you. He hasn't seen either of you drinking a thing since he's been here, likely his fault for distracting you.

He's about to call for pizza when he peers past the cabinets and sees you dozing on the couch. He decides pizza can wait until tomorrow; it's later than he realised.

Junie's halfway across the room with Mr. Bear playing make believe. She talks and talks and talks, gibberish to him but what's likely an unending, complicated storyline, no doubt.

Eddie approaches with the bottle already outstretched. "Junie," he says, and when she doesn't answer, "Junebug. Junie. Junie." Each iteration of her name softer and sweeter than the first, hoping to entice her in.

He holds the bottle in front of her face.

She finally looks up with a pout.

"For you," he says, offering the water.

She seems mildly interested as she takes it, turning back to her teddy and talking around the teat like it's not there.

You're struggling to keep your eyes open. Eddie gives the room a quick once over before kneeling down in front of you, tugging your shirt down to cover your exposed tummy as he says, "I should head home."

You blink at him and turn onto your side, cheek squishing into the couch cushion.

"Okay? Why don't you and Junebug head to bed?" he asks, using a tone not far from what he'd use with your daughter.

"You know, her full name's Juniper," you whisper.

He didn't know. "Really? I love that."

You wrinkle your nose, sounding very tired as you continue, "But someone told me it sounded like a name for a cat. So I've called her Junie ever since."

"It doesn't sound like a cat's name," he placates. "It's beautiful. You chose well."

"Yeah?"

Eddie smiles at you fondly, eyes tracing down your nose to your lips, shiny with balm. He tilts his head to the side to mimic yours. He could kiss you.

"Sounds like the name of an elf. Juniper Lightfoot, or… Goldwind. She could even be a mage. Juniper the Brave."

"Juniper the Loveliest," you say, and then grin. "Juniper the Hungriest."

"Juniper the All Great and Hungriest," Eddie says decidedly.

"Would you make her a hero, in your game?" you ask.

"Of course I would. She wouldn't even need to divide, she'd just conquer."

"What about me?"

"What, would you be a hero?"

You nod. He doesn't know why, but he thinks his answer is going to hold a lot of weight with you.

"You would be," he starts quietly, words painted slowly as he raises a hand to rest on your wrist, pinky finger spread over the hill of your thumb, "a fighter. With insight and survival."

"I don't know what that means," you say.

He leans in. "It means yes, you'd be a hero. You'd save kingdoms. Slay dragons." He squeezes your wrist.

"I think I better leave all that stuff for Junie. I'll just cheer you guys on from the sidelines."

"You're her mom, she can't do it without you. And even if she could I bet she wouldn't want to. Where's all the fun in guts and glory if you can't share it?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

Your eyes shut. Eddie doesn't know if it's from fatigue or a want to end this conversation. He feels marginally embarrassed for descending into nerd metaphor with you, but he thinks it's the kind of thing you needed to hear. He thinks if Junie could understand how often her mom prioritises her and misses out for her she'd want to fix that. Eddie doesn't know you half as well as she does and it breaks his heart sometimes to watch you insist on a smaller portion, to watch you put things back at the grocery store because she wants a box of milk duds, even to watch you wear yourself out ironing baby clothes in the only pair of pajamas you own.

"Make sure you lock the deadbolt behind me," he says carefully. You hum. He gives your wrist one last squeeze.

Junie looks tired in that she's getting agitated, whimpering under her breath. Eddie ducks down to give her upper arm a good rub. "Why don't you go cuddle with your mom?" he asks her, turning her by the shoulder so that you're in her eye-line. "Go have a lie down."

He doesn't know whether what he says makes any difference but you extend your arms out and Junie walks towards you, big staggered steps that make him laugh to himself as he pushes into his unlaced converse.

"Don't forget to lock up," he says in place of a farewell.

"Goodnight, Eddie," you say.

He waves. You're both too tired to wave back.

He's surprised to find his Uncle Wayne still home when he gets in, shoving into his work boots with a grunted hello.

"Hey."

"Did you cut your hair?" Wayne asks, perplexed, a little gruff.

"Junie's mom did it for me."

"'Junie's mom,'" Wayne quotes dryly, slugging his bag over his shoulder. He's heard all about Junie's mom.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck and splutters when a big hand claps his back, a demonstration of Wayne's pity as he passes through the open door.

Eddie spins to watch him jog down the steps. "We're friends," Eddie calls.

"Don't be dumb," his uncle says without turning back.

"I'm not exactly known for being smart," Eddie says to himself, cheeks heated by a furious blush.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

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

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

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

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risestarkiss · 3 months

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Being Purple ○ Part One

Rise Ramblings #314

Donnie, a.k.a. Othello von Ryan, a.k.a. Bootyyyshaker9000 is one of two middle children in the Hamato Clan. While Leo, the other middle child, eventually (and inevitably) becomes the leader of their group, Donatello is free to carve out his own place on the team.

And carve he does.

He can fix anything.

He can make anything.

It doesn’t end there.

His list of talents is truly exhaustive…

And for good reason. Through him, his entire family is able to have everything that they need to survive.

His resourcefulness knows no bounds and the comfort of his brothers are his top priority…

…mostly.

His usefulness is palpable. Visible. Physical.

His contribution is his strength. Through the trench he carved out for himself, he knows his place.

He’s the tech guy. He’s the “genius.” He’s their foundation.

He’s purple.

Besides, outside of what he can do and what he can contribute, what else is there?

Unlike his brothers, Donatello sees his usefulness to the team as what he can provide his family, and only what he can provide his family. Therefore, if they can get what he provides elsewhere, then, to him, he has no place on the team or amongst his brothers.

But why would Donnie see himself as replaceable?

Maybe, it’s the internalization of things like this:

And it’s possible that, unconsciously, it's the reason that Donatello acts the way that he does towards his tech.

Even to the point of his tech also being…replaceable.

But I digress...

I believe that Donnie's deep-set insecurity about his place in his family reveals itself through the constant search for external validation, especially from a "parent-aged adult."

Fortunately, in show, he finally realizes his true worth, and how he’s actually seen by the people that love him…

and receives the validation he’s yearned for the most.

So, where does Donatello go from here?

Well, ultimately, by the time we learn of the bad future, Donatello is already…no more. But who he became transcended his lifespan by breathing life into the very resistance itself.

He was a genius ahead of his time.

He was a loving brother; a kind, energetic, and gentle soul.

Thankfully, with the events of the movie, he can be all of those things and more...

He can be Donatello Hamato.

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red • Being Baby Blue

Next | Being Purple ○ Part Two • Orange, Baby!

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

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malleleothreesome · 5 months

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Blindfolded Malleus

💚 summary: You edge Malleus while he's blindfolded ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, you go to TOWN on those horns of his, brief mention of Malleus wanting to breed you, blowjob, penis in [gender neutral hole] sex, creampie ༶༶༶ 💚 word count: 6.6k words ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: @creepysun-cpsunnhild's ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus sits patiently on his bed, hands clasped on his lap, buzzing with nervous excitement as he waits for you to join him. He is already stripped down to only his boxers, eager to begin the night's festivities.

"Are you nervous?" you ask him as you rummage around in your backpack before finally pulling out a silky black blindfold purchased from the secret backroom of Sam's shop.

Malleus blinks, mouth parting slightly in the way he does when surprised, "A little? This is rather... novel for me." His lips fall into a pout. "Being unable to see your face is strange. I won't get to enjoy your expression as you pleasure me..."

You zip up your backpack and saunter over to his bed where Malleus waits, boxers tented around the evidence that he is looking forward to this, despite his apprehensions. You flash him a mischievous smile as you crawl over to him on the bed, settling in a straddle across his thighs. "That will just force you to be more sensitive to my touch," you coo as you cup his soft, milky cheek in your hand, admiring the complete beauty of his face for a final moment before you blindfold him. As he returns your loving gaze, his slitted pupils start to widen from desire and you watch in awe as his verdant irises are completely swallowed by inky pools of hunger. “I promise you won't even miss my face in the heat of the moment,” you try to reassure him.

He scoffs before murmuring in a low, smoky voice, "You know me far better than that, child of man." And yet, despite his objections, he obediently tilts his chin down, lowering his lashes as he allows you to place the black silk over his face. Malleus inhales sharply as the light suddenly dims to complete darkness. He stills like a startled creature of the forest as his sight leaves him, his muscles tense and his eyelids twitch under the silk as he comes to terms with his new vulnerability. You stop straddling him, denying him the comforting warmth of your thighs against his as you crouch on your knees beside him. He growls as you refuse to indulge his lust, remaining perfectly still as he struggles to find his bearings. You want him to simmer with arousal before you ease his longing—a little frustration will make his eventual orgasm that much more satisfying.

His innate magical ability attempts to compensate for the obscuration of his eyes by granting him heightened senses that would guide him in a perilous situation. He finds himself hyper aware of the beating of your heart and the slow rhythmic cadence of your breathing. The tension between your still bodies grows palpable. Your heartbeats thrum synchronically with the silent yearning of two lovers desperate to press skin against skin. Malleus is so ethereally beautiful, your heart can’t help but leap every time you look at him. The black silk shrouding his vision only serves to emphasize the handsome cut of his jaw and his sharp, seductive lips, parted in breathless anticipation. The glossy fabric paints a dark tapestry against the snowy hues of his skin. A lock of his viridian hair slips along his forehead in a way that accentuates the graceful curve of his brow. Every fiber of his being drips with all the charms of an otherworldly prince, an untouchable enigma that transcends mortal understanding. Yet he sits there, completely bared to you, stripped of his power, a masterpiece defaced by a veil of cloth; a prize awaiting the taking.

