a/n - aaah hi !! it’s been so long since i’ve written a full fic im sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth. life has sucked but i’m back!! it’s been far too long since i’ve posted a sam smut so hehe i hope you guys like this. took me way too long to write a sex curse fic lmao. but i hope you enjoy !! leaving feedback on fics is the world to fic writers :)
cws - fem!reader, 8k words, friends to lovers, smut, sex curse, witchcraft, wet dream, brief jacking off, p in v, riding, missionary, size kink ish, a lot of cum, needy and kinda whiny sam, flirty rowena, big brother dean, feverish sam, brief cage/lucifer mentions
other fics can be found on my masterlist
“Shit- ah fuck,” Sam grunted with the next roll of his hips, the warmth around his cock so euphoric it was a wonder he didn’t cum right then. There was a haziness in the room, a strange atmosphere that in the moment he hadn’t thought to question. A bed he didn’t recognise, sheets too plain and walls even plainer, but his focus was solely on her beneath him.
Which led to the other strange thing he hadn’t thought to question — they hadn’t done this before. But his best friend was underneath him and the tight warmth of her cunt sucking him back in with every thrust just felt so right.
“So good, that’s so good, honey.”
Her fingers were in his hair and she just kept whimpering his name in a tone that made his cock throb harder, arousal curling deeper. His hands were tight around her hips as his own rolled again and again, pressing harder inside of her in a way that made both of their breaths shudder.
“Sam- m’so close,” she whined, her breath hot against his cheek, her grip tighter in his hair. The smell of her skin was addictive, his head tipped forwards to nose his way up her throat, her pulse throbbing in the side of her neck. “Gonna cum- Sam-”
A low groan left his throat as his hips rolled forwards into the lumpy mattress beneath him, spilling into his boxers.
It took him a moment to grow coherent enough to realise exactly what predicament he was in. Breathing heavily into the pillow Sam blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sight of his motel room, the empty bed he was in. There was a burning tingling shame that spread right down to his stomach when he realised he’d had a wet dream about his best friend.
“What the fuck?” He breathed out hard as he sat up, and was relieved as he glanced across the room to see that Dean’s bed was empty and that he hadn’t been caught doing… whatever that was.
Sam wasn’t stupid, he was painfully aware of the feelings he had for her, the feelings that had been simmering for years. But what was he supposed to do? Even in the extremely unlikely case that she did feel the same, it wasn’t like acting on those feelings was a good idea. Nothing ever went well for him, it’d just be another thing he ended up losing one way or another. So he’d tried to shove it as far down as he could.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to deal with it before. There had been a few times that he’d had his fist around his cock after a long day of trying to ignore how close they’d been throughout the day when he’d thought of her, jacked off and thought of what she’d feel like or sound like beneath him, but each time he’d grown so shameful of what he’d been doing that he’d turned himself off completely and went to bed hard and uncomfortable.
But this? This was so much worse than that.
Sam grimaced as he pushed the covers off and felt the now cooling cum in his boxers, the fabric sticking to his skin, and so fucking embarrassed he quickly got up and went into the bathroom, once again glad that his brother wasn’t in the room.
He pulled off his shirt and stepped out of his boxers, a mental note to go to the laundromat later that day appearing in his head as he caught sight of the mess in his pants, then started the shower and stepped in beneath the spray of water.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Sure, he was a guy, he’d had wet dreams before, but not since he was a teenager and certainly never about her.
It had seemed so real. Her panted breaths against his neck with each thrust of his hips, the way her pussy had clenched so deliciously tight around his cock anytime his tip kissed her cervix, the way she’d moaned his name.
Sam huffed out a sharp breath through his nose when he realised he was already hard again.
“What the fuck?” He hissed, voice hidden beneath the sound of water hitting the tile. “Jesus Christ. Cut it out.”
His hand found his cock anyways, so hard he was fucking aching, and he took a few minutes to jack himself off to the memory — the not even real memory — of her beneath him until he was groaning deep in his throat and cumming onto the shower floor.
His hand reached up to turn the temperature dial all the way around to cold and he finished up in there as quick as he could, heart still thumping.
Pull it together.
It didn’t take long to pack up his stuff after his shower, but by the time Dean returned with coffee for the three of them Sam was hot. Not hot like he’d worked up his temperature by moving around the room, but like the warmth was sitting beneath his skin like a fever. The back of his neck was sweaty and his hair was sticking to his forehead, and as he took one of the to-go cups from his brother Dean frowned at him.
“You okay, Sammy?” He asked. “Looking a little pale.”
“Fine,” Sam waved him off as he grabbed his bags and moved towards the door. He was hard again, which was all he could focus on, frustration simmering with the heat. “Just wanna get on the road—”
He pulled the door open and stood face to face with her, and his jaw clenched as his cock throbbed.
“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, dodging past him to take one of the cups from Dean too. “My stuff’s in the car. Are we going?”
Sam hadn’t moved, shoulders stiff and throat dry as he stared at her. She looked like she usually did, if not a little worn down from yesterday's hunt, and maybe that was the worst part — nothing was different so what the hell was wrong with him? He’d become an expert at shoving away his feelings. There had been multiple occasions where she literally had her shirt off in front of him so he could patch up an injury and his eyes had never wandered further than necessary, respectful in the way he touched her and looked at her and thought of her. So now? He felt like a fucking pervert. She was his best friend.
“Hello? Earth to Sam?” Dean waved a hand so close to his face that he flinched and glared at his brother. “You get out the wrong side of the bed or something?”
At the mention of the bed and the thought of what he’d done that morning Sam glared harder, her eyes on him like a red hot laser and he didn’t dare look at her then. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he felt so uncomfortable and so fucking hard that he just wanted the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
“I’m fine,” he grit out. “Can we just go?”
Being in the car made everything so much worse.
The only saving grace was that he didn’t have to look at her, but her voice floating up from the backseat and the smell of her perfume was enough. Each bump in the road made him shift in his seat, achingly hard and pressed against the zipper of his jeans. He’d had to discreetly palm himself through the denim just to try and get some sort of relief a few times when Dean wasn’t looking.
When the heat didn’t die down he’d come to the conclusion that he must’ve been harbouring a fever. Since getting in the car he’d shed his flannel to just be left in his t-shirt and rolled the window all the way down, and though the wind blowing his hair back was nice he was still fucking hot.
“Dude,” Dean knocked his knee against his and he flinched, glancing up at his face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…”
“Like shit?” Sam scoffed when his brother nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.” His eyes flickered up to the mirror and his jaw clenched at the sight of her in the back.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine,” his brother pushed. “I told you we should’ve double checked what that witch did yesterday.”
For the past few days they’d been tracking a coven of witches across three separate towns. Ten different murders, all husbands, all mysteriously died in front of their partners. It hadn’t taken all that long to figure out that it was witchcraft when they’d found hexbags in most of the houses. Bitter with the loss of their own lovers they’d gone on a killing spree and caught too much attention.
The last of the witches they’d put down in the basement of the house they’d been camped out in had at one point shoved Sam up against the wall, gripped his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe, and had murmured an incantation he hadn’t been able to make out through the ringing in his ears. There had been a hot pressure in his chest that started spreading outwards, but a moment later Dean had shot her in the back and she’d died right in front of him. The magic couldn’t have lingered if she was dead, could it?
“She died, Dean, you killed her,” Sam murmured, clenched his teeth tight when Baby hit a pothole and his cock was momentarily pressed harder against his zipper as he was jerked slightly in his seat. “Just feel a little hot. I’m fine.”
His head tipped to the side to watch out of the window as he did his best to ignore it, ignore how it felt — the simmering beneath his skin was a heat he’d only felt once, and he wasn’t eager to think about his time in the cage.
The heat only continued to get worse somehow. The only rational explanation he could think of was that he’d run himself down after back-to-back cases and was a little under the weather. He did not, however, have an explanation for the way the heat seemed to simmer worse whenever he looked at her, heart thumping and arousal curling deeper into his gut whenever she spoke.
They got to their next motel just before sunset, with the intent of getting a good night’s sleep before either finding another case in the morning or just heading back to the bunker. If he was being honest Sam just wanted his bed at home, but he didn’t really have the energy to argue with his brother, not when every single thought in his head was swirling over how he felt, over her.
The other two were talking as Sam forced himself to get out of the car, too focused on the drumming pulse in his ears to listen to what they were saying, so when he rounded the car towards the trunk and a hand landed on his arm he jumped at the burn. White hot like electricity. He flinched and his eyes shot up to meet her eyes, which were quickly growing concerned.
“Sam?” She frowned, and his eyes locked onto the plush of her lips. He knew they’d feel good against his, soft and warm, the little ‘o’ shape they’d make as she moaned underneath him— “Sam? Are you okay?”
Guilt flooded him immediately and he forced his gaze away. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t just think about her like that, it was disgusting.
He didn’t even utter an excuse, just quickly rushed into the room before he could make things worse.
“Sam?” Dean had followed him in and Sam grit his teeth. He’d been planning on sorting himself out in the shower again, at this point it was legitimately a necessity. “What the hell is up with you? You ignored her the whole drive-“ he cut himself off when Sam turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”
There wasn’t even any point in insisting he was fine anymore. The heat just kept getting hotter, he felt sweaty and weird and still thinking about that dream. “I just… have a fever.”
Dean scowled as he stepped forwards and reached up to touch Sam’s forehead, even as he tried to bat his hand away. “Why didn’t you say anything in the car? You’re burning up, man,” there was a pause before he sighed. “Call Rowena.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because what happened yesterday isn’t sitting right with me and if anyone can make sure that witch didn’t do something to you it’s her.”
Even through the simmering beneath his skin Sam’s lips twitched. “You’re willingly asking me to call Rowena?”
“She’s still a bitch but she can be useful sometimes,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Just call her.”
Much to Sam’s dismay and an I told you so from Dean, Rowena also suspected that something was wrong after Sam called and explained his symptoms — well, not all of them, he didn’t dare mention the dream or his problem — and cut the call off with a chirpy confirmation that she’d get to him as quickly as she could.
It was dark out by the time Rowena got there. All of the windows in the room had been opened as wide as they could in hopes that the cold night air would do something to help the fire in his veins, but nothing was helping. His chest had tightened with the rising heat, there was absolutely no doubt that something was wrong.
“Well aren’t you a… sight.” Rowena hummed as soon as she stepped through the door, taking her time like she was just there for tea. The silk of her dress caught in the draft from the open door, blowing forwards with a harshness that should have been brought with cold. Sam didn’t feel it, the wind that hit his skin did nothing to soothe the burn. If not for the fact that she was visiting he would’ve stripped down to his boxers already.
He stood from where he’d been perched on the edge of his bed, fists clenched tight. “Rowena-”
“Calm down,” she raised a hand as she closed the door behind her. “I’m here to help, aren’t I?” Another gust of wind blew through the open windows and she pulled a face. “My it’s cold in here, isn’t it?”
“No,” Sam grit out, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he watched her step forwards. It had become harder to ignore the worse it got, the memory of the cage, what Lucifer had done to him. Burned his skin until it was all gone and then healed him to start all over again. The smell of his own flesh was something he was never going to forget, part of him kept expecting to look down and see his arms on fire. But they weren’t, like some cruel trick on his mind. If not for Dean noticing that something was wrong he would’ve been convinced that he was going crazy again. “It’s hot, I’m hot, I can’t fucking cool down it feels like I’m on fire.”
Rowena’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth as she came to a stop directly in front of him. “Hm. Take your shirt off.”
“Huh?”
Her eyes rolled. “I need to see if you have any magic attached to you, and it’s easier without your clothes in the way,” perfectly manicured nails dragged against the fabric of his t-shirt before she smirked. “Trust me, I don’t mind.”
Maybe he wouldn’t have been so quick to agree on a regular day, especially with her looking at him like that, but he was both desperate for this to be over and also used to Rowena being Rowena, so there wasn’t much hesitation as he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, dropping it down onto the floor.
Rowena made a show of looking him over, lips curled upwards at the corners.
“Rowena-”
“Alright, Samuel,” she sighed. “Forgive me for finding some enjoyment in the situation. Sit.” Her hand pressed to his chest and he flinched, expecting to feel the same burn that he’d felt from her earlier that day when she’d touched his arm, but Rowena’s palm felt cool against his flushed skin. It was actually nice, and he breathed out shakily as he allowed himself to be pushed backwards until he was seated on the edge of the mattress.
Rowena stepped forwards until she was stood between his legs, and then her hand was on his chest again. A pressure pushed through his ribs and he stiffened in the effort to keep still and let her search for any lingering magic attached to him. His eyes lifted to her face and he watched as her expression went from focused, to shocked, to… amused?
“Your symptoms,” she met his eyes as she pulled her hand back. “Tell me.”
“I’ve already told you-”
“Tell me again.”
Sam huffed out a frustrated breath and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m hot, it feels like I’m burning from the inside out.”
She just continued to watch him.
“What?” He didn’t mean to snap but he was seriously losing his patience.
“Your other symptoms?” He opened his mouth to protest but she held up a hand. “Just be honest, Samuel. I think I know what the curse is.”
His jaw clenched. He’d never actually vocalised his crush to anybody before. Sure, maybe Dean wasn’t completely oblivious to have not noticed, but he’d never outright admitted it.
“I had this… dream, uh,” he ran a hand over his face, the heat in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “And it kinda stuck with me.”
Rowena was smirking. “And what was the nature of this wee dream, hm?”
He glowered at her. “I’m sure you know.”
“Oh I do, but it’s way more fun if you tell me,” he just continued glaring and she sighed. “You boys just have to suck the fun out of everything, don’t you?” She moved to sit on the bed beside him, and after adjusting her dress over her legs she turned to face him. “It’s called mali desiderii.”
“What does that mean?”
Her lips twitched again, like she was really trying to be serious. “It’s a curse that attaches itself to your deepest desire and makes you, well, want it.”
Sam swallowed around the dryness in his throat. “How dangerous is it?”
Rowena lifted a hand to gently circle her fingers around his wrist, her cool fingertips pressed against his pulse point felt nice. “You’re already burning up, and it’s only going to get worse. Unless you sate the desire, you’ll completely burn up from the inside out.”