Despite his lack of sight, he can feel your gaze on him like a physical caress, causing goosebumps to sprout across his alabaster skin and his ears and cheeks to bloom a flustered rose-red. He knows you are simply teasing him, but the sensation of being denied his favorite view of his beloved is utterly infuriating. Yet, something about being without your gaze stirs the desire within him. When your lovemaking has reached its peak in the past, the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed out expression has made his blood run hot and has left him in the throes of the most pleasurable high. Not being able to gaze upon you will allow him to focus his whole being upon the ecstasy he feels every time he is brought to climax. This denial will amplify the sensations he will feel in the midst of passion and he finds himself anxiously anticipating how overwhelming those emotions might be. His cock grows harder and twitches excitedly at the thought and he bites his lip to contain the groans of arousal rising up in the back of his throat. Your proximity, despite him being unable to see your form, is positively maddening. Now that sight is taken away, the darkness is acting like an aphrodisiac. He wants nothing more than to lose himself to desire, touch, scent, and sound—to bring both of your hearts racing and be subsumed in an orgasmic trance. And so, the anticipation of the evening ahead courses through Malleus' body in electric tremors, setting his soul on fire. For someone with the lifespan of a fae, a moment is but a speck of sand on a shore, yet every minute you make him wait seems to drag into torturous eternity. He wants—no, he craves to take you and bask in the throes of passionate euphoria... Yet, he sits there, at the mercy of you and the unfolding events.

His growing sexual frustration sends a surge of wicked mischief through your blood as you crouch on the plush duvet alongside him. Malleus feels the bed shift and your body moving ever closer, then the caress of your hot breath tickling against his neck, near his sensitive ears, just a whisper away. He shudders deliciously as the phantom sensation of your moist, parted lips nears his bare shoulder, sending a chill through his entire body that culminates in a tingling tightness that pulses through his dick, which has reached full mast and throbs painfully in his boxers. Just as he is beginning to move his mouth to admonish you for such cruel teasing, his body suddenly jerks in surprise as he is overcome by the wet and gentle pressure of your mouth suckling ever so gently against his sensitive nape, right in that one spot, the one you know makes his knees turn to jelly. Malleus can't help the startled gasp that falls from his mouth as his body surrenders entirely, arching slightly at the pleasurable sensation, head lulling back just a little. He shivers as your palms ghost across his bare chest in a featherlight graze, sighing as his muscles are soothed by the balmy smoothness of your hands. You seem intent on teasing his neck—tugging, suckling, kissing, licking—and the teasing wet heat and gentle suction against his throat drives him to near delirium. The muscles of his neck tense as he gulps down heavy breaths, and you revel in the sound of him fighting desperately to contain his lust, your mouth quirking up into a smirk against his throat. His head leans back further to grant you more access to his soft flesh, and he resists the urge to stroke himself, biting his lower lip as your kisses start to descend along his pectorals, your tongue teasing at a hardened nipple before continuing to worship him down his abdominal muscles to the dip of his hips and eventually stopping just short of where he really wants it. Malleus is panting, almost as if in time with his throbbing member as it demands attention, yet your fingers remain above the waistband, tempting him.

"Keep going," he commands quietly, craving more than your hesitant brushes, his heart quickening at the sound of your own racing pulse. You have found a delicious torment in delaying him, and his inability to see your next move has caused his whole body to come alive. Malleus bites his lower lip harder, nearly breaking skin to maintain his self control as your fingertips barely push at the elastic band of his underwear, your nails only teasing the thin trail of hair below his navel. The tiniest contact is overwhelming on his skin, leaving a blazing trail in the wake of the featherlight touch, and a trembling warmth deep within him as his desire crescendos. Every part of him is suddenly alert, drinking up the ambiance, the muffled silence only adding an ethereal atmosphere of mystique to his hazy world of arousal and delight. "My love, please give me more," he begs. The strained edge in his voice stirs the rising excitement within you and your core aches at his ardent need. A little hitch in your breath catches his attention. Without the ability to watch your expressions, his sharp ears have begun to strain to hear every indication of arousal from you.

A bratty whine escapes Malleus' pouting lips as you completely withdraw your hands, body heat disappearing as you leave him exposed. The void of your warmth leaves him cold, an abyss to match his own darkness, yet he is lost for words as your mouth finds his erect cock through the fabric of his boxers, swallowing his bulge, the friction of your dampened tongue against him shooting straight to his balls. Your saliva bleeds through the cloth in a thick stain as you use your mouth to slowly torture him, knowing this is driving him insane. A jumble of pants and unintelligible phrases fall from the normally reserved Malleus' mouth and his hands fist themselves in the bedsheets, threatening to rip them in his pent-up ecstasy, knuckles stark white in strain as he groans. Your relentless hot and wet pressure on his erection is turning him into a salacious mess, but it's not nearly enough—he's desperate to feel your skin and a feral growl rattles around in his throat. His instinctive need to seize control of the situation becomes clouded in the heady fog of the erotic pleasure that your touches instill within him, a thrall he's unfamiliar with but too far gone to resist. When he thinks he can't stand the sweetly agonizing tease any longer, your lips pull away, leaving him wanting for your moist, breathy heat to return to him. Malleus whines piteously, squirming in place in silent desperation, fists tightly balled.

Your heart soars when you hear him making these vulnerable little noises of absolute submission to his craving for your body—as much as you know his primal urges are telling him to toss you onto his lap and take you, his dedication to your sadistic game prevents his true lusts from prevailing. He wants to ravage you, to gorge himself on your flesh as you scream his name into his pillows, to bite down on the crook of your neck when he's plunging deep within your hot, aching depth. Instead, he endures his cock's ceaseless torment.

As you contemplate your next course of action, your eyes settle on the enigmatic vestigial holdover from his ancestors—his horns. Growing directly from his skull and twisting in two thick curves adorned with glowing flecks of opulent teal, they frame his beautiful visage with an unmistakable air of eerie mystique. Intrigued by the sharp, slender peaks, you straddle Malleus' lap once again, his aching need nudging up against your clothed sex and making him groan from the limited pleasure he finally receives. He never eluded to any sensuality about the pointed projections adoring his head, but your curious lust can't help but wonder if they're erogenous. It certainly wouldn't surprise you if the fearsome protrusions were a weakness for your beautiful and powerful lover. If they could invoke in him a tantalizing rush of decadent sensation, they would surely aid you in his titillation. His previous words of caution ring in your mind—"You're welcome to touch them… though I can't guarantee what would happen to you if you did."—yet your perversion yearns to test out your theory.

You slowly lean your bodyweight towards his head until he feels you looming over him, your body's warmth fanning over his face and giving a comforting presence to his empty, disoriented world. The hint of a smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he begins to tilt his face, wrongfully expecting a kiss. Malleus had suspected your lusts would soon get the better of you and would ultimately yield him the rapture he seeks. You don't even notice the way his mouth opens slightly, wet, plush lips eagerly awaiting yours. The air between you two is electric with a smoldering, simmering need, threatening to spark into something raging. However, you swerve his inviting kiss, instead placing both your hands firmly against each horn, beginning a gentle massage on the cool bone. You can’t help but grin in prideful victory when a yelp falls from Malleus' lips and he bucks upwards, his hips suddenly snapping with wild impulse in a carnal attempt to sheathe his engorged cock within the beckoning warmth of your tight hole. Malleus' shocked gasp shifts into a guttural, feral sound. His blood is filled with electricity and lust, the lewd sounds emanating from deep within him like a forbidden spell of obscene delight.

The rumble of his inhuman grumble rolls through his entire chest, and the vibration of the low, loud noise goes straight to your throbbing sex. His reaction to you is deliciously intense, and you begin to twist and rub your thumb and index finger around the ridges of the horns, tracing the shapes and sending tiny shivers down Malleus' spine. You watch him, holding your breath in captivated awe as his upper lip lifts into a snarl and his bottom lip falls, allowing another dirty, draconic growl to spill out. The blackness of his vision leaves his mind no choice but to sink deeper into carnal euphoria, his mouth hanging agape and eyes rolling behind his blindfold, the pale skin of his cheeks becoming flushed as he drowns in the overwhelming sensations that consume him entirely. You run your fingernail up and down the sides of his horns simultaneously with a tantalizing tickle, and Malleus' head jerks in your grasp, neck muscles tense with shock from how amazingly sensitive this area of him is. With a naughty grin you plant a messy, wet kiss on one horn, then drag your teeth along the slick surface while your fingers begin a slow, erotic massage where the base of his horn meets the tender skin of his scalp. A downright depraved string of nonsensical, fragmented curses of ecstasy tumble from Malleus' throat. As his primal urge to breed overrides any common sense, the harsh sting of claws dig into the delicate skin of your forearms.

Your caress on his horns is like having the tips of every nerve of his being stimulated at once. His hips start thrusting almost automatically, as though his brain no longer commands him with any sort of reason. His desires take full control, acting on instinct to rut against anything and everything, and a hot ache ripples through his nether regions. The undergarment that traps him from absolute nirvana becomes uncomfortably tight, as his manhood pushes the limits of what the cotton material can bear. A damp and translucent stain of precum has bled through onto the fabric. His mind is swirling with a heady cocktail of lust, love, and urgency—the absence of sight heightening every aspect, every molecule of physical joy, creating a searing, constant arousal deep within him. At last, you have coaxed your regal Prince to reach a whole new state of passion.

You can feel yourself becoming more aroused with each erotic sound you draw from Malleus' throat, as your love for him is mixed with your innate masochism to torture and tease, causing a molten heat to blossom within you. Unable to deny him any longer, you let your lips fall to his mouth and Malleus eagerly reciprocates without hesitation, the heat between the two of you almost unbearable. Teeth clash as he hungrily devours your lips and his arms fly to pull you close so he may sink himself into your flesh and keep you for an eternity, one arm slipping to your lower back and pressing you towards him, his other hand weaving itself through your soft locks. This is what Malleus longed for: the warmth, the wetness, and the sinful slide of your tongue against his. His heart is set ablaze as you grip onto his face, cradling the beloved contours in an almost desperate plea to be as near him as possible, wanting to hold your lover to your body until he melts within you. His deep, sonorous moans of lecherous longing resonate throughout your whole body, echoing in the cavern of your very soul until it makes your heart weep with an overwhelming love and passion. You realize now, more than ever, how dear this fae Prince is to you, how absolutely crucial he has become for your every living moment. As Malleus hungrily chases every ounce of physical sensation he can achieve through the one person that matters the most to him, he feels the exact same love and desperation well in him and pour into his kiss, transmitting his emotions back to you. The blindfold begins to dampen from his overflowing tears as the magnitude of your passion for him stirs a surge of affection and desire that nearly rips his beating heart out of his chest. He clutches you ever closer as a small sob rises up, overcome by his love for the beguiling little mortal whose unconditional acceptance and magical charms have entranced him since day one. You drink up his ardent devotion like a life-sustaining elixir.

Eventually, you break the kiss with a moan and slide off his body, and he mourns your warmth against him, a lonely tear absorbing into the silk. Malleus cannot contain a whimper, as his blood pulses so fiercely, a carnal and primal drive floods his being. It is beyond lust, beyond physical desire—you have reignited the very core of who he is as an eternal, draconic prince and have reminded him of the fire that beats within his breast. His body aches and throbs in equal amounts sexual and emotional passion, his need to release so intense that his breaths come in short, quick pants. His muscles spasm uncontrollably from the sensations running rampant in every extremity, and he sobs with pent-up desire, clawing at the duvet as though it would relieve the ceaseless, tortuous pressure that plagues him. His heart yearns, yet his libido aches, the girth of his dick straining against his waistband like a caged animal desperate to break free from its bindings and let the true beast emerge.

A relieved sigh escapes him when, a moment later, your cool, soft hands dip below the elastic of his boxers and gently slide them down and off. His erect cock slaps against his stomach, weeping pearls of precum and glistening from the prolonged sexual torture of the evening, standing at full attention. Its girthy length twitches with impatience. One teasing fingertip just barely grazes its tip, gathering the beads of lust and dragging them along his length. A strained yelp forces its way out of Malleus' parched and trembling lips, and his whole body tenses, toes curling. The sheets are being pulled in the violent vice grip of his fists, the sheer force of his magical grip threatening to rip them in half. You begin to languidly trace along his shaft at a tantalizingly slow and soft pace, driving him out of his mind. It's barely enough contact to get any satisfaction, yet far more than enough to make him jolt at the blissful sparks that you ignite within him. You ghost your breath across the length, blowing air on his heated flesh as a paltry reward to Malleus' plight. He cries your name in a pitchy, agonized tone as your hands pull away and he tries not to sob with frustration at the lack of touch. Before he can complain, a new, torturous sensation wracks his frame: the phantasmagoric feeling of soft, pillowy lips dragging against the tip of his shaft, eliciting a filthy whine and a throaty gasp. He feels more wet heat around his sensitive glans as your tongue bathes the area with hot saliva, savoring the briny taste of his essence, then leaving him abruptly. You're far too much of a tease, giving him just a sample before pulling away. His balls feel painfully swollen as he reaches his limit and his member seizes with another sharp throb of arousal.

And then, with a wet squelch, the heat of your mouth descends onto the entirety of his rock-hard erection, taking him all in to the hilt. Your cheeks hallow to create suction as your tongue swirls around his engorged tip and your throat relaxes as his length is buried down your throat, holding your breath and stifling your gag reflex for a brief moment before bobbing your head up and down, fucking his hard dick with your mouth and salivating profusely over his thick length. The sweetly sinful sensation of his throbbing erection buried deep down your esophagus causes his mind to shut off, his brain short-circuiting from the intensity of pleasure. Your talented tongue swirls and twirls around the mushroom tip while your hands massage up and down along his shaft, working his flesh in synchronous harmony, threatening to break him down into a quivering mess under the expertise of your skilled mouth. It's absolutely obscene, how willingly your jaw hangs wide for him, how you guzzle up every inch of his thick cock as though he's the best meal of your life.

Now that you have him back where you want him, you take your time torturing him by switching your rhythm every time his groans begin to sound too desperate, denying him the relief his poor aching cock so desperately craves. You gently guide his shaft upright with a tug of your hand, angling his thick cock directly into your mouth and ensuring you completely envelop his tip in your throat. Every time you hollow your cheeks and move his throbbing erection in and out of your mouth at a vigorous pace, Malleus is unable to hold his voice back. He tosses his head back, letting your tongue lavish the underside of his cock. The velvety heat of your tongue sweeps from the base all the way to his glans, lapping across his slit before wrapping your lips around his thick girth again. Your tongue meticulously teases and suckles on his sweet spots, knowing that because of his loss of vision he is acutely aware of every change in pressure, every shift in the path of your tongue, and every powerful stroke of your hand. You have successfully reduced the unshakeable Prince of Thorns into a mess of low moans and ragged, staccato breaths. Your name comes out in pleading pants, like he's calling to you to take his seed and give him the relief he desires so desperately. Your sucking and swirling heat pulls Malleus' balls up closer, tight and ready, his member starting to spasm as his end rushes ever nearer.

"Dearest..." Malleus murmurs as softly as possible, shuddering as pleasure lances through him like lightning, barely audible above the squelches and wet smacks, his hips bucking frantically now, "I beg of you... Please, do not be cruel. I cannot—please." You know how sensitive he is to touch, his every nerve is so over stimulated, and his blindness is making everything hit a whole new level.

"That's enough—hnnnng. This is far too much for me to handle... You're truly evil for using my body like this—oh, do not stop—" A litany of indecencies flow forth in an increasingly erratic rhythm to accompany the melodious cadence of his dulcet moans. Every time you push his length down your throat, he thinks you've given up playing around and finally decided to let him spill his hot load, only for you to relent at the last second and reduce your fervency. He curses your name, promising retaliation later in the form of the most passionate fucking of your entire life. The cruel torture begins anew with a playful kiss on his tip or a lewd slurp at the base of his cock as your hands fondle and caress him. It is almost inhuman the level of control his child of man has to be able to push him close to the edge and retreat with surgical precision, again and again, leaving him in complete anguish.

The hard tip of his cock slams the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate your breath and sending a deluge of saliva trickling down his swollen balls and slickening your lips. He cannot suppress the rough and rapid snapping of his hips against you, plunging his penis to the very end, every lunge making you gag. When you swallow and clench your throat around his length, Malleus' breaths dissolve into frantic wheezes, his chest heaving, unable to even finish his sentence before his lungs are sucked empty in ecstasy. Your hands cup the heavy, weighted balls beneath, fingers and nails digging in slightly before gripping onto his ass as you swallow around his entire girth, pumping his dick in rhythm with his thrusts as if to milk him and show no mercy. Your muffled squeals of encouragement spur Malleus on, the sounds you're making giving him permission to use your mouth like his own personal fuck-toy, his own filthy fantasy. His eyes squeeze shut behind the blindfold as the red, pulsing void suddenly fills with the vivid memory of the look on your face the last time he pounded your face so mercilessly, that wonderful face all covered in his seed, cheeks dripping with his creamy splatter. He moans brokenly as his fantasies meld with reality in the blinding darkness. The sheer act of being able to fully appreciate and wallow in the sense of absolute decadent delight his beloved grants him, as well as your own enthusiasm for him—all these sensations surge forth in a mighty torrent. Malleus knows you're preparing to build him up to a devastating peak of passion.

With a firm yet gentle grip, you dig the tips of your fingers into the ample flesh of your lover's thighs, feeling their toned rippling as you keep him in place. Your fingernails sink a little, creating faint, red trails in your wake, marking Malleus' flawless skin as evidence of your claim over his body. Without warning, his hard length slips out of your wet lips with an obscene pop, and the fae Prince whimpers once more from the cold drafts of the dorm room settling over his sopping, saliva-coated member.

Before he has any time to register the shock of the loss, the bedsheets shift again under your movements as you swiftly remove your underwear before returning to position on your knees outside of his open legs. He holds his breath, eagerly anticipating the impending penetration of his lover's deepest parts and the messy release of the tight knot of sexual desire within the pit of his stomach. A baritone, satisfied groan bursts from the depths of Malleus' lungs as your warmth encases his erection, sheathing his dick in an endless flow of slippery heat and the most luxurious pressure. It is one of his favorite pleasures to hold you close after having penetrated your deepest core and simply stay there to savor the ecstatic sensations. Nothing can replicate the pure feeling of euphoric fulfillment and unadulterated bliss when your lower half is connected as closely as it possibly can with his—both of your intimate zones smoldering in the ecstasy of total conjoining, bodies becoming one and unified, your souls entwined in a kiss. His toes curl and his muscles shudder, but before he can adjust, you start moving, using your hips to ride his lap.