He felt his stomach drop. “It’ll kill me?”
“Mhm, in a day or so, unless you deal with your little… problem,” She gestured to his jeans with a wicked smirk that made him want the ground to open up beneath him, before she sighed, a more genuine expression settling on her features. “Sam… she’s next door.” Her hand laid on his arm though that time he stiffened.
“I can’t just—”
“It doesn’t matter if you can’t. You’re going to have to,” she told him firmly, before her lips curved upwards again. “You never know, it might be something the both of you need. She’s smart, Samuel. If a big strong man came knocking on my door asking me to help him out, I’d… well, like I said, she’s smart.”
He grit his teeth and breathed out sharply. This was so stupid. She was his best friend, he couldn’t just turn up at her door and demand to have sex with her. “Isn’t there a cure or something?”
“This is the only way,” Rowena didn’t give him much time to think on it before her hand was on her knee, squeezing, then she stood up. “You’ll be fine. Trust me, out of all the things you could’ve been cursed with, this is definitely the most… pleasurable.”
At her smirk his stomach twisted uncomfortably, but still he stood up to let her out of the room. He didn’t bother to put his shirt back on, stood in the doorway as he watched Rowena climb into her car — a Porsche that he was certain didn’t belong to her the last time they spoke — the breeze of the night doing absolutely nothing to cool him down. As she pulled out of the parking lot he’d had a mind to go and tell Dean what was wrong, but he paused when his eyes landed on her door next to his.
Sate the desire, Rowena had said. Maybe on a typical day he wouldn’t have wanted to even approach the topic with her, save himself a lifetime of embarrassment when she inevitably turned him down, but this was his only shot. And the thought of finally having her was enough for his body to roll with another wave of aroused heat.
“Fucking crazy,” he breathed, hand lifting to knock on the door once he was stood in front of it. “This is fucking crazy.”
The door opened relatively quick and then there she was. She’d changed into her pyjamas since getting to the motel, a t-shirt and shorts that left him unable to help his gaze dragging up the length of her legs, imagining dipping between them. She really wasn’t making this fucking easy for him, was she?
“Sam?” She blinked, worried eyes widening as her gaze dragged downwards, and embarrassed he remembered he hadn’t put his shirt back on. Christ, this probably looked like the opening to a shitty porno. By the sounds of it, that’s how it was going to end up. Either that or he was going to die.
“Sorry,” he quickly blurted out, chest heaving with heavy breaths as his eyes fell down away from her face, before he caught himself staring at her legs and he had to look back up digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Get a grip. “Sorry, uh… can I talk to you?”
Instantly she stepped aside. “Are you okay? Why was Rowena here?”
His teeth ground together with the realisation that Dean hadn’t told her that anything was wrong, either not to worry her or because he was just leaving it to Sam he wasn’t sure. He stepped into her room and exhaled sharply. The heat was getting bad, hands trembling as he pushed sweaty hair out of his face and turned back to face her.
“Sam you don’t look so good,” her eyebrows were pinched together in such worry. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some water? You look a little sick, you sit down and I’ll just-”
“It’s a curse,” he just got out. “One of the witches yesterday cursed me. That's why Rowena was here.”
She looked… god, the look on her face, she looked so devastated for him. “I- cursed? How bad is it? Are you okay?” She rushed forwards and touched his arm sympathetically, and usually it would’ve been nice — she was sweet, she was always physically affectionate but always more so with him than Dean. There had been many times they’d held hands on a hunt when either one of them was unnerved, or on nights where they could only get a motel with two beds or had to sleep in the car she always chose to sleep with him. Curled up with no choice but to hold each other in a small twin bed or the backseat of the Impala he’d always felt comfortable with her.
But her touch then on his arm, it felt like being singed. He jerked backwards and hated the way she looked at him when he did it. “Sorry,” he breathed her name like a plea, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad with what he was about to ask of her. “I’m… hot. The curse is burning me up and if I don’t do something about it then I’ve… got a day.”
“A day?” Her voice broke and it shattered something deep in his soul. “Sam, I… Rowena has a cure right?”
His eyes squeezed shut tightly and he took in a sharp breath. This was it. “It’s a, uh… well, there’s one thing I can do but it’s- I’d be asking a lot of you.”
Her response was immediate. “Anything.”
Steeling himself he finally just pushed out, “it’s a sex curse.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“It’s a- god, this is so stupid. It’s a sex curse. If I don’t have sex in the next day then I’ll die.” Saying it out loud he realised just how ridiculous it was, how this really was just some fucking stupid porno, something he’d catch Dean quickly shutting off in the motel whenever he got back. “It really is stupid huh? Fuck, I don’t even-”
“Okay.”
It was his turn to blink at her. “What?”
“I said okay,” she hesitated before stepping forwards, like she was expecting him to jerk away from her again. “I’m not gonna let you… the curse isn’t gonna take over, okay? Of all the ways we’ve dealt with curses before this is actually a pretty easy fix.”
He was just staring at her. “But I can’t ask you to-”
“You aren’t asking, I’m offering,” the control in her voice made his cock throb in his jeans and he bit back a groan. It’d be nice to finally get some fucking relief. “This is gonna be easier than you going out to a bar and finding someone, Sam, and I trust you,” a pause then, her voice went softer. “And you trust me. Or at least I hope so.”
“‘Course I do,” he breathed. “But-”
“Sam,” she stepped forwards until she was right in front of him then, until he could smell her perfume and feel her breath hit his chest. “Let me. Please.”
Any restraint he’d been clinging onto snapped in that moment.
Giving in to the curse, at first, felt like being possessed, like watching from inside his body as he acted upon it. His hands cupped her jaw as he stepped closer, tipping down until he caught her mouth with his, hard, all desperation and lust as he licked and sucked at her bottom lip only just hesitating enough to not slip his tongue into her mouth immediately. She was making soft breathy sounds through her nose and it was making everything worse, his veins burned hotter and his cock was so achingly hard that he couldn’t help his hands sliding down to her hips and gripping hard as he started walking them back to her bed.
But he was shaking, his breathing all heavy and hot in his throat, the fever was still clinging to his bones and the curse made it hard to think about anything. His hands had just slipped beneath her shirt when she leaned back with a huff of breath, her palm pressed flat against his chest.
“Sam.” She breathed, heavy but concerned, eyes all soft and crinkled at the corners as she looked up at him.
“Yeah?”
Her fingers travelled down to gently start threading the leather of his belt through his buckle. The sight of her hands so close to where he needed them was almost enough to just cum in his boxers thinking about her. Again.
“Let me… let me take care of you, okay?” She breathed, pulling the belt free and then working open his zipper. “You’re shaking, let me do this,” she leaned forwards and kissed his chest and he shuddered. “Let me help you.”
All he could do was nod dumbly, hands squeezing at her hips as she unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his legs until he could step out of them. She hesitated as he fingers touched the waistband of his boxers, but he nodded, and she pulled those down too.
For a moment he was too distracted by the curse to really take much in, just panting softly as he waited for the inevitable relief. But when he did catch sight of her face, the way her eyes drifted down to his cock, hard and leaking like it had been all day, the way she swallowed, fuck.
“Come here.” He breathed, lustful and needy and possessive all in one, and then his mouth was on hers again as he took the final two steps back to her bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Sam moved to pull her in immediately but she paused to quickly slip her shorts and underwear down her legs, and only then did she let him pull her onto his lap, straddling his thighs.
If he was a little more with it, he’d have felt bad. In all the times he’d thought of being able to finally have her, it had gone differently. He’d been sweet and kissed her softly, taken her to dinner or for some drinks, they’d dressed nice and he’d complimented how pretty she was. He’d been gentle with her, taken his time, hadn’t wanted to rush it. She deserved better than the rushed desperation coursing through his veins, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sam was kissing her again once she was close enough. A hand slid up her back, soft skin beneath his palm, before he gripped her shirt and panted out, “can I take this off?”
Only when she nodded did he grip the hem and lift it up and over her head, dropping it on the floor with the rest of their clothes.
He allowed himself one moment to stare and take her in; chest rising and falling heavily, hardened nipples, soft thighs slotted over his like they belonged, her lips kiss-bitten and wet with their spit. Sam wasn’t entirely sure which part was the most devastating.
“God-” he choked, fingers curling around her hipbones again. “Look at you.”
Her chin tucked towards her chest all bashfully, and for a moment the flicker of guilt touched him. She deserved better than this.
But then her fingers wrapped around his cock and through the white-hot pleasure any other thoughts were wiped from his mind.
A grunt escaped his throat and his eyes squeezed shut, his grip on her hips tightening. “Shit-”
She shifted on top of him, lifting up on her knees to line his cock up with her entrance, and even if the feeling of his tip kissing her folds was enough for his head to spin a little he still stopped her with a squeeze of her hips.
“Are you ready? I mean…” Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew he was big, bigger than most. When he’d been with Jess he’d learned exactly how many fingers he needed to stretch her out before she could comfortably take him. He needed to feel her more than anything but he didn’t want to hurt her.
“It’s okay,” she breathed, and leaned down to kiss him again. “I can take it.”
Her tongue pushed past his lips and he moaned into her mouth as she slowly sank down onto him.
Nothing he had ever felt compared to that moment.
Charged, sparking pleasure exploded in his gut, shooting through his veins making every nerve ending tingle. Fuck. This was the relief he’d been craving, the lust he hadn’t been able to sort out himself with his hand or how much he could imagine in his head.
Her pussy squeezed tightly around him as she sank down slowly and for a moment all he could do was pant into the skin of her neck as he held onto her, grunting into her throat the deeper she took him and the tighter she clenched around him. Once he was sheathed all the way inside of her his breath punched out of him heavily. Somehow he hadn’t blown his load right then.
“You feel-” he whined as she shifted, rubbing against her gummy walks and spending more sparks of pleasure through him, “so fucking good, that’s- yeah, that’s it.”
She shifted again and that time it was her who whined, her palms hot on his shoulders as they grabbed at the muscle there. “Sam,” she breathed his name against his ear. “You’re so deep.”
He had a feeling he’d be getting hard over that sentence for the rest of his life.
“Can I-” her voice was trembling, and when he glanced up at her she looked a fucking picture — eyes all blown out, lips parted and panting, expression pinched in pleasure. “Can I keep moving?”
He couldn’t find his voice so he just nodded, and at the first shift of her hips his eyes rolled back and he moaned.
Time seemed to blur. He found himself able to release the death grip on her hips and instead smoothed his palms over her back, as his head tipped forwards to lick and suck at her neck. He’d never felt anything like this, it was like being high. Each squeeze of her cunt around his cock stole the breath from his lungs, made the magic from the curse flare inside of him in a way that had his hairs standing on end and his cock throbbing where it was held deep inside of her.
Noises were pulled from him without any of his say so. Keening whined and gasps of her name whenever she shifted. Her fingers tangled in his hair at one point and pulled and he almost completely lost it then.
She didn’t seem to be in a different state to him, if he knew any better he’d have said she was cursed from the way she was clinging onto him, panting his name and squeezing his cock inside of her.
This completely blew his dream out of the water.
“Hah- I’m-” It took an embarrassingly short time to get there, but given the heat bubbling inside of him he really did need the release sooner rather than later. “Fuck honey m’gonna cum-”
Her breath was hot on his cheek as her temple pressed to his, hips rolling and cunt squeezing along with her whimpered, “please Sammy.”
Sam watched as her hand dipped between them to rub at her clit with each roll of her hips and with the next time his tip brushed against her cervix he was gone.
He was certain that the sound that left him then he had never made before. Almost animalistic, in any other situation he would’ve found himself embarrassed, but the way pleasure shot up his spine, through his veins, made him shudder and gasp into her throat as his orgasm literally whitened his vision, he wasn’t in control of anything he was doing. It literally took his breath away, made his ears ring, one moment he was holding the back of her neck and kissing at her throat and the next he had his forehead pressed to her shoulder as he heaved breaths against her chest.
She must’ve cum too, not that he’d been able to even realise in the moment, but she’d also slumped into him, arms draped over his shoulders as she melted into him.
For one long moment, it was the best he’d ever felt.
“Hey,” she eventually whispered, leaned back to meet his eyes with hers, all soft and caring. “How do you feel? Did it work?”
“I think so.” He murmured, still trying to catch his breath.
His hands were more gentle on her hips as he helped her move off of him, hissing through his teeth as his cock slipped out of her, though he rubbed her back once she was sat on the bed beside him.
There was a flare inside of his chest, and then it hit him. That time it was almost unbearable, left him breathless with the fire that rolled through him. His eyes squeezed shut and his fists curled up as he winced in pain.
It hadn’t worked.
“Sam?” Her hand burned against his back. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He couldn’t help it, tears stung in his eyes then. “It didn’t fucking work.”
His breathing was sharp as he looked back up at her then, and the way her expression dropped made everything else sink in. What the fuck was the point of that? Sure, he’d wanted her for a long time, but not like that. She deserved to be taken care of, treated like an angel and kissed sweetly and loved on. Instead she’d had him like that — sweaty and gross and needy — and she’d had to do all the work. Let alone the fact it was all pointless anyways, he was still going to die.
“I thought you said Rowena said it’d work,” she breathed, voice so soft and scared. “What did she say to you? Maybe we did it wrong or something.”
Sam pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes hard, hands shaking. “She said I need to sate my desire.”
She frowned at him then. “That doesn’t mean sex, Sam.”
“Hm?”
“Your… desire, that doesn’t have to mean sex,” she turned to face him a little more. Their lack of clothes and post-orgasm exhaustion was momentarily ignored as her hand found his and squeezed. The heat made his fingers tingle. “It just means what you want the most. And I mean it obviously wasn’t sex with me,” her fingers squeezed his. “So what is it?”
His breath left him in a rush. “You.”
She blinked at him. “But it didn’t-”
“Not the sex,” his hand squeezed hers tightly. “You. You’re my best friend and I… I’m in love with you. I don’t even know when it happened but you’re all I can think about all the time.”
She was just staring at him with those wide eyes of hers, mouth opening and closing a few times before she could actually form a response. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She eventually pressed, soft.