Your thighs settle snugly around Malleus' hips, your weight rocking forward to penetrate your loins deeper on his member and envelop every inch of him until his hard cock reaches the deepest regions of your core. Malleus can barely comprehend what's going on, his mind drowning in an ocean of the purest pleasure, his hands searching desperately for yours as you place his palms on either side of your waist for a good grip. His lover's palms, made small by the bulk of his own, have only moments ago been manipulating his sensitive erection and granting him such euphoria. To touch the very appendages that have stimulated him, to hold you steady, to feel the love that flows through the both of you—the thrill of the experience sets Malleus' mind into overdrive, the preciousness of his time together with you compounding with his heightened physical sensations in a stunning synthesis. A symphony of sexy, wet noises of colliding bodies, creaking mattress, and throaty gasps and moans echo throughout his lonely, shadowy abyss, and Malleus feels as though his senses are being pleasurably overwhelmed. Malleus shoves his cock ever deeper within, nudging against the slick flesh with feverish abandon. He becomes desperate for an even tighter hold, urging your body to submit to him and drown in bliss. As his dick pumps into your sweet, greedy, and dripping hole with zealous thrusts, your combined rhythm becomes lost to the utter delirium of rapture as the fae's raw instincts to rut you senseless take over. The Prince of Darkness doesn't hold anything back— he thrusts up into your body with full and furious strokes, growls turning animalistic, cock pounding with merciless thrusts, and balls slapping against the juncture of your thighs.

You can barely handle the sheer thickness of Malleus' dick inside of you, its girth is massive. It stretches your walls and massages every part of you, the large ridge along his cock's underside scraping against your insides with every relentless slam. The slightest movement sends fireworks shooting through you and drives you insane, the heated passion causing a powerful buildup of pleasure already. Your gasps rise in volume, turning into shrieks as you give him your body entirely. One of his hands trails up from your waist, the rough and calloused fingertips ghost across your collarbone and up the curve of your neck. His head is tossed back from the carnal fucking but those elegant, sharp fingernails linger over your pulse, feeling the way blood beats under your skin and listening for the hitch of breath every time the angle of his cock rubs up against something magical inside of you.

Malleus is constantly shifting his position, driving his huge dick into the different angles with practiced efficiency as he listens intently for where to thrust harder, to where your breathing is quickest, and where he gets the loudest moans. The noise echoes back to him like the raunchiest opera. It leaves you shaking on him as he explores you with his cock, the sheer intensity of his frenzied ministrations threatening to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. Every single slam of his dick draws you to the edge of the pleasure-bound chasm, as waves of satisfaction ripple throughout every fiber of your being.

His large, sturdy hands have never left your form and cling possessively. When he lets go, it's to scrape his claws down the tops of your shoulders before seizing you tightly once more. With his thighs tense, his strong muscles drive up into you at a merciless speed, over and over. A throttled roar is building in the pit of Malleus' chest. At the top of your lungs, you scream out his name. There is no room for your thoughts, only the constant stream of the lust-drenched fog and the instinctive urge to reach your peak. Malleus' talons scratch down your back before grabbing onto the tops of your asscheeks and forcing your lower bodies impossibly closer together. Malleus bites your neck while simultaneously drilling his cock as deep as he can possibly go before pausing there, grinding into you and groaning. Your bodies move together in tandem, a wet dance that staves off your looming orgasms for a few more thrusts and moans.

Through the blinding white ecstasy, you can vaguely hear the haughty prince remarking how perfectly he fits and feels inside you. Between your moans and the slapping sound, his breathy laugh cuts through the room and brushes hot against the crook of your neck, teasing, "Your insides... tighten when I praise you..." Your walls immediately squeeze him on reflex at those words. This discovery of another weakness brings him closer, more ravenous, a little bit more wild with the need to take and claim. His face buries into your skin and his tongue flicks out against your neck, drinking up the salt of your sweat as he nips, bites, and sucks his mark there. Malleus wants to fill your greedy hole with his seed, mark his territory, make it absolutely clear that you are his forever by stuffing you full until his cum trickles from the very corners of you and soaks into the silken sheets of his bed. He pants and growls lewdly, plundering into you like a heathen and abandoning any sense of shame as he fully lets go of all composure. The guttural moans and bestial noises escaping his throat reverberate like music in your ears. They signal that the gorgeous prince is drawing dangerously near his edge. The primal urges you have summoned from him command his every thought and his body reacts instantaneously to all the stimulation you've given him thus far. Your mouth falls open, wanton moans now turning into shameless screaming. You match the intensity with which Malleus throws his entire body into the movements of fucking your hole. Malleus doesn't allow your body a single moment's rest as he thoroughly ruins you—each carnal rut and frenetic pound of his manhood into your core sets fire to your whole being, reducing your soul to ash in the passion's wake. His engorged, reddened tip abuses your g-spot to the point that your walls can't even tighten around him anymore due to being so utterly overwhelmed by his dick.

Malleus' heart jackhammers against his ribs and a sound that can only be described as a primal, draconic cry roars out. Thick, creamy spurts of his warm seed paint your inner walls white as his balls pulse and churn, filling you up so generously. The depth of your love and adoration has finally ripped the fae's last threads of restraint to shreds, unleashing his true self—wild, uncontrollable, feral—and the transcendent bliss leaves him howling your name in a voice more akin to a monster than a beautiful Prince. You throw your head back, feeling every muscle of your inner body clench in delicious contractions as you, too, reach the precipice, gushing all over him. All you can manage is to sink onto his thick, throbbing cock and just quake with the intense force of your orgasmic bliss, your legs spasming around him as you milk his twitching shaft.

Every wave of your orgasm sends him into his next. Your loud wails of pure pleasure are music to his ears. He growls and thrusts against you, eager to ensure you have been completely and utterly defiled with his load. The exhilaration and anticipation that was building all night finally peaks, and the intensity is just right to leave the both of you in an tangled afterglow of sweaty, quivering limbs. All he can see are swirling spots of magical color swimming in front of the blinding black of his blindfold. Every sense becomes a blurry haze. When he finds enough control over his quivering frame, Malleus holds you up and close to him, refusing to slip out from your body, letting you come to rest against his strong, tender embrace and gently stroking your hair as you nestle your forehead in the crook of his neck, nestled so comfortably between his head and shoulder. Malleus begins peppering your face and the exposed parts of your shoulder with butterfly kisses, his ragged breaths tickling your skin.

"My love..." the Prince purrs as you languidly snuggle into him, "You will never know what you've just done to me. I have felt so utterly and undeniably wanted, needed, desired." His strong arms embrace you, so gentle and loving and soft, it makes your heart beat a little bit faster and fills you up with an immense, powerful feeling. "You have made my existence feel absolutely perfect and wonderful, more so than I deserve." His voice grows thick and warm, full of tender affection as he adds, "Please, cherish me forever. I will pledge myself to you for as long as I live."

He pulls the blindfold over his head, his eyelids fluttering open to meet your soft gaze and reveal his magnificent, emerald hues and smoldering, lust-drunk slitted pupils. You fall in love with him all over again, smiling brightly as you are greeted by your beloved Prince's elation at seeing your beautiful face once more. Malleus lifts his palm and tucks a lock of your hair behind the lobe of your ear, leaving his knuckles there for a few extra moments as he enjoys the flush and shimmer on your features, admiring the love of his life with all the admiration in the world.

Malleus' eyes spark with renewed mischief and he chuckles mischievously, the deep, smooth sound rolling with velvet menace. "No mortal has ever had this sort of control over me before. The experience was rather... illicit, and strangely beguiling. A little unexpected, however, when you nearly choked me with my own horns." A single sharp claw tips your chin upwards. "How lucky, indeed, am I to be fortunate enough to have you, the first person I ever held my heart out to, be so wicked to me. You were quite merciless tonight." His lascivious grin twists devilishly, and you find yourself enthralled with a certain mix of terror and rapture, unable to keep a devilish smirk of your own from twitching your own lips.

You had known that taking him away from the world for a brief moment of darkness would make his whole body light up like a star and let him truly lose himself to you, but you never would have predicted how viscerally it would affect him. Even so, it pleases you to have fulfilled your fae Prince's perverse needs. You kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles his sharp smile. "Now that you've revealed such a sinful aspect of yourself to me, you'll be the one beneath my power next time we indulge."

The playful menace in his smile doesn't quite mask the serious note in his voice. Malleus is absolutely determined to reciprocate the things he enjoyed receiving in equal measure. It was almost like his own hidden, dangerous desires had awoken when you dragged him down the path of depravity, and a new wave of perversion courses through him at the thought of transforming you into his own plaything. Your throat goes dry, knowing his strength and his kinky side may finally have been unshackled from its cage, and the fae might devour you without the restraint and kindness of his moralities to hold him back. His handsome features betray nothing of his sadistic plans—all you can see are his glorious, flashing eyes glimmering with mischief, and the dangerous upturn of his mouth. There's no telling how much Malleus Draconia has planned for you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if perhaps you'd created a bit of a monster with tonight's exploration.

Let me know if you all enjoyed this! Some Fun Erica Lore™ is that I have total aphantasia—I can't visualize (images or sounds) at all. So, I think because of that, I tend to be very descriptive with my words, since I can't visualize the scene in my head. Also, because I don't have visual memory, I do not remember memories or daydreams in a visual way, instead, I remember them by the feeling I felt in that moment (or the feeling I would feel if a situation was happening to me). Because I feel things so deeply, I like to convey the power of emotions in my writing. I hope I was able to elicit a strong emotional response from you. As always, thank you for reading. Every day, I continue to be awestruck by the outpouring of love and support I've received from you all. Thank you for welcoming my writing into this lovely community. Until next time, 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome

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vanteguccir · 8 days

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You belong with me | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N and Matt love each other, but don't seem to have the courage to declare themselves; OR, where Matt belongs to Y/N but can't seem to understand it.

Warning: Crying, unrequited love, angst (with a happy ending).

Requested?: Yes, by @freshsturns

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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It was a typical fall morning in Boston, with golden leaves dancing in the wind and the fresh scent of coffee wafting through the air. Y/N walked down the familiar street, her steps synchronized with the rapid beat of her heart, her mind full of possibilities of how to break the news; she would spend three months at her father's house, as her mother needed to travel for work continuously during that short period.

Her eyes fell on the Sturniolo's house, where the triplets, Matt, Nick, and Chris, had lived since they were teenagers.

A mixture of feelings invaded her whenever she passed by.

She and the triplets have been inseparable since childhood. They grew up together, shared secrets, laughs, and unforgettable moments. But there was something deeper between Y/N and Matt, something she held deep in her heart and feared revealing.

Matt was the middle brother out of the three, with his dark hair and piercing dead blue eyes that seemed to read her soul. He was Y/N's confidant, the one with whom she shared her most intimate dreams and her deepest fears. But there was a secret she never dared to confess: her love for him.

As Y/N walked towards the Sturniolo's house, she felt her heart beating wildly. She knew she would see Matt soon, and that thought made her nervous and excited at the same time. They saw each other every day, but each meeting was like a new chapter in an endless book.

Upon entering the cozy home, Y/N was greeted with warm smiles and affectionate hugs from Jimmy and Mary Lou. Matt, with his captivating gaze and worn-out jeans, stared at her eyes for a brief moment. A shiver ran down Y/N's spine, but she quickly looked away, fearing he might read her feelings in her gaze.

Throughout that day, Y/N and Matt shared conversations like they always did while spending time together, lost in their own bubble of happiness. The sound of their laughter echoed through the cold streets, filling the air with a contagious energy, enjoying the last minutes together before the girl had to go far away.

Matt's hair was messed up by the wind, attracting her attention, who glanced at him, lost in her thoughts. She wondered if he could hear her frantic heartbeat every time he smiled when his hair got in his mouth.

But there was a palpable tension between the two, an invisible elephant in the room that neither dared to address.

At night, when Y/N finally returned home, she sat on her bed and let the tears fall silently while preparing herself to pack her bags. She wondered if she would ever have the courage to confess her feelings to Matt or if she would continue hiding them forever.

Meanwhile, across the street, Matt was lying in his own bed, lost in thoughts about Y/N. He wondered if she could ever feel the same way about him. If she could look at him with the same love-filled eyes that he always cast her way. But the fear of ruining their friendship prevented him from taking any action.

Thus, the two friends remained trapped in a painful impasse, their hearts connected by invisible strings that neither of them dared to break.

Y/N hoped that the next three months would do something good for her.

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Time had passed too fast, and soon, Y/N was back in Boston. The sun shone high in the summer sky as the girl left her house that morning, leaving her unopened suitcase to organize later, the birds chirped happily along with the frantic beats of her heart, yearning to see her best friends again.

For some reason, she knew something was different, that something had changed, but she wasn't prepared for what she would find when she met with him that afternoon.

Upon arriving at the brothers' house, Y/N was greeted by a strange silence, even with the cheerful voice of Mary Lou - who greeted her happily at the front door.

Y/N quickly found Matt sitting on the couch, next to a blonde girl, with long straight hair and an artificial smile on her lips. She was the complete opposite of Y/N in every possible way.

She felt a pang of discomfort when she saw Matt so close to that girl, her heart clenching when she noticed the brunette's arm around her shoulders, knowing the inevitable; Matt had met his perfect - or not - match.

She tried to push those feelings away and tried to convince herself that she was happy for him, but the truth was that a wave of sadness washed over her and found home in her heart.

Matt's new girlfriend, who introduced herself as Tiffany, looked at Y/N with a look of superiority, as if she was sizing her up and down. She emanated an aura of arrogance and pretension that made Y/N feel out of place and inadequate almost instantly.

Her slender and tall body was shaped by a mini skirt and a tank top that hugged her tiny waist perfectly, her feet covered in sparkling high heels - too much for a normal day in Boston -, Y/N feeling suddenly uncomfortable about the large t-shirt that covered her entire upper body.

As she watched Matt and Tiffany together, Y/N felt a tumultuous mix of emotions. The sounds of the video game coming from the television and Nick and Chris' excited screams echoing muffledly into her ears as she noticed how Matt hadn't looked directly at her eyes, not even once.

She wondered if he had really forgotten her so easily, if their friendship no longer meant anything to him. She felt betrayed and abandoned, as if a piece of her heart had been ripped out without warning.

As the day progressed, Y/N tried to keep herself occupied with the other two brothers, trying to push away the painful thoughts that threatened to consume her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the vision of Matt and Tiffany together, acting like they were the perfect couple.

She was so different from what Y/N imagined Matt's type to be.

When it was finally time to go home, Y/N said goodbye to Matt with a forced smile on her lips. She tried to hide the pain in her eyes, trying to appear indifferent to the fact that he had found someone new. But deep down, she knew that it had changed everything between them both, and nothing would ever be the same as it was.

As she walked home, Y/N felt tears streaming down her face. She felt lost and confused, not knowing how to deal with the new reality that was opening up before her.

She wondered if Matt would ever see that she was the right girl for him, that he belonged with her.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The restaurant was buzzing with the sound of excited voices and cutlery clattering against plates. Matt, Y/N, Nick, and Chris were sitting at a table in the corner, enjoying a quiet lunch together after weeks of not hanging out as a group.

"Matt, can we talk?" Y/N began as she noticed Chris and Nick immersed in a random topic. Her voice was soft but filled with concern, her eyes trying to decipher the storm of emotions that seemed to cross the brunette's face.

"Of course, Y/N. What do you want to talk about?" Matt nodded, his gaze meeting hers momentarily, before lowering it back to his plate, a fake smile resting on his face.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express what she was feeling.

"I couldn't help but notice how things have changed between us lately. Ever since you started... dating Tiffany, it seems like we're more distant."

"I know, Y/N. I'm sorry that I've been distant. It's just... Tiffany is complicated. She's very different from... Well, it doesn't matter." Matt spoke in a low tone, looking embarrassed as his hands nervously played with the metal cutlery.

Before Y/N could respond, Matt's phone started ringing, interrupting the conversation, and catching the attention of Nick and Chris, who stopped what they were saying and looked at them with interest. Matt huffed out an apology before looking at his cell screen, frowning as he read Tiffany's flashing name.

"Sorry, Y/N. I really need to take this." Matt said, quickly getting up from the table and taking a few steps away to answer the call, ignoring the worried looks his brothers were sending him.

Y/N watched as Matt spoke on the phone, his face tense and worried. She could hear Tiffany's muffled screams on the other end of the line, and a knot formed in her stomach as she realized the argument was about her, her name escaping the boy's lips more times than expected.

She could feel Nick and Chris's gazes burning into the side of her head, and she knew they wanted to say something, but her attention was too focused on Matt to try and get information out of the pair.

As the argument continued, Y/N observed in detail Matt's reactions, the lines of tension on his t the clenched fists at his side. She could feel the anguish he was experiencing.

When Matt finally hung up the phone, he returned to the table with a tired look in his eyes, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip, as if he was in an internal struggle between what to do and what not to do. He looked at Y/N, as if he was about to say something, but then looked away, unable to find the words.

Y/N quickly reached out to touch his hand, a small show of silent support, a frown full of worry taking her expression.

"Matt, hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just..." Matt nodded, a weak smile playing on his lips, the same one that Y/N saw every day since he started dating Tiffany, but so different from the one that was directed to her three months before. "I just need to sort some things out with Tiffany." He cleared his throat quickly, tearing his eyes away from her and focusing them on his brothers. "Can you guys keep going without me? I really need to go."

"If I say no, it won't change what you think, so do whatever you want, Matt." Chris shrugged, his gaze rigid like never seen before by Y/N.

She tried to meet Nick's eyes, searching for some kind of explanation, but all she saw was sadness and worry.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Night was falling over Boston when Matt left Tiffany's house, his heart heavy and his mind turbulent. The rain, like a perfect background actor, fell in torrents, mixing with the tears that ran down his face as he walked aimlessly through the wet streets, having left his car in the hands of Chris - the one who knew most about driving after himself.

The boy allowed his feet to take him where they wanted to go, his vision blurred, and his mind too confused to decide anything at that moment, his heart screaming for refuge.

And that's how he found himself standing in front of Y/N's house, his safe haven in the midst of the storm that had been his life since he could remember.

With a heavy heart, the brunette walked to the side wall outside of the two-story house, his blue eyes only seeing the window that he already knew very well. Agilely, Matt quickly climbed the expanse of concrete, the lighting from the girl's room helping and guiding him.

The sound of light knocks against the closed glass echoed through the room, and it was and understandment to say that Y/N was surprised to see Matt outside her room, hanging from her window, drenched from the rain and with eyes red from crying.