A bitter laugh left him then. “What would be the point? I care more about you than what I want. I was happy to just stay friends- I am happy to do that,” he pushed out a sharp breath and dragged his fingers through his hair. “But it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Because it’s not going to happen and I’m going to die.”
“Sam,” her hand gripped his tightly and when he looked up at her face she was scowling. “You’re an idiot.”
Before he could even think of a response she’d leaned in and then her mouth was on his. The kiss was soft, more gentle than their lust fuelled kisses from before, the plus warmth of her lips against his making his gut curl tighter than when she’d been grinding on his cock.
Her forehead pressed to his as she pulled away and her whispered words hit his ears, “I love you too.”
Sam leaned back enough to look at her. “What?” He breathed. “I- don’t just say that because I want to hear it.”
“Sam,” her fingers were gentle as they cupped his face. “I love you.”
The fire disappeared with a tingling hiss like he’d been dunked in ice water. Each heated nerve ending and muscle was instantly soothed with a coolness that made him groan as she kissed him again. Soothing cold ran up the length of his spine, down his arms, into his fingertips as he cupped her face and kissed her, lovingly, his tongue sweeping over her lips and pressing into her mouth saying everything that in that moment he couldn’t.
“God,” he breathed, all shaky, fingers stroking through her hair. “You- how long?”
She giggled as she looked up at him, eyes all crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “A while,” her hand lifted and laid flat on his chest. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he sighed, fingertips gentle on her skin. “I think it broke it. I think you… you’re incredible.”
Her smile was like the sun. “Ditto.”
Sam laughed, the lightest he’d felt all day, both of them smiling too much when he went to kiss her again and he ended up kissing her teeth. “Ditto? All of that just to get a ditto?”
She was giggling against his mouth as his hands smoothed over soft skin, fingers tracing down her spine as he leaned over her, cupping the backs of her thighs so he could manoeuvre her onto her back. Laid beneath him like that, her pretty eyes and her pretty mouth and all of her that loved him, the feeling pressing against his ribs was no longer a heat, a curse, it was something much more magical.
His head dipped to kiss along her throat as her thighs pressed against his hips, drawing him closer. “I love you,” he whispered into her skin, a promise. “I love you.”
She was still wet from before, her chest brushing against his with each needy pant she made, so it was like second nature for his hand to reach between them until he could press his cock up against her, dragging the tip through her wetness until he caught her entrance and sank in slowly, the grip of her cunt around him making him moan into her throat as his hand found hers, fingers lacing through hers and pressing it down onto the mattress.
“Sam,” she moaned as his hips rolled, his cock nudging that soft spongy spot on the inside of her walls that made her whine when he hit it right. “Oh- fuck that’s-”
His tongue soothed over bruises he was sucking into the skin of her neck as he fucked her into the mattress gently, hands carressing and worshiping her. She deserved better than him, he knew that, deep down he knew she deserved everything he couldn’t give her and more.
But she wanted him. She wanted him. How could he deny her?
He moaned against her ear as he started fucking her a little deeper. His hand slid down her side to cup the back of one of her thighs, bringing it up and over his hip to press further into her slick cunt with each thrust.
There was a haziness in the room, not caused by a veil of a dream or curse, but the kind of desire that made somebody’s head spin with it. The bed beneath them a bare, plain motel standard, wales just as plain, but his focus was solely on her beneath him.
This wasn’t a dream. It was real. He had her.
“Sam I’m-” her voice trembled with each gasp she let out. Her nails dug into his shoulders that sent delicious sparks of pain down his spine where they dug in. Her cunt was clenched tightly around him, he could tell she was close, the way her gummy walls fluttered around his cock each time he sank himself back inside of her. “Please.”
He would do anything for her if she begged him like that.
“You’re okay, honey,” he breathed into her throat with another kiss. The image of their last round briefly flashed in his mind, her fingertips pressed to her clit when she got close, and he removed his hand from her thigh to dip between them. They were both soaked with leftover cum from before and new aroused slick that collected at the base of his cock. His fingers dragged through the wetness briefly before the pads of his fingers pressed against her clit where he started rubbing small circles that made her clench tighter around him, a whine punching up and out of her throat that made his gut clench. Fuck. “That's it, good girl, just feel it.”
Her hands gripped tight to his shoulders and she whined right in his ear. He almost came right then. “I’m- Sam-”
She shuddered against him as she came and Christ. The feeling of her pussy pulsing around his cock in waves as her orgasm dragged a breathless moan out of her throat was too much for him to handle. He only managed two more thrusts before he followed her, groaning into her skin as he rutted twice more into her before finally stilling on top of her.
For a moment, time didn’t move.
His fingers stroked feather-light up and across her ribs as he dotted kisses against her neck and jaw, until he finally lifted his head to press a soft kiss to her mouth.
“Hi.” She whispered when he leaned back and he smiled, a sweet loving thing.
“Hi, you,” he murmured, stroking her ribs. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, all flushed as she stole another kiss, her fingers stroking his hair made him relax. A thought nagged at him that he was sweaty and gross and he sighed, expression shifting to something a little more serious.
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned at him. “For what? Sam that was… that was great.”
He shook his head. “You should’ve had something better. I’m… I’m gross and sweaty and it was so rushed and I should’ve taken my time with you and… I’m just sorry.”
Her hand lifted to cup his cheek. “Don’t say that,” she leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and he just about melted. “We broke the curse. I just saved your life, mister, I think that’s pretty great to me.”
He was still frowning. “I know but-”
“Sam,” Her finger pressed to his lips. “It was good. I promise.”
She kissed him again, soft and slow and gentle, and time melted again.
Eventually they pulled away from each other, and since he hadn’t taken care of her in the moment, he made sure to completely care for her in the aftermath. He got a wet cloth from the bathroom and gently wiped her clean before himself, and kissed her forehead before he left again to run the shower for her so that the water would be nice and warm by the time she stepped in. There was a relaxing domesticity to the way they stepped around each other with gentle shared kisses and whispered comforts until she took up the shower first.
Once the room was full of the scent of her shampoo and the gentle pitter of the shower on the other side of the bathroom door he found his phone and thought it was best he told Rowena it had worked.
“Samuel,” she greeted in that delighted tone of hers she had whenever they spoke. “How's the heat?”
“The uh, the curse is broken. I’m fine now.”
He could picture her grin through the phone. “Marvellous. I knew you could do it. It hasn’t been that long since I left, dearie, she must’ve been quite eager to help.”
He ignored the heat that rose to his face. “Yeah, well… thanks for your help, Ro.”
“You’re welcome, pet. I got started on the cure just in case you didn’t have it in you so I’ll send it your way once I’m finished in case you happen to ever need it.”
Sam stilled. “You told me there wasn’t a cure.”
“Aye, I suppose I did. It’s a pretty simple potion, actually. I just thought this way would be a little more… beneficial for you and your love.”
“Rowena-”
“I’ve got to go now, Samuel, but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
The line went dead and he lowered his phone, sitting with what she’d just told him for a moment, that there had been a cure, a simple one. But then his eyes trailed up to the closed bathroom door, the soft humming behind it reaching his ears, and he just laughed.
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Summary: You’ve grown weary of your virtue, and, unfortunately for Eddie, you’ve hatched a plan to lose it to a stranger tonight. But why are you telling him this if not to extend an open invitation to foil your plans?
Word Count: 15.9k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, angst, fluff, PiV unprotected sex, condom removal during sex, loss of virginity, virginity talk and shame around still having it, lots of yearning, teasing, cream pie, fingering, oral sex (fem rec), nicknames (sweetheart, sweets, pretty girl, etc.), dirty talk, arguing, best friends to lovers, jealousy, possessiveness, mention of vomit (not R or E), bad first time (not R), mention of a hypothetical junk-punch, one instance of R described to have breasts with a little weight to them, if I missed anything lmk!
Song Rec: Pavlov’s Bell by Aimee Mann
A/N: I herald his beginning. I herald your end. I herald…experienced!eddie. It’s been a while since I’ve posted a oneshot, and I tried something new with how I wrote this, so pls lemme know how you guys feel about it <33333 Born from this ask!
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“So, what do you think?” you eagerly ask.
Eddie’s sitting across from you in the small metal chair, his fingers threaded as they rest on the laminated wooden table in his trailer. His expression is still—frozen. He’s not too sure what to make of your plan.
Honestly, he’s waiting for you to laugh and tell him it was just a joke. A very unfunny, crass joke.
But you don’t, and after what feels like an eternity, he manages a response.
“That is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard, sweetheart, and I listen to every single one of Gareth’s ‘million-dollar-cashgrabs.’”
He shakes his head with careful subtlty—like any sudden movement will scare you into actually committing to this plan.
Disbelief clouds his features, heavy and foreboding like the sky before a summer squall—
The nerve. The gumption. The audacity so potent on such an unassuming young woman.
You want to lose your virginity to a stranger and you’re, what, warning him first?
It’s like you want him to disrupt your plans.
He watches you roll your eyes, all pursed lips and impudence.
“Oh, seriously?” you sass. “Calm down. It’s really not that big of a deal.”
Eddie practically chokes on his scoff, and the strangled sound ripples over your body, drawing out the look he knows well. Annoyance—it forces you to sit up straight.
You squirm in your seat for a moment, like a million tiny ants are marching up your spine, dancing over the tension in your shoulders. And he knows…the argument is imminent, but not before he speaks his piece—
“Not that big of a deal? Sweetheart, stubbing your toe is not that big of a deal. Forgetting to check the mail is not that big of a deal,” his voice raises as he gestures wildly, feeling like a Bible Belt preacher wailing about temptation of the flesh. “Losing your virginity? To a stranger? That’s a pretty big-fuckin’-deal!”
Again, you roll your eyes—blatantly disregarding the way his head cocks and his own eyes narrow in warning. He hates when you do that. When you brush him off so easily, like he’s dust on your pristine shoulder—
A quiet chuckle leaves your lips as you avert your gaze, suddenly finding the speckled laminate far more interesting.
Like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise, Eddie’s head cocks back the other way, trying to figure out what exactly he said that has you laughing. Usually he loves the sound, but he doesn’t like the tone of this one. There’s something deeply derisive buried beneath the nonchalant surface.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the joke there, sweets. Care to clue me in?” he rasps, goading you.
A jeering smirk pulls at your lips, like you’re finding his simmering temper and deepening voice increasingly amusing.
After another soft huff—a sound that could almost be mistaken for a scoff—you level him with a penetrating look, your smirk slowly splitting into an incredulous grin.
“Sorry,” you start, but a chuckle bubbles up your throat, catching on the clearly insincere apology. “Sorry, I just find this whole thing very funny.”
Eddie sucks his teeth as he watches you shrug dismissively—no longer backing down, no longer avoiding his darkening gaze. He lets your words sit in the air, hoping their stuffy bitterness will suffocate you into surrender, but instead, they seem to brandish your skin like armor.
And just like that, out comes your most dangerous weapon: your self-satisfaction.
From all his years with you, he knows, when your complacency reaches an all-time high, there’s almost no way to change your mind. You’ve already doubled down once, and you’re about to batten down the hatches. Because more than anything, he knows you hate being wrong and hate it even more when you’re told you’re wrong.
And through festering nerves and itchy discomfort, Eddie realizes he just shot your idea down and danced on its grave.
Of course, he wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction if it weren’t such a sensitive topic. But you don’t know that. All you’ve heard so far is you’re wrong, and I know more than you.
It’s moments like these where Eddie curses his motormouth—his almost comical inability to shut up, or, god forbid, consider what he means before he opens his trap. And until he finally learns his lesson, he figures he’s doomed to live with his foot in his mouth for all eternity.
With you shifting in your seat, and time ticking against him, he knows this bomb is going to need an extra delicate defusal. But he’s not certain he can remain level-headed about this subject matter.
Not when it’s you.
Not when damned images of a faceless man caressing you plays in technicolor through his mind. Because sometime ago, somewhere along the night drives and the lazy days, his wires got crossed. And now those wires are sparking, threatening to burn him through and through.
Maybe you’re not the bomb, after all.
“Oh, you find it funny, do you?” he questions, nodding his head.
“Well, yeah. You’re sitting here trying to tell me that, what, losing your virginity is supposed to be special?” you mockingly ask, your features alight with mirth. It’s like you’re a bloodhound catching a scent—the scent of sweet, sweet hypocrisy.
Eddie opens his mouth to answer your rhetorical question, because…yes.
For you?
Yes, it should be special—
“You know what? I want you to go look in a mirror and say what you just said to me, and see if you don’t laugh too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he argues, jerking his head back. Your words might as well have physically manifested themselves into a slap because that’s how they feel, acidic and seeping into his skin with a sting.
“Please! You remember telling me about your first time? You came to school the next day bragging to me and the Hellfire guys about hooking up with some older chick in the bathroom at the Hideout! Remember that? You wore it like a badge of honor!”
He had taken you in as a freshman, just like he did every lost soul. Battling off the stifling monotony of high school together, it was no surprise you developed a crush on him. He was—is—so sweet. So funny. So unlike anyone you had ever met.
He would play the fool just to make you laugh, but he’d defend your honor in an instant. Your very own protection against the venomous cheerleaders and mouth-breathing jocks.
When he would get himself going about something or other, marching along the tops of the lunch tables, it was like staring straight into the sun. You bloomed under his gleaming rays, flowering and reaching toward his warmth with every wild grin, every silly headshake, every teasing joke.
He was addicting, and you would come bounding into lunch every day itching for a fix.
Then you were a sophomore and Eddie was a senior—for the first time.
One day, he came in with a new story to tell, and no amount of sunshine could restore your wilting leaves, your shriveling flowers. No amount of water could satisfy the buds that never got to grow and now never would—
Every prideful sentence—every dirty detail boasting the changed man he had become—acted like a rain of pesticide on your delicate ecosystem.
It was a level of desecration you couldn’t undo if you wanted to.
And you weren’t sure you were even strong enough to try.
Because it became clear that day, he wasn’t yours. He wouldn’t be yours.
You couldn’t see him the same after that. The chemicals contaminated the image, degrading and defacing the likeness.
He wasn’t the man you used to dream about every night.
He didn’t look like he once had—so soft, so sweet. A man able to rot your teeth right out of your skull if you allowed him the honor.