The girl quickly shot up from her seat on her pretty made-up bed, running towards him and opening the window in seconds, her hands working on pulling him inside the cozy and warm room, wrapping him in a comforting hug, ignoring the feeling of his wet clothes against her dry and warm pajamas.

"Matt, what happened? Why are you here like this? What...?" Y/N asked frantically, worried. She pulled back a few inches, rubbing her left hand over Matt's cold arm, while her right worked on brushing away the soggy strands of hair that stuck to his forehead and cheeks.

"I broke up with Tiffany." His voice sounded choked and hoarse from crying, his lips trembling without a pause. "I finally realized how toxic she was being, and I couldn't go on like this anymore. I didn't-" A sob broke through his throat, his eyes closing tightly as his hands gripped Y/N's bent elbow, seeking some stability.

Y/N watched him with compassion, stroking the cold skin of his face gently with the tip of her right fingers. She felt like screaming from seeing him in such a state, her heart hurting as if someone was squeezing it with their bare hands.

She wondered how he couldn't see that she was the right one for him, not Tiffany. She knew all his favorite songs, the movies he loved, the places he dreamed of visiting. She was the only one who truly understood him, who knew his deepest dreams, fears, and hopes.

Over the years, Y/N has been by Matt's side through every important moment in his life. She watched him grow, face challenges, and overcome obstacles. She was the person he went to in the middle of the night when he needed someone to talk to, the voice that made him laugh when he was about to cry.

And yet, even with all this intimacy and deep connection, Matt didn't seem to realize what was right in front of him. He continued to seek love and validation elsewhere, ignoring the fact that Y/N was always there, waiting for him with an open heart.

And because of that, he got hurt. Again.

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry. Come here, sweet boy." Y/N asked in a gentle whisper, guiding him to her bed in slow steps.

"N-no, I'm going to wet your whole bed." Matt muttered between sniffles, his right hand gripping her arm gently while his left one rubbed his eyes angrily, trying to stop the tears from continuing to flow.

"It's okay, I don't mind, honey." The girl insisted, helping him sit on the edge of the mattress next to her pillow while moving his hand away from his face, preventing him from hurting himself. "Stay here, I'll go get a towel. I think I still have some of your clothes too."

While Matt vented between sobs about his problematic relationship with Tiffany, Y/N listened attentively, moving around the room behind her hairdryer, clean towels and pieces of clothing that the brunette had left there when he visited her house.

She could feel the pain and anguish he was feeling, and she was determined to be there for him, no matter how much her heart burned to see him suffer for another girl.

The girl quickly found everything she needed, beginning the task of wiping Matt's wet, dark hair with the fluffy towel and wiping away the raindrops from his skin, her body standing stiffly between the boy's legs, being careful not to cross any barrier he had placed between the two of them.

As Matt spoke and Y/N advised him, she could feel his blue eyes fixed on her face, his hands too close to her legs as she finished drying him, feeling her cheeks burn like fire, knowing for sure that they were as red as the color itself.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you." Matt whispered, his tone low - as if he didn't want to burst the bubble that seemed to surround them - but still echoing throughout the room with force. "I only started dating Tiffany because... because I was trying to get you out of my mind."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her hands stopping their movements abruptly, the wet towel feeling heavy on her skin. The girl stared at the wall behind Matt for a few seconds, processing what he had said before finally looking at him, all the words caught in her throat as tears glistened in her eyes.

What?

"I know it was wrong, and I'm so sorry." Matt continued, his voice strained as his eyes seemed to search hers desperately. “But I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I could never forget you. Because... because I love you, Y/N. Since the first day I met you, I have loved you. Every time I close my eyes, it's your face that I see. You're always in my thoughts, in my dreams, everywhere, and nothing I tried could make you disappear."

Y/N's heart raced in her chest a mile a minute as Matt's words echoed in her mind. An overwhelming mix of happiness and relief filling her veins at finally hearing the words she had waited for so many years.

"Matt, this is..." Y/N shook her head as an easy smile spread across her face automatically. "I love you too." She confessed, her voice almost a whisper, lowering her face, her eyes finally meeting his electrifying ones, feeling as if they were piercing her soul, which now, exposed, no longer had a barrier to hide her true feelings. "I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

I'm SO sorry if this ended up being a little rushed or too fast, I don't write series, and I tried to make everything happen in only one fic. I'm sorry if it didn't turn out how you'd like it ;(

My requests are open! Please read my rules before sending anything ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

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sweetdreamlandstuff · 1 year

Text

JJBA men thinking of you while masturbating

NSFW / Minors don't interact / 18+

Characters: Jotaro Kujo / Bruno Bucciaratti / Josuke Higashikata / Rohan Kishibe / Giorno Giovanna x female reader

Warnings: male masturbation, fantasies about sex (blowjobs, penetrative sex), slight exhibitionism, voyeurism (Josuke’s part)

Notes: All underage characters aged up of course. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Jotaro Kujo

Jotaro is used to being the one pined over, the one admired, turning people’s heads, the constant touch of careful hands, being adored for his sheer height and width.

What he isn’t used to, however, is being the admirer.

Since he’s laid his eyes on you, he got to know the feeling. He didn’t even realize it at first. Of course, he wants to study with you, and naturally, he wants your opinion on the latest seminar paper he has written, certainly, he wants to help you with your work. You’re his fellow student, his friend.

But when Jotaro used his stand to stop the time for just a few seconds, to freeze the sweet smile on your face as you looked at him, eyes bright and glowing, to just observe you longer like this, he realized that maybe, you’re not just his friend. Maybe, you mean more to him.

And as he sits in the library now, unable to focus on his laptop screen in front of him, he turns his head to look at you. And he’s sure; you’re not just his friend.

He can see the subtle shadow under your eyes, the way your eyelids seem too heavy, and your disheveled hair. Something tears at his very heart when he gazes at you.

You turn your head, shooting him a tired, nonetheless, sweet smile.

“Could you look at this?” You ask him, pointing at your laptop.

Jotaro nods, scooting closer to you with his chair.

The lack of proximity makes it hard for him to concentrate on the words before him, let alone your voice as you try to explain your work. He hums here and there, his eyes taking in the words, his brain not comprehending the meaning.

He can smell your scent, your subtle and sweet perfume. He feels your heat on his skin. Jotaro slightly turns his head. You’re so close, he can see every pore of your skin, your lashes, the distinct color of your eyes, and the gentle sweep of your nose. He swallows hard against the dryness of his mouth.

You turn your head, slightly rising your eyebrows, your gaze locking with his. His gaze drops to your glistening lips, his desire for you flaring hot in his chest. His head dips forward automatically, every cell of his urging him to lock his lips with yours.

His chair nearly falls over as he stands up abruptly.

“What are you doing?” You ask perplexed.

Jotaro ignores you. He can’t face you like this.

The library is almost vacant. He moves along the high shelves until his breathing has normalized a bit.

He leans against one of the shelves, trying desperately to ignore the way his blood runs hotly through his veins, the way it rushes down his body.

It’s palpable, the way he longs for you, the way he yearns to touch you. His half-hardened dick twitches in his pants at the thought of it.

He buries his face in his hands, embarrassed at his own weakness. Memories of you flood his mind; your shining lips, your bright eyes, your scent.

His head falls back against the books on the shelf, his hands dangling feebly on his side. Jotaro can’t seem to get ahold of himself. His mind is racing, he sees you, putting up your hair, exposing your slender neck, he sees you, sitting next to him, your short dress riding up your thighs.

It seems like the rational part of his brain stopped functioning. He’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, so caught up with thinking of you, until a little sigh drips from his lips.

He looks down, seeing his dick straining noticeably against his pants, his hand palming him through his trousers.

His face flushes hot, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. No one is around, he assures himself once more.

It has no use stopping now.

Hurriedly, he tugs down his pants and boxers. His cock springs free, right into his grip. He hisses at the drag of his palm along his dick. It feels so good. The slight possibility of getting caught only heightens his lust.

He watches his fist drag along his length, taking in the bead of pre-cum dropping along his shaft, easing the glide of his hand.

He thinks about your thighs again, how soft they would feel as he’d let his large hands smooth along them, and what he would find when you spread them for him.

His head tips back against the shelf, his eyes fluttering shut as he slightly increases his pace. He imagines your glistening pussy, dripping for him. He’d sink his long, thick fingers into you, curling and scissoring them until he has you whimpering and whining, begging for him to finally fuck you.

Jotaro can practically see your expression; your doe-eyes peering at him, your lips parted, your body trembling. A low groan rips past his chest, his fist squeezing his cock just a little tighter.

He pictures you, sitting atop of him, your delicate hands pressing against his chest as you lower yourself on his dick, slowly taking him in, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he fills you up completely. He would watch your pretty tits bouncing with every move of yours, and the beautiful, lust-drunk expression on your face.

His hips stutter forward into his fist as he imagines rutting into you, holding your hips so tightly as he fucks up into you. He can practically hear your moans, your sweet, whiny whimpers, and the way his skin slaps against yours.

Jotaro increases the pace of his hand, concentrating on his sensitive tip, a strained gasp falling from his parted lips.

He imagines you cumming, his name drops from your lips, drawn out into a delirious moan. He can almost feel it; the way your pussy would spasm around his throbbing dick, practically urging him to spill his seed into you.

A string of curses leave his lips, his hips stuttering into his hand once more before he cums. He jerks through his orgasm, a spurt of cum dripping down his dick, onto his hand, with each hurried stroke. He thinks about rolling his hips into you, letting your pussy milk him dry as a mess of your slick and his cum runs down your thighs.

He shallowly thrusts into his fist until he’s hissing from overstimulation. His heavy eyes flutter open, his heart racing in his heaving chest as his gaze drops.

A strained sigh drops from his lips as he takes in his messy hand holding his weeping length. Slowly, he comes back down to earth, realizing what he’s just done.

His head snaps in the direction where you’re probably sitting, hopefully, still staring at your laptop screen. And Jotaro just stands here, a few meters away, his released emotions for you tainting his hand.

Bruno Bucciaratti

It’s obvious that you’re new on the job. Bruno doesn’t notice this solely because he’s a regular at the restaurant and hasn’t seen you before.

Rather, it is the way you fail to see the subtle signs the guests give you, asking for the check or mixing up orders one too many times.

You’re the new waitress. And until now you don’t do a great job.

It’s obvious that you’re stressed, evident from the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead and the way your cheeks glow. A wave of sympathy washes over Bucciaratti as he watches you rush around the restaurant. And he feels something more, a little tug in his chest because you just look so unbelievably cute while doing that.

He’s not even mad that he already had to wait so long for you to finally bring him his wine. Because when you do, he can look at you from up close, observing your delicate fingers place the wine glass on his table, watching the loose strands of hair hanging into your face.

And when he thanks you, the smile you give him makes the minutes worth the wait.

His eyes hang onto your body as he watches you retreat. He’s glad that his fellow gang members aren’t here right now because they surely would tease him for being a pervert or something. But he just can’t help himself, his eyes greedily glide along your silhouette.

Bruno takes a sip of his wine, trying to cool down the hotness rushing through his body.

He orders his second glass and he’s not sure if he just flatters himself, but he’s pretty sure that you pay particular attention to him. Or maybe he’s just deluding himself.

When you walk towards him, his eyes cling to your waist and the way your trousers hug you so right. You look amazing; even when you’re stressed.

He breathes in your scent when you lean closer to him, basking in the feeling of your warmth.

The clang of the glass rudely rips him out of his thoughts.

Seems like you’re not only incredibly gorgeous but also incredibly clumsy.

The wine leaks over the table, staining the white tablecloth red and spilling all over his pants.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” The panic in your voice is palpable.

“Don’t worry,” he tries to soothe you.

He watches your eyes nervously flickering over the mess you made before they lock with his.

You look at him with so much gratitude because he doesn’t make a big scene. His heart flutters in his chest.

You quickly take ahold of a napkin, dabbing it on his trousers, trying to let the fabric soak up the liquid.

You’re so close, bending down, granting him an intimate look right on your cleavage. Bruno swallows hard, reluctantly averting his gaze.

He can barely hear you muttering your apologies. He just tries to stay calm, to think of anything other than your hand smoothing along his thigh, rubbing over his stained trousers.

The motion just makes a flood of sinful associations enter his mind. He can practically feel his face growing hot.

Abruptly he gets up. You look at him startled.

“Sorry did I-“

“I’m just going to clean myself up, no worries really,” he adds, unable to bear the way you gaze at him.

The stain is big, bright red, clearly noticeable on his white trousers. The soap and water he applies have no use in helping it whatsoever.

He doesn’t even care, his mind is somewhere else anyway.

Bruno just can’t get over the way you looked up at him, the lack of proximity you two found yourself in, and the way you were practically kneeling in front of him. He can only think about you doing other things in that position.

A long sigh escapes his mouth. He surrenders, stopping to take care of his stain. His head falls against the closed bathroom door and he allows himself to let his desires take hold of his body and mind.

His dick strains hard against his pants as he sees you in front of him again, kneeling, with those doe eyes peering up at him.

He frees his cock from the confinement of his pants, wrapping his hand tightly around his girth. Bruno hisses quietly, dragging his hand along his throbbing length, imagining it is your hand wrapped around him instead.

He visualizes your hand pumping into his swollen head, the way his cock would look so big in comparison. A low gasp drops from his lips as a bead of pre-cum drips down his shaft, easing the glide of his eager hand.

His head tips back against the door, thinking about you kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as your delicate hand strokes his cock.

The pace of his hurried hand increases, as he envisions you taking him into your mouth, softly sucking on his flushed tip, your eyes peering up at him obediently. He bites back a low whine.

He sees your beautiful face in front of him; your glowing face, your starry eyes, as you take all of him inside of your pretty mouth. His hands would thread through your hair, holding you, feeling the restriction of your tight throat. And then you would follow his guidance, bobbing your head just how he likes it.

Bruno groans quietly. “Just like that,” he mutters, pumping hurriedly into his swollen head.

He can clearly see you in his mind, those unbelievable eyes staring up at him, tears spilling over as he ruts into the wet, soft heat of your mouth. His hips involuntarily rut forward into his fist.

A low whine slips past his lips, which he has no control over. He practically feels your swollen lips wrapped around him.

His hips stutter forward into his hands, two, three times before he tips over the edge. His orgasm washes over him, his thighs tensing, breathing erratic.

Bucciaratti jerks through his orgasm, panting hard, imagining his dick pulsing in your mouth, his cum landing on your awaiting tongue as you swallow everything that he gives you.

Then he’d pull out, letting his hot spurts of cum land on your beautiful face, mixing in with your spit, dripping down your chin, your cheeks. He groans desperately, seeing your messy face, your lips parted, opening your mouth eagerly for him, glassy eyes staring up at him obediently as he paints your face white.

His fist pumps into his swollen tip until he hisses from the overstimulation. Only then he slowly opens his eyes, taking in his soiled hand.

This mess may compete with the one you spilled on his table.

Josuke Higashikata

Sometimes Josuke really has to wonder if you do it on purpose. Can you really be that unaware of your surroundings, this clueless?

It isn’t the first time he has watched you like this. Far from it actually.

Since you’ve moved into the house right next to his, you made a habit of getting undressed, late in the evening or night, your light illuminating the room, leaving little room for imagination.

You haven’t invested in any kind of curtains yet and your lucky neighbor hopes you never will.

It has kind of become a habit of his, watching you through his dark windows, careful that you don’t notice him. And you never do.

Josuke observes how you lose your sweater first, followed by the top you were wearing underneath. He sucks in a little breath when he notices that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath. He can clearly see the outline of your bare breast, the way they softly jiggle as you throw the top somewhere.

Blood rushes down his body as his eyes greedily glide along your exposed upper body, your beautiful tits, your soft tummy, and your waist. He swallows against the dryness of his mouth, desperately hoping that one day he could be the one undressing you.

You open your jeans now, letting them plummet on the floor before stepping out of them. You bent over, picking them up to fold them away.

Fortunately for him, this gives him a perfect view of your ass. He can see your pussy through your panties, squished between those perfect asscheeks.

His heart beats violently against this ribcage, his blood running hot. He can feel it; the twitching of his hardened cock.

What he would give to bend you over like this himself, to pull those panties to the side. Josuke pulls down his pants, freeing his throbbing cock, wrapping his hand around his girth, because now his favorite part of your little routine comes; the instant he replays in his mind day and night.

You pull down your panties, carelessly tossing them on the floor, leaving your body completely bare. You observe your own reflection in the large mirror hanging on your wall. You let your fingers run through your hair, before they glide along your sides, your gaze following them, sliding along your body.

Josuke strokes his dick, his hungry eyes gliding along your silhouette, leaving no part unseen. You’re enticing. He could watch you like this forever.

But he can’t. You get your kimono, tieing it around your waist as you step out of the room, switching off the light.

Josuke sighs. He closes his eyes, still seeing your body in front of him.

He imagines his large hands gliding along your sides, feeling your soft skin under his, grabbing, kneading your flesh. He would cup your breasts, letting his thumbs circle your nipples until they harden under his touch.

What he would give to gaze deep into your eyes, pressing kisses along your throat, further down, sucking your nipples, hearing your voice bleeding into a soft moan.

His hand increases his pace as he imagines dropping to his knees, smoothing his palms along your hips, grabbing your ass.

A low whine rips past his chest as he thinks about your pretty pussy, right in front of his face.

He would worship you, his eager lips pressing feathery kisses onto your plush thighs before letting himself allow a taste of you. He just knows you would taste so good, letting his tongue glide along your folds, teasingly, before his tongue would draw tight circles on your sensitive clit.

Josuke imagines you bending in front of him, facing your floor-length mirror, as he slowly sinks into your sloppy pussy.

He would watch you, your reflection, the way your expression would change with each of his slow, deep thrusts, your face glowing as you watch yourself getting fucked by him. He knows you like to watch yourself.

He hurriedly pumps into his swollen tip, a bead of pre-cum rolling down his length, easing the glide of his eager hand.

Josuke can practically hear your voice, your whines, and the depraved sounds of pleasure, skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy as you drip all over him. He would watch his large, slick cock split you open, again and again until he has your whole body trembling.

He imagines it's your pussy wrapped so tightly around his twitching cock, not his own hand, as he fucks into his fist. His hips involuntarily stutter forward into his hand before he tips over the edge.

He groans breathlessly, a string of curses leaving his lips as he jerks himself through his orgasm. His hot cum stains his hand, dripping down his shaft as he shallowly thrusts into his fist, riding out his high. He lets go of himself, panting as he comes down from his high.

Josuke will be there the next evening as well, waiting for you to give him his show.