A man so saccharine and delicate, like candy floss.
But maybe it was the image of him that was delicate—not truly him.
After all, your tears melted the wisps pretty easily.
All that was left was piles of sugar—too wet for consumption, and not in the right form—and a crash unrivaled by any confectionery you’d ever had.
White, hot anger seeps from every pore in Eddie’s skin, replaced by the shocking chill of a memory he’s tried very hard to forget.
He feels like throwing up—
This. This, right here, is why he’s vehemently opposing your plan. This feeling constricting his chest, like not enough fresh air in the world could inflate his lungs—
He thought the experience was cool at first. He thought he was being totally “metal.”
But he was just being used.
The woman never asked his name, and when he tried to talk to her, she crudely told him to focus less on talking and more on fucking. It was a mortifying experience. He almost wasn’t able to finish from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but eighteen year old hormones were a thing to behold.
And despite what he would have everyone around him believe, he still cared way too much about what people thought of him. So he strutted into lunch the next day, hopping up on his soapbox to spread the good word of his monumental conquest. High from the excitement of the boys, he embellished most of the story.
And now, here you are, sitting in front of him, smug as can be, thinking you’re proving your point with his own hypocrisy.
But he’s not a hypocrite.
He’s just a liar.
He has lied to you about a lot of things and, funnily enough, all those things seem to be crawling out of their grassy graves, hungry to take a chunk out of him.
Because as much as you may think you’ve cornered him with a “gotcha” moment, your reminder of his past transgressions only makes him all the more passionate about how you should spend your first time.
He can’t let you feel how he felt.
Not you.
You deserve better than empty touches and unfeeling words.
“You wore it like a badge of honor!”
Your voice echoing in his mind has a sentiment never meant to be revealed tumbling past his lips with frightening ease—
“Yeah, and I lied!”
Slowly, your self-satisfied smile falls off your face. Confusion overtakes your confidence.
Capitalizing on your stunned silence, Eddie continues—
“That first time was fucking awful! I felt like shit. I only acted like it was good because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do…. Because I was stupid and young.” He utters the words with disdain, mortification and frustration mixing low in his gut until he feels more flammable than ever.
“It wasn’t good,” he repeats, a frown etched tightly into his features. “It just made me feel…empty.”
Your silence weighs heavy on his shoulders; selfishly, he steals a glance at you, at the crease in your brows and the way you seem to be reflecting. He can almost see you reliving that day in your head, searching for any twitch of an eye, any too-quick-to-fall smiles.
But he’s a good liar. Always has been. Even when it comes to you.
The idle hum of electricity coursing into the yellow bulb above him acts as the soundtrack to your response.
“Well, I don’t plan on doing it in the Hideout bathroom, so I think we’re good there,” you shrug.
Eddie purses his lips; he knows it’s deliberate. What you’re doing, it’s purposeful, and you’re doing it to piss him off. Because you’re pissed off.
Your eyes narrow at his, challenging him in the silence of the trailer.
A huff of air escapes through flared nostrils—he’s refraining.
But you’re killing him.
Sometimes you can be so difficult, but he wouldn’t stick around if he wasn’t addicted to the agony of trying to figure you out.
That’s half the fun of every conversation he’s had with you.
You push his buttons more than any woman he’s ever met, but you’ve twisted him up so bad, the only time he feels normal is when you’re looking at him. Doesn’t matter if it’s with anger or fondness or humor.
You’re a paradox he can’t sort out because you’ve made him like this—wires crossed and incendiary feelings—but you also have a way of fixing him. Though, it’s usually just to mangle him all over again.
And he’d like to be your only victim. He’d like to burn in only your pyre, if given the chance.
If given the chance.
If given the chance, he’d like to put a stop to this. And with the quasi-warning you’ve granted him, he feels this is as good a time as any to poke as many holes in your plan as he can—
“What’s the rush? Why now?”
He can see in your eyes, you’re taken aback by his question as your challenging gaze turns suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘Why now?’ Because I want to, that’s why.”
Your argument is slipping; petulance curls off you in plumes as thick as smoke. And the scent is sweet to him.
Eddie settles back in his chair, sliding his hips down—looking the epitome of leisure and apathy, he hopes. Though, unable to fully transform while walking the repressive tightrope, his left hand fiddles with the rings on his right—a nervous tick he hopes you’re too annoyed to notice.
“Well, yeah, but why not yesterday? Why not a month from now?” He shrugs, feeling flinty resentment sharpen his edges as he continues the onslaught of questions, now bordering on antagonistic. “Why not prom night a few years ago? Isn’t that where all the girls go to lose it? You went, you had a date. You could’ve.”
Your eye twitches.
“Because I didn’t want to, jackass. I’m ready now. I want to now…”
Instead of responding, Eddie just raises his brows, feeling unimpressed. Your words sit in the air, floating in between you both as they grow stale.
The soft whistle of the A/C unit and the ticking of the old clock on the wall make him feel like he’s trapped in this liminal space where conversations never truly end because nobody’s point ever actually gets made. Like he’s just meant to sit here, staring at you, both waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing comes. Because that’s not how the game is played.
Unfettered, Eddie continues to look at you, as though you’re something to be watched—consumed. A separate entity he can’t touch, but he can play the part of an onlooker, waiting for disaster to hit.
You squirm and shuffle in your seat. He observes. Waits. Gives you the space to tell on yourself because he knows you’re not strong enough to resist it.
Your eyes sporadically flit from his to random places in the trailer as you avoid his patient gaze.
After a few seconds, it appears the opened cereal box and empty beer cans across the room become a bore to you.
Slowly, your far-out gaze drops down the kitchen counter, landing on the floor, sliding to the side, and back up the table until it rests on his joined hands, fingers threaded, rings bulky and glinting in the dull glow of the humming bulb.
He sees the exact moment you buckle under his unyielding attention—the moment you give up. Your shoulders deflate the smallest amount, free of tension and low from submission. Your chest collapses under the expression of a deep, silent sigh.
“I’m tired of being a virgin,” you mutter, shame darkening every syllable. “I just want it over with, I don’t care anymore.”
Eddie purses his lips again, nodding, because he understands the feeling. He remembers the pressure. “And you don’t wanna wait to lose it to someone you love?”
You don’t respond. Don’t look at him. All you do is laugh. Just a quiet, humorless chuckle. A few notes of melody that tell him you’ve got a well of emotions, thoughts, and opinions on the subject that you’ll have to spare him for time’s sake.
But Eddie’s not in the business of letting you off easy. As much as you can be difficult sometimes, he can be far worse.
He can talk, and talk, and talk for hours. Stall forever if he needs to.
Suddenly, he sits up, hunching his shoulders forward, determined. “I think you should wait…. For someone you love,” he implores.
You roll your eyes again, as though he’s spinning you an opulent fantasy and swearing it’s true.
He crosses his arms, mirroring your own movement—
“Thank you for your input, I’ll take it into consideration.” You shoot him an insincere smile before looking up at the ceiling of the trailer, as if thinking, only to return your gaze to him seconds later. “Okay. I’ve considered it. And I’m choosing to ignore it.”
Eddie bristles, sucking in a quick breath to bolster his impending rebuttal, but you don’t even let him—
“I don’t know if you've noticed, Eddie, but there’s a distinct lack of guys lining down the block, waiting to woo me. And that’s fine, it’s whatever,” you shrug, shaking your head like you couldn’t be less bothered. “I can’t make someone love me. But this, I can control…”
You snort, mordacious words spewing from your perfect lips. “One thing I know about men is they may not be quick to love, but they’re certainly easy to seduce.”
Eddie shifts angrily in his seat. Not quick to love?
As if that could be true. Who in their right mind—
Part of him wants to yell at any guy who’s ever rejected you, but the other part—the dark, untamable ego—wants to jump up in celebration, in smug satisfaction that he’s not having to duel for your devotion.
But he doesn’t do either because love is awful.
It’s like staring into a mirror and all his worst flaws are staring back.
Right now, his selfishness is glaring at him, and yet, he can’t seem to care. That’s the worst part.
He should be good. He should be better for you. Should want to be better for you. It’s what you deserve. But you’ve done something irreversible to him.
And love is fickle.
Because, unfortunately, he can relate to you on one thing—the woes of not being able to make someone love you.
The pain of wanting it and not getting it.
If he could….
If he could get it…
If he could make someone love him—if it were possible—he wouldn’t be stuck here listening to you plot how you’re going to lose your virginity to some guy. Instead, he’d be half-way to the bedroom by now, your hand in his, and a million sweet kisses waiting for you.
But love is fickle.
“Okay, fine. Yeah, guys are easy, but you can’t lose it to a stranger. That’s probably the worst way to go about it,” he complains, regarding you with almost-pleading eyes.
You pause for a moment, your eyes narrow at the earnest display of caution on his face. But then you must remember this is the face of a liar, because—
“I mean…people hook up with people all the time. Some even after they’ve just met at a bar,” you pointedly argue, pinning Eddie to the spot with a time-hardened gaze.
His lip curls as he regrets ever opening his mouth that day in ‘84.
If he had known it would give you the perfect shield, allowing every argument he lobs at you to bounce off and hit him square in the chest, he would have never said a word. In fact, he has half a mind to create time travel just to go back and kick eighteen year old Eddie’s ass—
“And besides, I’m not doing it with a stranger. I was thinking of asking Jimmy Royston,” you shrug, focusing on the chipped nail polish you can’t seem to stop picking at. “I sat next to him in Chemistry, like, all of junior year.”
For the first time in what feels like forever—well, at least since you told him your plans for later—Eddie laughs. A boisterous, belly laugh that echoes around the trailer, the sound bouncing off the smoke-stained wallpaper and hitting every surface in sight.
Too busy wiping tears from his eyes, Eddie misses the way your face sours, your lips curling into a dangerous sneer.
He starts a few sentences that immediately devolve into gibberish and giggles when he pictures you and Jimmy Royston so much as speaking. God, his stomach hurts— He always did sat you were the funnier one out of you and him.
A terse ahem draws his attention back, and he tries to stop his body from shaking with heaving laughter.
“Oh, sorry. Phew! I needed that, I needed that.” He wipes some escaped tears off his cheeks. “Ohh, thank you, sweetheart, that was very funny. Thank you,” he says with a breathless grin, smoothing his shirt and rubbing his sore abdomen.
Staring at him with a heavy brow, your expression remains still—
When your facade doesn’t crack—when you don’t smirk and revel in how hard you made him break, like you usually do—Eddie’s smile drops off his face, replaced by unabashed incredulity.
You’re serious. You truly mean to tell him…Jimmy Royston is your man of choice? The guy who vomited all over himself in ninth grade when he had to dissect a frog in biology is the one you want to lose your virginity to? Jimmy ‘Puke-y’ Royston?
What’s more, your choice is based on a year of being lab partners? Really? Eddie has known you since freshman year—known of you since elementary school—and you’re choosing an acquaintance over him?
Not even an acquaintance—an obligatory desk-mate. How romantic. Touching, really—
He can’t help but imagine how that conversation would go. “Hey, Jimmy, remember me from Chem? Stoichiometry, am I right? That shit sucked. Anyway, do you wanna fuck me?”
All of a sudden, he starts considering whether he could win in a fight against the short, slim guy.
Who knows? It may come to that if he fucks this up and fails to convince you never to leave his trailer—especially not for Jimmy Royston.
“Sorry, you wanna have your first time with your eleventh grade chem partner? Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Eddie wails, a crazed, bemused look in his eyes as he leans forward over the table that separates you two.
You groan loudly, rolling your eyes so hard your head lolls back. “Oh, what now? You don’t want it to be a stranger, I said it’s not gonna be. Now you don’t want it to be someone I know? Seriously, Eddie, you’re grasping at straws here.”
“Someone you know? Jimmy is someone you know?” he scoffs, his brows lift so high they disappear into the messy curls of his bangs.
When you don’t say anything else, only pursing your lips and avoiding his fiery gaze, he nods fervently, his frizzy locks swaying softly with the movement.
“Yeah, well, of course. You guys go way back,” he mocks. “You know what, while you’re at it, why don’t you call up Chris Trilcek? You were paired up for that final presentation in world history freshman year. Bet he’d be a hoot-and-a-half in the sack, and I’m sure he’s free!”
“Oh, do you think I should?” you ask, staring off to the side of his frazzled face like you’re actually considering his teasing suggestion. “I mean it’d be nice to have options in case Jimmy isn’t up for it…”
Before Eddie has a chance to figure out if you’re being deliberately obtuse again, you’re up, leaving him to stare at the empty space across the table as you rifle through the junk-drawer in his kitchen.
Inside the deep drawer, stray batteries and an impressive rubber band ball roll about as you dig through a shocking amount of take-out menus. Once you find what you’re looking for, you make your way back to Eddie, plopping onto your chair, letting the item drop from your hands and onto the table with a loud thump.
Quickly, you split the phone book open, flipping through the flimsy pages to get to the ‘R’ section.
“What the f—”
Eddie shakes his head wildly, slamming his hand down on the binding of the book before he drags it to him and away from you—away from your deft, searching fingers.
“Hey!”
You reach across the table to pull the White Pages back, but before you can get your hands on it, he shoves the book off the surface like an attention-seeking cat. It goes flying, falling to the floor of the trailer with a loud, hollow thud.
“Hey! I need that, asshole!” you yell, vexation turning your tone shrill.
You stare into his eyes for a moment, annoyance cooking your insides like a stew as you’re met with utter indifference and what looks to be a hint of smugness. You’re going to kill him.
Stuck in another stand-off, neither of you move until you make the mistake of glancing at the ground, noting the landing spot of the heavy book, splayed out—frail pages folding under the weight of itself in haphazard creases. Eddie follows your gaze and that’s all it took to give away your next move.
In a flash, you turn, bending down, and reaching to the floor. Eddie matches your hasty movements as you both tumble out of your seats, trying to beat the other to the book. The very tips of your fingers brush the laminated cover when he lurches forward, pushing the book out of your grasp once more.
“Ugh!” you shriek as you scramble toward it, at an advantage because, though he got it away from you in that split-second, he still pushed it to your side of the room—further away from him. You feel a brush of wind against your bare skin as he swipes at your ankle, trying to catch the limb to drag you back to him, but you’re too quick. You get a hold of the book and stand up, rushing over to the yellow landline by the door.
“Fuck!” he shouts, clambering after you. The noises of you vigorously flipping through the pages and the click of the phone coming off the hook only seem to add to his panicked fervor.
Eddie comes to an abrupt stop behind you, his body nudging you closer to the wall with his nearly-uncontrolled speed. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, his chest warms your back as he breathes heavy.
Right as you’re about to start typing in the number you found for the Roystons, the phone lodged between your ear and shoulder disappears—yanked free, and slammed back onto the hook by a large, ringed hand.
Another annoyed groan tears from your throat as you feel his body loom ever-closer behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you turn away from his right hand—the one that guards the phone—to protect your precious White Pages. But it doesn’t work—
His left hand—the one you hadn’t noticed was resting on your hip—ambushes you from the other side.
Quickly, Eddie firmly presses the pads of his spread fingers onto the thin page you were reading from, and balls his hand into a tight fist, effectively ripping the delicate paper from the book, trapping it beneath his iron grip. In a fit of rage, you whirl around, leveling him with a sharp glare.
He backs away from you, fist still closed around the paper, shielding it from your inevitable reach. Slamming the book onto the side table beneath the phone, you march toward him.
“Eddie, what the fuck?” you yell, matching his retreating steps with your confident stride. When he runs out of space, you corner him against the far wall and the couch, zeroing in on his fist.
Eddie lifts his hand high above his head, fully aware of how silly this game of life-or-death keep-away is. But he’ll be damned if you get that fucking phone number.
As you reach for the crumpled paper, he uses his body to block you—leaning back when you lean forward, stretching and giving you more of his body to reach over. You grunt and mutter obscenities at him, balancing on your tip-toes, but nothing helps. You can’t reach it. He’s never been more overjoyed at his lanky stature than in this moment—
Giggles freely escape his grinning mouth while he watches laser-sharp focus and irritation mar your face as you shove him, trying to get him to break and finally give you the page. He’d never admit it to you because you’d probably junk-punch him—especially right now—but he’s loving the way you’re all over him.
Your touch is everywhere as you reach and pry for the bane of his existence. Not to mention you smell amazing. He has to stop himself from curling into your roving hands, but he must remain sturdy. For both of your sakes.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re tall enough to ride this ride,” he goads, utterly drunk on you.
You let out the loudest groan he’s ever heard from you, leading him to snicker some more. But he soon regrets his overconfident teasing when you give up on aiming directly for his hand and instead start pawing at his arm.
A sharp chop to the inside of his elbow sends shockwaves of dull pain through his nervous system as you use your full body weight to pull down on his raised arm, now partially crumpled from your assault to his joint.
In a moment of desperation—your body hanging from his flexing bicep, slowly but surely bringing it to your level—Eddie shoves the ball of paper into his mouth and releases the tension in his arm, dropping it to his side. The sudden slack causes you to nearly fall over, but before you do, he wraps his arms around your waist, catching you.
Your irate features melt into a look of disgust as you squirm out of his arms.
“Ew! Egh! That’s so gross, Eddie!”
“Mmm, phone book,” he taunts through a mouthful of White Pages.
“You know, that was your phone book, right? You just lost yourself a whole two pages of R’s,” you say, raising a brow.
“Don’t care.”
His petulance is muffled by the crumpled paper in his mouth, and he can’t help but cringe at the taste. Paper. It just tastes like paper. But old.
Suddenly, he sidesteps your body and crosses the room, heading back to the kitchen to throw the page away. He can feel the thin material softening from his saliva and it’s making him want to scrub his mouth out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you watching him as he spits the wet slop into the garbage, sees the way you carefully step toward the phone again.
“Ugh, you’re a child.”
He pauses from scrubbing a towel over his tongue—attempting to clean any remaining pieces of paper from his mouth. “And you’re a brat.”
You huff at his declaration. “Am not!”
“Are too!” he rebuts, dropping the towel and coming out from around the counter.
“I’m just trying to tell you you’re gonna regret it! I’m on board with the ‘virginity is a concept’ train—hell, I’m the conductor! My point is, sure, it’s a concept, but it’s a concept with feelings attached to it. And feelings get all confusing and…feelings-y,” he rushes out, frustrated at how he can never find the right words when you’re around. “You might not believe it now, but if you go through with this, you’re gonna feel pretty shitty afterwards.”
He ends his spiel by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter, staring at you. He’s said his piece.
You watch him for a moment, then—
“Great. Thank you for the wisdom, Gandalf. But how ‘bout you go share that with someone who cares? I’ve got a ‘T’ name to call.”
You turn around, pick up the phonebook once more, and flip through a few chunks of pages to get to the right section.
Eddie lets out a loud, defeated sigh as he lets his arms drop to his sides. “You’re really not gonna give this up?”
Scoffing, you shoot him a glare from across the room before looking back down at the list of names. “Exactly which part of ‘I’m gonna lose my virginity tonight’ did you not understand?”
He sucks his teeth as he watches your finger find Chris’s last name, your hand already reaching for the phone.
Fuck it—
“Fine. If you really wanna lose it to someone, and you don’t care who, then lose it to me,” he shrugs, crossing his arms again.
He glances away from your now-still figure, your shoulders so high, they’re nearly up to your ears.
Forcing a level of indifference he’s never quite been capable of—especially not when it comes to you—he stares downward, as if the well-worn carpet beneath his feet could ever be more interesting than the woman whose second home is his subconscious.
You’re pretty sure you can hear the fibers unfurling beneath his shifting feet. Or maybe it’s your feet. Maybe it’s your heartbeat in your ears, not his. Everything is a little confusing and you can’t seem to look away from the wall. It feels like a safe place to rest your unseeing eyes.
Your arm aches and you retract it from where you were reaching for the phone—you hadn’t made it, you were half-way there when he said it.
Carefully, you turn your head to him, trying to figure out if this is some shitty joke he’s spouting just to piss you off or if he has well and truly lost it. But his face is devoid of any humor and he looks as sane as he ever did—which was never a lot, but no different to now.
More than anything, he looks almost vulnerable as he avoids your shocked gaze.
“What? Eddie—” you start, already exasperated because you’ve decided that, even though he appears to be completely serious, he must be joking, “if this is another way for you to try and–”
“It’s not.” He shrugs his shoulders again, finally meeting your eyes while shoving his hands into the back pockets of his ripped jeans. “You win. I capitulate to her majesty.”
You raise a brow at the medieval lilt and his waving bow to you, but before you get to reprimand him for the joke, he continues—
“If you’re gonna go have sex with someone you feel nothing for, then why not feel nothing for me?”
You almost want to laugh at his “foolproof” logic, but the familiar pain in your chest is accompanied by something else. Something almost warm. Like rays of sun fighting through cumulonimbus clouds.
Damp dirt, new leaves, and fertilizer.
He’s offering something you only ever dreamed of like it never crossed your mind.
Like it would mean nothing.
An agreement. A one-time deal. No strings attached; an easy fix to your problem.
But what if you want strings?
Does he want strings?
Strings do get messy when left untied. All the criss-cross feelings and knotted touches.
But it’s him—
“Eds—”
Like he’s been burned by your solemn tone, Eddie cuts you off in a hurry. “At least it’d be with someone you know. Like really know…. Someone who cares about you—about your experience.”
The fragility in his eyes makes you want to console him. To tell him you believe every word. That you’re sure he would be good to you.
Because he looks like him—
The soft, sweet man you saw all those years ago. The one you prayed to at night like a deity, asking for a few more seconds of his hand on your lower back, or more moments of just you and him. More laughter, more affection, more time. More, more, more.
All the little things that molded you into a reverent devotee in the first place.
Asking for every small thing to bolster your faith.
And now, he’s finally offering something much larger.
Reaching for you with a divine gift.
How could you possibly say no?
Criss-cross feelings, you remind yourself.
Strings to tie your heart down, could be useful—
Fuck it.
Slowly, you set the phone book down and make your way over to his spot against the kitchen counter. Stopping right in front of him, you look up with hesitant curiosity.
You’ve never really been this close to him. Not with this much on the table.
Mindlessly—shamelessly—you glance at his lips before succumbing to the cloudy glint in his eyes, the darkness that falls like a veil over his once-lively irises.
There’s something there, you find.
Something else that swirls deep in the molten shade of brown.
Something you want to know more about.
Your hands hang uselessly below you, resting against your body as you nervously fiddle with your fingers. The pointed tip of your tongue glides along the soft skin of your lips, leaving your mouth parted—like a siren call to his.
You couldn’t be any closer to him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you feel the soft puffs of air from his wanton mouth. But you won’t move anymore.
You leave yourself for him. He can have you if he wants.
A sacrifice.
Eddie’s eyes rove over your face, looking down at the way you’re almost reaching for him, but it’s as if you won’t allow the touch. Won’t allow the crossing of some imaginary barrier you’ve built.
Steadily, he lifts his hands—crosses the line—trailing his fingers up your neck like a ghost of a touch, until he settles his gentle grip on either side of your head. Stealing a moment from Time itself—just a second, a blip, like he’s plucking a ripe berry to savor in the thousand milliseconds he’s stolen—he smooths his thumbs over your temples, granting himself the selfish gift of feeling you.
His eyes consume all, admiring the dainty flutter of your mascara-blackened lashes, the softness of your skin—he marvels at the feeling.
Simmering from the heat of your body, he tries to memorize all your prettiest features, seen through an advantage he’s never had before. To be this close. To never be again.
He’s going to make it worth his while. He has to.
A lowly victim to your gravitational pull, he finds himself leaning toward you, like light toward a collapsing star. And there’s no escaping you, not when you so easily warp the fabric of his being with frightening ease.
Loud in his straining ears, he hears the slight hitch in your breath when he nearly brushes his lips with yours, but he loses himself before he can truly feel you. Instead, he plants a cowardly, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth.
Simply not enough, but more than he could have ever dreamed of getting. Another bittersweet paradox.
“D’you want this?”
He’s so quiet, but he can feel the way you shudder against him. The way you feel him, his words mumbled devoutly into your skin.
“I wanna lose my virginity,” you whisper confidently, like it’s the only thing you're absolutely certain of.
Eddie tries to fight the way his face falls, but he can’t seem to manage it when your words serve as a reminder of how little this all matters to you. Or, at least, how little you care who you lose it to.
But, ever-observant, you notice, and he catches the worry as soon as it draws your brows together.
“T-To you…” you amend. “Can I?”
The frail uncertainty in your voice feeds the fire deep in Eddie’s gut, like bone-dry wood being thrown into the hearth on a years-long winter night.
The flames, once dim and hopeless, time-weathered and starving, roar back to life.
Subtly, he nods, relishing the way you relax. Bound to your request, he allows his palms to glide down your form, taking his time to explore the new terrain until he grabs ahold of your soft hands.
Side stepping your body, he gently pulls you to his room. His backwards strides are confident—a sign of comfortability in the home he’d call yours, just the same as he’d call it his. After all, these walls have seen nearly every iteration of his care for you. From acquaintances to friends to—
Neither of you speak as he guides you around his frame—you, now in front of him, and him, leaning his weight against the bedroom door until it clicks shut.
Wayne is on a fishing trip for the weekend with some buddies from the plant, but he’s not particularly known for remembering to pack everything, and Eddie is keen on protecting your modesty and ensuring your comfort. Like you deserve. Like he knows he can—better than anyone.
He drops one hand from yours only to lock the door. Once he’s certain there will be no interruptions, he walks you back toward the bed until you’re standing right in front of it.
Dropping your other hand, he reaches up and gently smooths the hair near your temple again, addicted to the way your eyes flutter. His hands slide down your figure until he’s toying with the hem of your t-shirt—his t-shirt, the one you stole in tenth grade and never gave back.
His selfishness befriends the possessive fiend he fights back daily, because you’re moving through the world marked by him. And in this moment, Eddie wonders if you really could have let another man touch you in the shirt that whispers his name against your soft skin.
Heat thrums just below your surface, boiling and bubbling, nearly spilling over when you feel him tugging at your shirt, silently asking for permission. His hands wait patiently.
You don’t respond. Don’t know how to speak. Nerves rattle against your ribcage. Or maybe it’s your heart testing its prison, looking for a way out as it pounds and pounds and pounds—
“Can I take this off?”
His low mutter—almost a monosyllabic slur of sound—registers a second later in your hazy brain. You nod, forcing your lungs to expand, but nearly choke at the faint scent of his cologne.
It’s familiar. Piercing, clean, and rich—
You remember the day he got it. When he dragged you to the mall, forcing you to smell every option. He bought the one you liked the most. Even when he wasn’t too sure about it. You remember warning him about the price tag, about how he should pick one he really likes if he’s going to splurge on it. But he wouldn’t hear it—
“Words.”
A confused hum creeps up your throat as you greedily bask in his scent, feeling the world move in slow motion around you. His unending touch carves canyon-like ripples into the tissue of your mind.
When you manage to focus on his eyes, there’s a level of fondness in them that has you grabbing onto his wrist for support.
“Wanna hear your words, sweetheart. Y’gotta tell me what you want.”
Understanding washes over you like cool hose water on a hot summer day. Quickly, you open your mouth to ask him—no, beg him—to undress you, but before a single word can crawl out from between your parted lips, you feel his warm fingers dancing along the delicate skin of your waist, leaving a wave of goosebumps in their wake.
Your breath catches, and you shudder because he’s both hot and cold—
His attention warms you; his touch leaves you shivering from a chill that is so frigid it begins to manipulate your frayed nerves, tricking you into feeling the burn as if it were born from the bluest flame and not the calloused hands of your best friend—
“I— I, um…”
You shake your head as you try to remember what you were about to say before the words ran away from you and into his arms, stealing whatever desperate sentiment you meant to express. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to figure it out, to fill in the blanks—like a cipher missing its key.
His thumbs are drawing little shapes into the soft skin beneath your shirt, aiding and abetting the thieving words. The unfamiliar affection makes your abdomen twitch and your core pulse with need.
Before you get the chance to draw up some semblance of sanity, Eddie leans into you, effectively shrinking your entire world to just him. He’s everything you feel, everything you smell, everything you see, everything you touch, everything you…want to taste.