Rohan Kishibe

Rohan observes you, he practically reads your face like a book - and this without the help of Heaven’s Door.

He hates you for your obvious expression. He really does.

You skim through his latest proposal for his manga, your delicate hands turning page after page as his green eyes hang onto your every expression.

You're strict with him and honest. Most people would probably appreciate it if their manga editor possessed such qualities. Rohan doesn’t. He hates getting told what to do. He knows he’s good. Everyone knows this. Everyone should.

Only you don’t seem to, often having suggestions or comments. He pretends like these aren’t helpful. He doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

Just like now, as you propose some suggestions, pointing out some inconsistencies in the story, he just listens, his eyes gazing into yours.

“How very helpful of you, I can really count on you, my love,” he hums, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bite back a smile, standing up from the seat behind your desk, and making your way to him. You stand behind him now, your hands resting on his shoulders. His muscle tense under your touch. You dip down, letting your hands glide along his chest, playfully so.

Rohan feels your breath on his neck and your heat on his skin, his nose filling up with your scent.

“Oh, you know me, always at your service,” you breathe into his ear before you retreat.

He composes himself, hurriedly standing up as well, saying goodbye to you as usual. He sees a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He fully knows, that you just enjoyed baffling him. And he can’t seem to have anything to say, that would imply that he wasn’t.

The moment resurfaces in his mind throughout the remaining day.

He doesn’t know why meeting you always aggravates him so much. But this time you really were too much.

Late at night, when he’s lying in his bed, he really can’t seem to shake the memory of him. It’s like he can still feel your hot breath on his neck, your soft, inviting voice. He practically feels your hands smoothing along his chest.

Rohan desperately tries to ignore the way his dick twitches in his boxers. He has to tell himself that he doesn’t like you. Not one bit. Not at all. He tosses and turns, throwing his blanket away, and getting up to get himself some water.

It doesn’t help. He sits at the edge of his bed, looking down at his hardened cock showing through his boxers.

Every minute he doesn’t do anything, his longing for pleasure, for release, seems to heighten until he’s unable to hold back anymore.

Rohan tugs down his boxers, letting his cock spring into his grip. The first, slow drag of his palm along his length elicits him a gasp of relief. He lowers his gaze, watching as he drags his fist up and down his cock.

His mind is somewhere entirely else.

He thinks about you. About your hands on his chest, about your scent, about your sweet, honeyed voice.

He imagines you’re here in the room with him, that it was your hand that is dragging along his weeping length.

Rohan envisions you kneeling in front of him, your eyes peering up at him curiously before you wrap your plush lips around him. You’d look so good with hollowed cheeks and obedient eyes, bobbing your head.

“Just like that,” he mumbles. His grip grew a little tighter with each pump of his hand.

He visualizes his hand threading through your hair, pushing you to take more of him. He yearns to see tears spill from your eyes, he wants you to gag on his cock.

“Nothing to say now, huh?” He mumbles deliriously, lost in his fantasy.

He pretends it's your mouth and throat he’s fucking into, not his own hand. A breathless moan pulled from his chest, and another bead of pre-cum dripped down his cock to ease the glide of his hurried hand.

He can feel his impending orgasm, the way the knot in his stomach is twisting tighter and tighter with each harsh stroke of his hand.

A desperate groan falls from his mouth when he imagines your glassy eyes peering up at him. He envisions slipping his cock out of your mouth, and how you would loll out your tongue for him.

“You want that? Want me to cum all over that pretty face of yours, huh?” His voice is breathless, strained.

A low whine rips past his chest as he practically hears your whiny, desperate “Yes.”

He cums, a drawn-out moan of your name filling up the room, as his orgasm washes over him. His thighs tremble, his abdomen tensing as his hot cum paints his hand white.

He visualizes his spurts of cum landing on your tongue, dripping down your chin and lips, mixing in with your spit, imagining you swallowing, eagerly taking all that he gives you.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his chest heaving with his heavy pants.

Slowly he comes back into reality as his cock softens in his hand. His dick falls heavy against his thigh, as he observes the mess he made.

Rohan swallows, muttering to himself that he really does find you annoying. But he isn’t so sure if he can still believe this now.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno leans against the rough bark of the tall birch, his long legs spread on the grass. He’s letting his eye wander, observing people walking their dogs, kids playing tag, and friend groups sitting in a circle on the green grass, beer in hand.

It fulfills him with contentment, with a certain tranquility when he sees all these people that are so happy, so careless, seeming so innocent and pure. He often comes here, clearing his mind, forgetting about all his duties and stress.

And as his gaze moves from one place to another he discovers you. As his eyes rest on you, he wonders how he could’ve been caught up in observing anything other. And now that he has seen you, how could he look away?

You’re sitting on a bench not far from him, a book in your delicate hands. Hair falls into your face, softly swaying in the breeze. He notices the corners of your eyes crinkling as you try to make out the sentences in the bright sunlight.

After a few minutes, it seems like you have given up, placing the book next to you on the bench. Your eyes fall close, soaking up the sun.

And Giorno just watches you; angling your face towards the sun, discarded book next to you, the soft breeze playing with your hair.

He doesn’t know why he can’t seem to tear his eyes away. It calms him in a way that is hard to describe, to see you comfortable in your skin, with no trace of stress or worry painted on your face, falling into the moment, appreciating it. It touches something deep within himself.

Giorno is mostly surrounded by hard, harsh people. Men that have killed, and will do so again.

It’s refreshing to look at you, it makes his skin feel warmer than the sun shining upon it.

He doesn’t know how to approach you, he’s not even sure if he should. He picks up a blade of grass, letting his stand metamorphose it into a butterfly.

The little insect reels through the air, heading for you.

You don’t notice it until it lands on the tip of your nose. Your eyes open languidly. They grow wider as they take in the butterfly right before them.

It takes off again, fluttering a few centimeters in front of your face. Giorno watches you laugh out of surprise, your smile shining brighter than the afternoon sun.

You stretch out your hand, the butterfly landing on your finger, sitting still. The wonder in your eyes as you observe it from up close makes his heart flutter, just like the butterfly’s wings. He’s entranced, his eyes hanging onto you until you go.

And when he is back in his home, after talking to some of his subordinates, after feeling the stress and his responsibility resting on his shoulders anew he wishes he could see you. To let his gaze travel along your features, to feel this tenderness washing over himself again.

He leans back in his chair behind his desk, picturing you. How your eyes widened in surprise upon gazing at the butterfly, how your delicate hand waved through the air, how your skin glowed in the sun.

Giorno can’t help wondering how soft your skin would feel against his lips, imagining kissing your shut eyes, pressing feathery kisses onto every centimeter of your face until his ears pick up your soft giggles. He would pull away, his nose nearly touching yours, his hands cradling your cheeks, watching the creases at the corner of your eyes deepening.

This is harmless. This is okay.

But his mind can’t stop running. He can’t stop his thoughts from wandering, from imagining himself pressing tender kisses along your jaw, your throat, along your breasts.

He thinks about taking your nipple into his mouth, softly sucking, noticing your breath deepening, his other hand kneading your other breast.

Giorno gulps, his blood rushing down his body. He imagines moving further down, a trail of kisses along your waist, your stomach, along your thighs.

His breath hitches, feeling his dick straining against his pants. He wonders how your pussy would look, how sweet you would taste, as his tongue laps at your folds.

His chest burns with desire, his cheeks hot as he just can’t shake these thoughts off.

Reluctantly, he gives in to his urges. He tugs down his pants and boxers, his hand wrapping around his hardened cock.

His head rests against his chair. His eyes drifted shut, to visualize you more clearly. He sees you in front of him, your unbelievable eyes staring up at him, slightly widening as he sinks into your wet pussy, his cock being encompassed by your warm, tight walls. A sigh drops from his lips.

His thumb swipes across his slit, collecting the bead of pre-cum that has gathered there. Slowly, he starts to drag his hand along his length, pumping into his swollen tip, before repeating the gesture. With each pass, his grip grows a little bit tighter, and his fantasies a little dirtier.

He imagines it's your pussy that is wrapped so tightly around his cock, not his own hand. He pictures your every expression, your eyes darkening, your cheeks burning, your plush lips dropping open, releasing sweet moans and whimpers.

Giorno wants to see you tremble, wants to see you fall apart underneath him, because of him. He mimics the slow and deliberate thrust with his hand, before increasing his pace. A drawn out, breathless moan escapes his parted lips.

He yearns to see the surprised look in your eyes, the little frown on your face, as he throws your legs over his shoulders, thrusting even deeper into you.

He would fuck you until you quiver underneath him, until your voice is hoarse until you can’t see straight, until you’re a mess, gushing all over his cock. He would fuck you until you’re satisfied.

Only then he’ll let himself succumb. A groan rips past his heaving chest as he imagines your pussy clenching down on him greedily, urging him to spill every drop of his hot cum deep within you.

With that thought in his mind, with him envisioning your sloppy pussy fluttering around his dick, he cums. A groan drops from his lips, his fist squeezing a little tighter, concentrating on his swollen tip as his orgasm washes over him.

He envisions himself buried deep inside of you, his cock throbbing with each rope of hot cum he fills you up with.

Shallowly he rides out his high, his body twitching helplessly as his ropes of creamy cum drip down his thick shaft and onto his hand, imagining your pussy milking him dry.

He’s breathless, his chest heaving with pants, as he lets go of himself. His gaze drops onto his soiled hand.

Giorno wonders how such a sweet and tender thing as you could lead him to do such lascivious things.

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