You so desperately want to know what flavor his kisses are—
Bitter smoke from the habit he can never quite kick? Malt sweetness from the beer he loves to drink? Cool mint from the gum he always carries around?
Would you grow ravenous at the first hint of Marlboro Reds? Would you crumble under the eager pressure of his lager-soaked tongue? Would your mouth water at the lingering scent of menthol on his breath?
You’re trapped in his thrall the second he closes in on your space. His head tips to the side, running his lips along your warm cheeks, your jaw. You shiver at the soft brush of his mouth—an action you’re painfully aware is not meant to be shared among friends. No, this kind of touch is reserved for lovers only—
“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to touch you? Want me to hold you?” he murmurs, heavy gaze locked on the way your lips part, and you quietly pant. Your head bobs toward his mouth, body leaning into his arms, drawn to the heat of him.
You hear the sharp intake of breath, feel his nose nuzzling your hair. Then, as if fighting for control, his hands flex, only to grab onto your hips and drag you tight against him, like he lost the battle. Or maybe he surrendered. The way he hangs over you, almost relieved at the closeness leads you to believe it’s the latter.
Emboldened by his body against yours—all growing hardness and twitching muscles—your hands paw at his abdomen, his waist, kneading and pulling him impossibly closer.
“What do you want, baby?”
You bite back a whimper at the new endearment.
Because that’s reserved for lovers too—
“I want…W-Wan’ you. I wanna be…be with you,” you mumble breathlessly, mindlessly.
In a huff of impatience, he pulls your top over your head. You hear the way he swallows back a groan and you wish he wouldn’t have.
With expert dexterity, he removes your bra, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. You practically bloom under his attention—his wide, hungry eyes, his almost pained rasp of humming appreciation.
His hands slide up the sides of your body, featherlight fingers following the length of your ribs, brushing inward as he traces the skin just below the curve of your breasts.
Your wandering hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt before slipping under the material, flexing and groping at his toned abdomen. You pull at his narrow waist, a wordless plea for him to touch you more.
But he seems uninterested in your needy silence and you remember his instructions—
“Eddie, please. Please, touch me. I need you…. Wanna feel you.”
“Whatever you want,” he agrees, nodding.
Electricity prickles and dances across your skin like invisible lightning as he finally slides his hands over your sensitive breasts. Gently kneading the weight, he smooths his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. You gasp at the sensation, the way it directly triggers the heat twisting and turning low in your core with a quickness you’re not accustomed to.
Leaning down, Eddie attacks your jaw and neck with greedy, open-mouthed kisses. His nose nudges you zealously, like he’s devouring your delicate flesh and still aching for more, so you tilt your head away, eager to provide.
You tug his shirt up his body, but quickly realize you’ll need him to break away from your neck to get the material over his head. You lightly push on his abdomen, and he begrudgingly stops his assault, understanding what you’re looking for.
With a level of speed you’ve never once seen him use, he peels his shirt off, balls it up, and blindly tosses it somewhere in the corner of the room.
Unabashedly, you ogle his body in a way you’ve never allowed yourself before. Your heavy-lidded gaze is first drawn to the pick hanging just below his collarbones, sitting perfectly against his pale skin. Then, your eyes drop, admiring the tattoos that litter the expanse of his chest.
You’ve only ever seen them a few times—mostly at the Hawkins pool on hot summer days, and once when you walked in on him changing. You remember how you couldn’t get the image out of your mind. The contrast, the searing visage of inky-black against milky-white, pressed into skin like a pretty decoration meant to be admired.
And like a set path guided by nothing but desire, your eyes track down, down, down his body—all heat and hardness. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of the tuft of coarse hair trailing from his navel to whatever lies beyond the waistband of his jeans.
Whatever lies—
But you already have an idea; you feel him pulsing against your stomach, you felt him twitch when you whimpered moments ago.
All heat and hardness.
Drawing you from your trance, Eddie’s deft fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts, making quick work of the fastenings and dragging the material down your legs. He drops to his knees, peering up at you with something in his eyes so…raw that it has you grabbing onto him, your balance escaping you.
With your hands on his strong shoulders, you watch with rapt attention as he removes your shoes and socks, then he gently cups one ankle, lifting it and helping you out of the leg of your shorts before doing the same to the other. His touch is so soft—so gentle—you think you might cry.
Barely anything has happened yet and he’s taking such good care of you. You shudder to think how this would have gone had you called up Jimmy or Chris.
Nobody could compare to Eddie.
Feeling weightless, heavy, high, and stone-cold sober all at once, you meet his eyes.
“You look…” he pauses, swallowing harshly, “you’re so beautiful.”
Your ears ring at the hidden sentiment between those three words. A million extra meanings you can’t catch, but you heard them like a whisper in the wind—real and slipping through your fingers the moment his hungry lips grace your skin once more.
Large hands squeeze the backs of your thighs, and you feel the tickling brush of his frizzy curls against your bare legs.
Wet, searing kisses travel upward, his hands slide in tandem with the needy affection. He holds you with a type of reverence you couldn’t have foreseen—as if you could have ever foreseen this. He moves along your body like you’re allowing him, not like he’s the one doing you a favor.
You sigh when you feel the heat of his breath over the place you need him most. He’s stopped at the apex of your thighs, panting like a desperate man, blocked by a flimsy slip of fabric that you’re certain he could shred to pieces with the way his eyes have darkened.
“C-Can I?” His strained voice breaks through the music in the room, disrupting the melody of syncopating gasps and pants.
It feels like the world is moving as you stay perfectly still, staring down at him, his arms wrapped around your legs, fingers greedily curling in the waistband of your panties. You find yourself thankful for his steady, obedient grip.
Underneath his wanton gaze, you feel the weight of roles reversed. It’s like it’s his first time, the way he’s looking up at you like your permission will fix him. Your touch will mend something broken.
With wide eyes and parted lips, you nod. “Y-Yes. Please, Eddie.”
A sound torn from deep within his chest rumbles out, reverberating around the room, bouncing off of every wall and hitting you like a spell. Low, where his breaths warm you, a fiery enchantment unfurls in volant tendrils like ink in water.
Suddenly, Eddie drags the thin material down from around your hips, another appreciative groan rips from his throat as he watches the gusset of your panties fall last, stuck to your wet folds. A delicate string of arousal clings to the fabric, unable to part from it.
You watch his efforts slow, his lids grow heavy like he can’t control the need. Then, he presses his face between your thighs, the very faint graze of his tongue leaves you trembling.
With one targeted swipe, Eddie’s tongue snaps the silky string, catching what he can with overwhelming zeal.
“Want more,” he mumbles into your heat. “Sweets…”
“Yes,” you interrupt, already drowning in desperation. “Need you—”
He growls and pulls your panties the rest of the way down your legs before his large hand lifts one of your thighs to sit on his shoulder, allowing him easier access to your soaked core. He hums brokenly—a lewd sound of appreciation.
The second he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping folds, your gasps devolve into messy moans, but the sound only seems to encourage him more. With foreign ferocity, he devours you.
“Oh, god, Eddie,” you mewl, hips twitching against his face, hands threading through his fluffy hair for balance.
Vibrations from his responding groan move through you, tearing you apart until you’re nothing but wanton shreds. Your knees almost buckle beneath you, but he presses into you. Harder. More persistent. The force sends you falling backward onto the bed, your hands hurry to break your soft descent.
Your hips hang off the edge of the mattress—one foot still planted on the ground, the other dangling over Eddie’s right shoulder. His hands grope and knead the fat of your thighs as his tongue eagerly laps up your arousal like a man starved. Your arms give out from under you, sending your back barreling down to the untucked sheets on his mattress.
You’re panting and burning up; the heat of his breath meets the warmth of your folds, creating a smoldering furnace where his mouth dances over you. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and one you think no other man could ever replicate.
Your hips react ardently to every twist and flick of his tongue, the talented muscle toying with you until you’re shaking and whining and bucking against his mouth for more.
The moment you feel the tip of his tongue draw tight circles around your swollen clit, your head flies back in ecstasy. Your hands wander the space around you for something to grab, first, trailing over your breasts with a teasing squeeze before reaching for the sheets beside you. But it’s not enough. The material is so thin, you can’t get the grip you need.
Like he can sense the desperate energy rolling off of you in tidal waves—like he knows the feeling—Eddie grabs your hands, momentarily sacrificing his fragile skin to your clawing, pressing, sinking, crushing—
Your thoughts are plucked from somewhere high in the ether and placed back into your head the moment you feel his dragging touch, then, softness. Peering down the winding, curving terrain of your body, you meet his dark eyes, see the way he’s moved your restless hands into his hair.
The whine falling past your lips is drowned out by his aching growl deep within your wet folds. He tightens his grip around your hands before letting go, encouraging you to hold onto him—to use him.
And you do.
You tug him closer, grinding your core against his mouth until you arch at the dull pressure of his tongue breaching your entrance, pressing into you powerfully, exploring untouched territory you wish could be marred by his ministrations. Like a token to memorialize this moment in time. Something that says you’re his—
Quickly, your hips start to lose their rhythm against his face, recklessly twitching and squirming with every break he takes from fucking you to flicking your clit with searing precision.
“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna— Please, Eds, I—”
Not even bothering to pull away, he moans his pleas right into your pussy. “Give it to me, baby. Mmmph, give it to me, sweets. Taste so fuckin’ good—”
The tone he’s using, the way he pauses after every other word to slurp and lap at your quivering folds, almost makes it feel like he’s not even talking to you. Or maybe not just you. But it’s like he’s speaking directly to your weeping cunt, pleading for more—more arousal to devour, more fluttering pulses to tickle his tongue.
Your brows contort in pleasure as tears prick at your waterline—almost there, almost there.
Suddenly, you miss the pressure of his mouth for a split-second while you hear a sucking sound, then your chest wracks with desperate sobs as you feel him slip a single finger inside you.
“Oh, god! Oh, fuck!”
His other hand holds your hips down, blunt nails sinking deeper into the surface of your skin as electricity speeds along a high-strung coil—crackling and tight—just below his large palm. But the coil soon snaps when he starts to drag his long, thick finger against your velvety walls, thrusting in and out—gentle yet firm in his actions.
“Eddie, Eddie, oh, fuck!”
Unmade and raw, all you can do is babble incoherent whines and pleas as he teases you even past your orgasm, his tongue working your clit until it throbs to the beat of your racing heart.
When your legs start shaking from overstimulation, you finally gather enough strength to push on his head—appealing for mercy.
Like he’s not ready to part from you just yet, Eddie doesn’t yield to your push, though he does begrudgingly grant you reprieve. But he stays between your legs, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s not just breathing deeply to catch his breath. The way he inches infinitesimally closer, the way he won’t let your thighs close—it’s like he’s reveling in your heady scent—
“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum. Squeezin’ my finger so hard. God, this was just one, baby,” he boasts, utter glee defiling his already dirty words.
You whimper. One finger, and you felt so full.
In response, he garnishes your twitching pelvis with wet, sloppy kisses, like he’s searing a promise into your skin—
His hands do their best to hold your hips down, allowing him to take a tour of the tops of your thighs, the divot where your folds meet your legs, your mound—soaked and slobbered on by his overzealous mouth.
Peering down your body, open-mouthed and desperate, you nearly mewl at the way his eyes are glazed over. He looks drunk on the taste of you. Completely and utterly wasted. What’s more, his face is covered in you.
All the way up to his nose, his skin shimmers in the light, glistening with your juices. But he doesn’t seem ashamed of the indecent display. Instead, he seems proud. Proud to wear you on him—like a badge of honor.
“Eddie, please. I want more,” you whine, breathless from the come-down.
“Pretty girl,” he purrs, nuzzling your thigh, “so desperate. Am I turning you to the dark side already?”
You shudder at his smug grin, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about his overly-inflated ego. Your mind is mush, and all you can think is his name prefaced by the dangerous word “my.”
“Please,” you mewl.
His grin widens, and you note the hunger no longer hidden in the dark brown of his irises. Because he’s not aiming for decency anymore. Not in the way he’s eyeing you like you’re a meal and he’s famished, and not in the way his words are rife with untapped desire.
“Alright, pretty.” He pats your thigh before backing away from you. “Up on the bed.”
It’s a soft order. A gentle command as he grabs your forearms and helps you scoot your hips all the way onto the mattress before letting go, allowing you to shuffle to the top of the bed.
Once your head hits the pillow, he watches you settle into place, shoving the untucked sheets out from beneath you and off to the side. Without taking his eyes off of your movements, he works to remove his jeans, shoving them down his legs, along with his boxers.
Now that your moans have ceased, the room is so quiet, he can hear your sharp intake of breath when his hard cock bobs free from its constraints. He bites his lip at the subtle shock shifting across your face. It’s flattering, but more than anything, he’s leaking at the thought of fitting inside you.
“That’s— You’re—”
Every one of your sentences seems to die on the first word, and he watches your thighs clench as your focus stays on his thick length.
Heat warms Eddie’s cheeks as he tries to stop the smile from overtaking his face. He shouldn’t be like this—he should be calm, cool, and collected, but clearly exceeding your expectations has him feeling a myriad of things. Giddy, confident, smug…eager.
Mindlessly, he wipes a hand down the lower half of his face, gathering your slick arousal on his palm, then collects the precum pouring from his ruddy tip, and spreads the combination of juices over the expanse of his thick cock. He grants himself a firm, teasing squeeze as he steps toward you, but quickly detours to the bedside table to rifle through the top drawer.
“I’ll make sure it feels good, don’t worry. You’re gonna help me with that,” he says lowly, then stills his searching hands as he looks to you for a nod of agreement. When you give it to him, he smiles fondly. “Good girl.”
A quiet huff of amusement escapes him when he hears your strained whimper—the way you so obviously try to keep yourself quiet, but can’t help it.
He’s starting to catch onto what you like. How you like to be spoken to. And your responses are addicting. The clench of your thighs, the pulse of your walls. The need that crawls up your throat like it’s fighting its way out of you.
He desperately wants to know what else his words can elicit. Or maybe even try something more than his words—
His body warms as he wonders what you’ll sound like when you’re wrapped around him. His mind conjures its best guess at the noises you’ll make when his thrusts knock the air out of you, like sweet rasping melodies meant to torture him.
He wants to know just how shrill your cries will get when you’re nearly there, searching for just a little bit more.
But most of all he wants to hear the sweet words that will slip past your loose lips, your mind too cockdrunk to stop the affection you’ll share. The secrets you’ll spill. God, he’s aching to hear you.
If he could, he’d lock you in his room and run experiments on you for a week straight—just to find out what makes you tick. He’d take you apart piece-by-pretty-piece, just to put you back together again. He’d hold you tight and play with you passionately, like you were his favorite toy.
His.
Drawn from his thoughts by your shifting body, his attention diverts to the box of condoms he manages to find deep in his bedside drawer. He tears at the paperboard and pulls one out, showing you the foil packet before ripping it open—
“Safe sex,” he declares, sliding the oily-feeling latex out of the wrapper.
His wry smile widens to a goofy grin when you giggle at his words, easing the tension.
“Stupid,” you mutter, knocking your shin against the side of his thigh as he hovers near the head of the bed, putting the condom on.
Once he’s done, he crumples the wrapper in his hand, glancing over at you before throwing it on the cluttered surface of the nightstand. “You sure you wanna do this?”
You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yes, Eddie. You already ate me out.”
That leaves him frowning—
“Sweetheart, just because we did that doesn’t mean you have to continue. We can be done. Nothing more needs to happen if you don’t want it to.”
You remain silent, only staring up at him with so much…something…in your gaze, it makes him want to fold in on himself like the discarded foil. And he thought the ease with which you crossed his wires was bad—
“I know,” you mutter softly. “But I want to. With you. Will you…. Will you take care of me?”
Eddie’s breath hitches, and there’s a stinging feeling behind his eyes—one he knows all too well.
You sound so small, so nervous. As if he could ever deny you something that was meant to be yours. His care. His devotion.
“‘Course I will.”
He nods one too many times, entranced by the way you seem so delicate under his watchful eyes.
Delicate because you’re asking him to take care. In the way he’ll touch you. The way he’ll guide you. The way he’ll—
Slowly, he steps closer. You scoot to the side, making room for him to knee his way onto the bed.
His hands brush your ankles, featherlight affection smoothing up your legs, stopping at your knees. With the utmost reverence, he gently parts them, settling between your thighs.
“You look so pretty like this. I mean…you look— Well, you look…pretty all the time,” he nervously amends, eyes flitting over your face, but never any lower.
He wants you to know he means you. You’re pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Not because you have a gorgeous body, but because you are gorgeous.
You shift beneath him, avoiding his gaze and, instead, focusing on pulling him to you. Softly. Needily.
He follows your guidance, leaning over you until his hands land beside your head. And just like before, he’s memorizing the moment. Every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every quiet breath from your pleasure-bitten lips.
Below, you glance to the side, find his wrists, and wrap your hands around each one, as if grounding yourself in his touch. Only then—when his pulse beats wildly against your fingers—do you meet his eyes.
Wandering palms—soft and unfamiliar in their affection—travel the length of his arms, pausing over black ink, then continuing up until they reach his biceps. He shivers as you hum, squeezing the corded muscles that lay twitching restlessly beneath heated flesh.
“You’re pretty, too,” you murmur, sliding your palms back down and rubbing at his wrists.
Eddie chuckles, then swallows. “No, I’m not.”
The subtle twitch of your brows, the split-second peek at the budding frown that says you disagree has him beating you to your rebuttal—
“Not like you.”
His heart leaps in his chest as your hands suddenly drag his face to yours, like you’re about to kiss him with overwhelming need. But you don’t complete the motion.
And neither does he.
Because he’s not sure he can come back from all of this if he kisses you.
If you allow him to have you in that way—
He’s not sure he’s strong enough. Not enough to feel you like that, to close his eyes and claim your lips like they belong to him, and then go about his life like he never felt it. The beat of your heart against his, pounding in nerves and want. The truthful desire dancing from your mouth to his.
He couldn’t go back to living a lie. To live like he doesn’t think about you every single day. Like he doesn’t wonder what you’re doing when you’re not with him. Like he doesn’t do the most mundane shit and spends the whole time thinking about how much better it would be to do it with you.
So he doesn’t kiss you. He can’t. Not when you’re not his to keep.
Instead, he leaves a delicate, chaste brush of an almost-kiss to the corner of your mouth. Again.
Another cop-out from a coward.
You struggle to contain your disappointment, resigning yourself to the fantasy in your head. The imagined taste of his tongue tangling with yours. And with wanton hands, you reach for his hips, subtly pulling him closer.
“Need you,” you mutter, hearing the hitch of his breath as you whisper the plea against his mouth.
“Fuck— Okay.”
You watch as he reaches for his length. Taking a strong grip, he guides the thick tip along your slick folds, gathering your wetness.
The raw combination of moan and a sigh leaves your lips—an accidental slip portraying just how much you’re aching for him.
“It’s gonna feel a little weird, like…pressure. Okay? But you gotta let me know if it hurts, sweets, you hear me?”
Your fluttering eyes, panting mouth, and rolling hips aren’t enough of a response, apparently, because his voice grows firm.
“Hey, pretty girl, you with me?”
“Mhm,” you whine, nodding your head.
“What did I tell you?” he asks, smoothing a thumb down your temple before tapping three times.
“Um, you— you said, um, if it hurts, I'll tell you.”
“Good girl.”
His muttered praise leaves you mewling, inching your hips closer to him, looking for more—yearning for it.
Your mind devolves into pure static as he presses his thick tip into you slowly. Through bleary eyes, you see his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip, like he’s fighting to maintain his composure. For a moment, you wonder what it must look like from his point of view—the way your folds open up to him, welcoming the intrusion, ready to wrap around him in a vice grip.
“Oh, god. Mmm.”
Your features crumble at the sensation of dull pressure—exactly what he warned you about. It doesn’t hurt, it just leaves you wanting more, like you’ll find reprieve once he’s fully inside you.
“How you doin’, baby? Need a break?” he rasps, kneading your thigh gently.
“Need more.”
“Fuck, y’want more? Wanna feel more o’ me?”
You whimper and nod, your heart racing as his slurred words drag you down into the flaming pit of desire.
Your mouth parts in a silent gasp when you feel him press deeper inside of you, his stiff length sliding past your walls. Your ribs contract and expand in raucous breaths the moment you see just how much of him is left. He’s just barely got the tip in—
As your gaze creeps up his body, you realize Eddie hasn’t looked down once, not to where you’re connected. You wonder if it’s self-preservation or if maybe it’s part of his care for you. The way he watches your face intently, like he’s monitoring every slight change in expression leads you to believe it’s the latter. Probably both, really.
But you’re thankful he’s looking, because he immediately notices when the pinch in your brows shifts from pleasure to a wince of discomfort.
His hand is on your face in a second, smoothing the crease between your brows and petting your hair soothingly.
“Baby, you okay? Is it too much? You feelin’ pain?”
You shake your head stubbornly, sucking in a deep breath, leaving your mouth open and panting as your gaze stays glued to the sight of him inside of you. You notice it’s not just the tip, he also gets impossibly thicker through the middle of his length, and you’re sure that’s what you’re feeling now—
“Hey, look at me.” His thumb catches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “I can make you feel good, but I need you to help me out. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Something flashes in the molten color of his irises and he leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek. You practically preen as he grants you a sweet kiss, and part of you—the rotted, selfish part—wonders if feigning pain would allow you to finally taste him properly, all smoky mint and dancing tongues—
“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he implores.
“‘S just a pinch, ‘s just— It’s fine,” you placate, rubbing your hands gingerly down his sides.
“Alright, we’re gonna wait here, and you tell me when I can move, or if you wanna stop. But in the meantime, try to relax all your muscles. Sometimes we get all tense, even when we don’t mean to.”
You nod hesitantly, taking a few more deep breaths, making a conscious effort to drop your shoulders and let your muscles rest. After a full minute of breathing, resting, and leaning into his soft palm on your warm cheek, you nod again.
“Okay, you…you can move now.”
But he doesn’t. Not yet. As if trying to discern the truth, Eddie just studies you for a moment. Then he moves, inching further into you.
When your jaw goes slack at the feeling of fullness, you hear a rumble of sound, like a groan that’s been cut off too early, and you have half a mind to ask him if he needs a break. But before you get the chance, your words catch in your throat as he rests lower on you.
“Pretty girl,” he coos, his hot breath tickling your ear, leaving your cunt pulsing with need.
Then a hiss—the kind that sounds like it’s bordering on pain, but is only one degree away from pleasure—escapes his lips, and you realize just how tightly you were squeezing him.
Then, suddenly, he bottoms out, the firm, jolting movement forcing all air from your lungs.
“Oh, good girl,” he huffs out, voice strained. “You’re doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. How’s it feel, sweets? Think you like it? Wan’ more?”
Struggling to turn pitiful mewls into actual words, you nod your head fervently, reaching down to press your palms against his hips. “Mmm, wan’ more. Please, Eddie.”
For the first time, he glances down, and you hear him choke at the sight. Electricity prickles across your delicate skin, and the sting of your teeth sinking into your lip does nothing to disrupt your giddy hum as you try to push him away.
In the dark shade of his eyes, you can tell he recognizes your movement as a very desperate, unsuccessful attempt at getting him to pull out—to chamber a thrust. And he seems utterly amused—
“Oh, baby, did you want something? You wanna do the work? Help me out like a good girl?”
Something deeply raw and needy peels from your throat in response, and you silently rejoice when he pulls back, aiding your efforts. Unfortunately, it’s only a couple inches because—to your burgeoning frustration—he’s following your guidance, and your arms don’t reach nearly as far as you need.
But you’ll take anything right now; desperation is cooking your nerves and boiling your insides.
So you sink your nails into his hips and pull him back to you with a sudden yank.
Your mouth drops open at his shallow thrust, unintelligible noises of debauched need tumble past your parted lips.
Clawing at his soft skin, you struggle to set up another thrust. “Please, please— I need more.”
“More? But you’re doin’ so well all by yourself,” he condescends, eyes twinkling with hunger as he lets you push and pull him. “Look at you go, pretty girl. Makin’ yourself feel so good. What an independent little woman.”
His teasing shakes you to your core because it’s so him. It’s your best friend, just in a new scenario with unfettered access to your body and pleasure. God, you’ve allowed him too much power—
“Eddie! Please! I’m— I need it. I need you…”
Amusement washes from his face and you pout as he pauses, as if admiring a view. Then he ducks down.
“Whatever the princess wishes,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing against the heated skin of your cheek, syrupy sweet affection dripping from every word. Gently, he pulls out, nearly all the way.
The mewl that was halfway out of your mouth catches like a lock clicking into place. A loud, desperate cry comes out in its stead—a reckless, candid response to the deep gut-punching thrusts barreling into you. They’re not hard, not rough, but firm. Controlled. Resolute.
Like he wants you to feel it. Feel him.
You chase your breath in his rutting hips, surrendering to the affection he’s searing into you with every pass of his stiff length against your pulsing walls.
Red streaks paint his milky-white skin, blooming beneath your hurried hands like a casualty of your desire. Curses, groans, and harsh gasps fall from his slackened jaw. Heat bubbles deep in your core, rivaling the warmth of the salacious words he whispers into your flesh.
“Shit, you feel so good, sweets— Oh, god, wan’ you to be— Fuck!”
Tears flood your waterline as you stare at the ceiling, features permanently fixed in shattered pleasure. Your mind struggles to hold onto the hitch in his breath, the unfinished sentence you’re dying to hear. But the sensations are overwhelming. Every nerve in your body is sparking—all livewires itching to explode.
All you can say is his name, all you can feel is him, and yet, it’s still not enough—
“Eddie, n-need m-more, ple—aseee!”
“Ah, fuck, baby, I know. I got you—”
Eddie glides his tongue over the pad of his thumb before reaching between your legs and circling your swollen clit.
And suddenly, it’s like lightning has struck the furnace deep in your core, shooting high voltage shocks up your body until you grow so hot you’re almost cold. A sensation of fullness takes over, like you’re mere seconds from bursting.
Delirious with passion, your hand flies down to stop his movements—to stop what you know is coming.
“H-Hold on, I— Eddie, I need to— I wanna feel you! Please, please, let me—”
Your needy sobs have him slowing down until he stills inside of you, chest heaving and damp with sweat.
“What— You can feel me. Aren’t you feelin’ me, sweets?” He reaches his hand up to the space just below your navel, pressing in only slightly.
You whine from the pressure, and your cunt flutters around him in rhythmic pulses like it’s trying to entice him back into movement.
And, God, you can feel him—
He’s burrowed his way deep inside you, but it’s still not enough—
“No— Yes, I— Oh, god, I c-can feel you. I just—” Your words melt into a whimper as you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of warm wetness slides down your cheek.
You’re vaguely aware of a dip in the bed on either side of your head, and as you blink away the blur, you realize Eddie has dropped to his elbows over you, caging you in.
His lips trace the track of the tear in reverse, starting first beneath your jaw, then up the expanse of your face. But his mouth doesn’t open—it’s not a trail of kisses. Just a soothing glide of soft pink, collecting salt water.
“What do you wanna feel?” he asks patiently, like he’s ready to bring your deepest desires to fruition.
When you don’t respond, he brushes his lips against the thin skin of your eyelids in short, delicate kisses.
“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just tell me what you want—”
The raw truth of his statement rings in your ears along with a prayer in the shape of your name—reverent, impassioned, desperate. The tone has you questioning when the god became the devotee.
Your eyes flutter open as you peer up at him.
“Wanna feel you. All of you. I don’t want— I don’t want anything in between,” you whisper, your gaze flitting between his earnest attention and his glistening lips, wet with your tears.
Eddie’s mouth parts slightly, a look of quiet shock mixing with curious disbelief as he tilts his head, like he’s observing you for any lapse in conviction. But there’s none to be found. You’re certain you want this. So he gives a single nod, yielding to you.
Before he can even shift his weight, you’re already pushing at his hips again. He lets you move him until he slips out, then your eager hands reach for his hard cock, sheathed in thin latex.
The calm Eddie found since ceasing his thrusts starts to dissipate as he watches your movements with rapt attention.
Acutely aware of the expansion of his ribs on every breath in, the scent of sex and your perfume permeating his olfactory receptors has any semblance of control quickly leaving his body.
The sensation is like a loss of inhibitions. Like he’s gorged himself on you and now he’s utterly wasted. And he knows from personal experience, he doesn’t make the best decisions when inebriated—
The reminder that he’s here for you—that he’s supposed to be the one guiding you—is hard to hold onto when you’re expertly drawing him back into you, teasing yourself with the thick, ruddy tip of his cock, painting your folds with dribbling precum.
He shudders at your wrecked moan, your eyes smoked out with hunger and desire and nothing else as you leer at his flexing length.
“F-Fuck, sweetheart, are you sure about this?”
You only hum in response, deep in focus.
“Unh, unh, look at me.”
Eddie’s thumb catches just beneath your chin, drawing your attention to his hardened features. The moment your far-out gaze focuses on him, he struggles to ignore the way your pupils have almost eclipsed any trace of color in the iris.
But then your attention falters, your eyes slowly glide down to his mouth, your lips parting like a call to him—
He adjusts his grip, his thumb and fingers digging into your cheeks.
“No, up here, pretty girl.”
Tipping your chin up, he manually fixes your gaze to his.
“Are you sure you want this?”
As if words are too difficult to drum up, you whimper imploringly.
And all it takes is one warning tilt to his head and you’re righting yourself. Forcing the words to come—
“Yes! God, please. I need you…”
Satisfied, Eddie nods, taking a moment to revel in just how gone you are for him.
“Okay.”
Another pitiful whimper escapes your closed mouth as you push harder into his grip—wanting, asking.
Knowing exactly what you’re missing—a quick learner in the language of your desperation—a smirk curls at his lips. “Good girl—”
Then he sinks into you in one quick, deep thrust that carves a half-scream, half-gasp from your chest.
His shoulders drop at the feeling of your wet heat, your greedy walls, hugging every square inch of his cock, gripping onto him like a lifeline.
“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit, y’gotta stop squeezin’ me like that. You’re not gonna give me enough time to pull out,” he mutters, dragging his hips back and slamming into you, starting a brutal pace.
Tears flood your waterline once more as you cry out for him, your hands touching, groping, and grabbing every bit of muscle you can get ahold of.
Your knees drop open as your hands blindly reach for his hips, pulling him in for impossibly deeper strokes.
“I’m— E-Eddie, I—”
“I know, baby. I know,” he chants, holding on desperately to the last shred of his sanity.
Ducking lower onto you, he shifts his weight to reach between your thighs and circle your clit. With an open-mouthed pant, he watches as your eyes roll back, your loud moans drowning out the vulgar sound of skin slapping.
His gaze flits across your face, memorizing your pleasure-shocked features like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see this particular crease in your brows, this heavy-lidded trance. Panic fills his bloodstream as he realizes it might very well be the last time—
And if it’s the last time, maybe he’s allowed to be selfish. One time. Just this once—
“Fuck it,” he breathes out, dipping down until his mouth capture yours, swallowing every last moan.
Your palms fly to the sides of his head, dragging him further onto you until the range of motion in his hand severely shrinks under his own rutting hips. You lick into his mouth like you’re trying to taste yourself. Overwhelmed with desire, he begins to lav his tongue into you the same way he devoured your cunt earlier.
Your responding mewls leave him trembling, and he worries over the tightening in his abdomen, the coiling heat deep in his gut. He starts to pull away, but he feels pressure at his hips. You’ve wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles, leaving him no way of escaping your hold. Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him—
“Baby, we can’t— I gotta— I need’ta pull out,” he slurs against your mouth.
“Please don’t,” you whine, spit-slick lips haphazardly forming around the pitiful plea.
Eddie feels his chest crack open with raw, tortuous longing. Hips faltering to a grinding rhythm, he lets his shoulders sag under the pressure of wanting—the weight of possession. All it would take to claim you, all it would take… is just to let go. To make you his.
He’s not strong enough—
“Please don’t,” you repeat, gliding your hands down his damp skin until you still at his lower back. With a foggy mind driven by the most basic desire to claim—or rather, be claimed—you muster all your strength and press your palms hard into his spine, dragging him to you.
Following a groan that sounds suspiciously like a surrendering cry, Eddie pulls his hips back just enough to shallowly thrust into you. They’re firm, breathtaking strokes that feel like he’s trying to permanently burrow beneath your flesh, and his mouth glides over yours in a messy, blind display of drunken need. It’s a thorough loss of all space and you revel in it.
Eddie’s thumb starts circling your clit with renewed vigor, sending spasms shooting down your legs so strong that your ankles unhook. Like two magnets repelling each other, they go flying to the bed, twitching and convulsing.
Deep in your core, you feel a magmatic pressure that just builds, and builds, and builds, until something snaps—
Arching into him, you cry out as your body goes weightless, and your mind floats into the ether once more.
His groans, his grunts, the smacking of skin on skin—every sound echoes as you move further away from your mind. Vaguely, you’re aware of his faltering thrusts, his hungry lips devouring. Your mouth might be moving in tandem with his, or maybe you’re babbling incoherently, it’s unclear—all your senses are fried.
All you’re certain of is the sinking of your body. Deeper than the mattress, deeper than the floor. Down, down, down—you’re dragged into the pit of sated desire while your soul soars high above you.
“Ah, s-shit, baby— I—”
By the time you find your way out of the depths—crawling back to him—you register the tail end of shivers wracking his entire being. His arms haven’t loosened around you and his softening cock is still twitching and flexing inside of you, goaded by every pulsing constriction of your warm walls.
Nosing into your cheek, Eddie pulls back for a second, just to get a look at you—to memorize.
What he sees is exactly what he expected—
Something he could never forget.
Something he could never be normal about.
In your eyes, in soft pants, in the flutter of lashes over mascara smudged skin—he sees you.
Just you.
A glutton for punishment, he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you before dipping down for more. One more.
Like he’ll never live long enough to see you walk out of his room—his sweat staining your skin, his spend safe inside you—he kisses you, slow and rottingly sweet. Swallowing every sigh, stealing every breath—he prays to you with selfishness in his heart.
“I felt something,” you mumble against his mouth, pressing your hands to his shoulders.
Ignoring the ache in his chest—the kind that blooms when space starts to grow between his body and yours, like a weed whose roots never truly die—he forces a laugh that crumbles to dust in his throat.
“Well, yeah…. God, I hope so,” he huffs, all strained amusement and bitter jokes.
A small smile pulls at your lips. “No, I mean.… I mean— You said, um, earlier, you said…”
While you struggle to find the words, his touch seems to act as a hindrance to your search. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter as he smooths his thumb over your sweat-soaked hairline.
“You said if I was gonna sleep with— If I was gonna f-feel nothing with a stranger, then I should…feel nothing with you.”
Realization dawns on him, almost at the same time he decides this conversation shouldn’t take place with him inside of you—
“Maybe we should—”
“No!” You stop his movements, pressing your fingers into his hips before he can slip away. “Please, don’t! Don’t— Don’t go.”
Eddie watches your features soften from panic into an amalgamation of nerves and reserved urgency. The mess of emotions darkening your once-twinkling eyes are enough to stop his movements, but he still wishes every square inch of him could liquify and seep through the floor of the trailer until he reaches the earth. Maybe then he could be free of your dominance over his heart—
“Okay. Okay.” He nods, placating.
Shifting above you, his attention oscillates between your wide-eyed stare and the space on your neck he kissed like he owned it. Then, as if he suddenly forgot how to behave like a human, he sucks his teeth and fumbles to respond—
“What, uh, what did you feel?”
Your nails sink into him with a pinch, but by the way you seem lost in your own head, he doesn’t think you’re aware. Then—
“W-What— Um, did you…feel…anything?”
He stares for a moment, considering your evasion of the question, but then he looks to your neck once more.
A million thoughts zoom through his mind like advertisements on big city buses. He can’t discern all of them, but one has YOU written in what he’s certain is your handwriting. Another says everything in posh, looping cursive. A third one is void of any advertisements, and unfortunately, that’s the one that stops for him—
“I don’t think it matters,” he mutters, avoiding your frown. “It’s— I’m not the one who lost their virginity.”
You cock your head to the side, the kind of movement he knows means you’re not letting him slip by. “Yes, it does.”
Your tone bites at him, scrambling the illusion until he’s a clear picture of vulnerability, bare under your hardened gaze.
“I just mean, it matters more how you felt. If you— If I made you comfortable. Doesn’t matter how I felt,” he tries, wondering how likely it is that he could be struck by lightning indoors, on a sunny day—
Because you’re looking at him like he’s eighteen again. Like he’s stupid and boyish and easily breakable. But there’s something else in your eyes—
Something that makes him feel almost mendable.
“No, but it does matter how you felt. How you feel. It matters. I care how you feel. I wanna hear what you think,” you implore, holding onto his wrists beside your head. You press the pads of your fingers into his pulse and he worries you’ll feel it before he says it—
“But did you—”
“Yes, I felt good. Yes, you did a good job taking care of me. Yes, I felt safe. Now how did you feel?”
“I feel like— I don’t want you…to…” He closes his eyes, hanging his head. “I feel like I wish you were mine,” he says, letting a humorless chuckle float out of his mouth and electrocute the air with tension. “And I feel like calling up Jimmy and Chris just to curse them out for being the ones you thought of first.”
In the loll of his admission, something shifts in your features, and every molecule of air leaves his chest like you just rolled a grenade at his feet, unpinned and already three seconds deep into the fuse delay.
As if you have nothing better to say, you pluck the lowest hanging fruit—
“Well, technically you suggested Chris,” you half shrug.
Charged silence fills the room like rushing water until he blinks at you.
“Okay.” He begins to back away, ignoring your grasping hands.
Your face falls. “No, I’m sorry! I— That was a joke! ‘M sorry, it was stupid—”
“Okay,” he repeats flatly, peeling your fingers from his bicep. He pulls out of you smoothly, pretending not to hear the low whine deep in your throat—
“Eddie, no! Don’t— I love you!” you utter quickly, as if the words will act as a balm upon his burning skin—the skin that broils under your touch. And for a moment, he almost accepts it. He’s so selfish with you—
But when your eyes grow wide, like you hadn’t meant to let something so damning slip past your lips, he realizes the truth—
He was right.
He doesn’t leave you to explain yourself—doesn’t wait for you to quantify the secret.
“It’s okay,” he answers your worried gaze. “I told you, sex has weird feelings attached to it. Things get said in the heat of the moment, it’s all good.”
Hopefully, if he repeats the sentiment enough, he’ll start to believe it too.
But instead of appreciation, he sees indignation warp your face.
“I’m sorry, where have you been? The heat of the moment was five minutes ago,” you huff, eyeing him like you can’t even begin to comprehend his level of delusion. “True, I didn’t mean to say it just then. But I felt it. I have felt it. For…” you laugh, a humorless sound that grates Eddie’s heart, “years.”
And suddenly, he feels like he got his wish—
Every muscle in his body has turned to mush, every nerve is frayed, every wire is uncrossed—
“I’ve—” you pause, then scoff. “Like, Jesus Christ, Eddie! Do you know how long—”
He melts into you, his lips on yours, his hands on your face, holding you right where he needs you most—
Swallowing your surprised moan, he takes your needy grip in stride—every bite of painted nails against pale burning flesh, every tug and drag, seeking a closeness he craves to sate.
“I don’t care,” he slurs against your mouth, too intoxicated to hear how much time he’s missed out on. Then he pulls back a fraction of an inch, instead deciding he wants to know every single detail—even the painful bits—
Even if just to hear you talk—
“Well, I do care,” he amends. “I just—”
You peer up at him through heavy lids and a teasing grin, and he feels too far from you.
“Not right now,” he drawls, unable to think past ‘I love you, too.’
A/N: Please say nice things about this, it took so fucking long lmao.
Eddie Munson request by the cute nonnie above, thank you for the request, sweetheart! I hope you like this!
A|N: I’m sorry this took so long!! Thank you for supporting my work and I hope your enjoy this piece. A very special thank you to Lucy for listening to all my rambles and helping me along the way. I appreciate you greatly❤️ @lucydixon
Warnings- Briefly mentioned parental death, angst if you squint, kinda Mean!Eddie, mentions of religious belief, churches, mocking of faith, swearing, oppressive parent, alcohol, sexually eating food (?), sexual fantasy, loss of virginity, smut!! (Corruption kink, pillow humping, fingering, oral sex (mtf), p in v sex) All characters are 18+ MINORS GET LOST!!!
-
“That darn boy is the devil,” The rusted pick-up truck door slams beneath your father’s heavy hand, “I want you staying away from him, ya hear? Nothin’ but trouble, that Munson.” His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he shoves a six pack of icy cold beers fresh out of the refrigerator onto your lap, “Raised by animals.”
Quietly you agree as he turns the keys in the ignition and the old engine splutters weakly to life. The truck quickly backs out of the convenience store parking lot and you watch as Eddie Munson fades from your vision with an unspoken anticipation— his leather and denim clad figure shrinking with each passing second.
The brunette clocks the burgundy rust bucket of a truck reversing away— his curious eyes also settling on the pretty girl sitting meekly in the passenger seat. He recognised her even with her head downturned and a sour expression on her face. A growing and knowing grin tugs on the edges of his red bitten lips and Eddie was certain he just found his newest little interest.
You.
The towns ‘good-est girl’, the girl that mothers compared their own daughters to and the girl soon to be..
“Who is that?” Gareth interjects as he brings a beer up to his lips to take a large swig. His tone read recognition and slight confusion.
“That,” With absolute conviction Eddie extends his arm and points a silver adorned finger at the vehicle that was now barely within the groups view, “Is the future Mrs. Munson, boys. Whether she knows it or not….”
He meant every single word.
You would be his. One way or another.
-
Sunday afternoon is swarmed with brightness and warmth. The church choir met the resonate frequency of your soul, the sound drowning out the fatigue of the previous week. It nearly brought tears to your eyes every time you heard it. Those beautiful voices— singing like angels.
In sunshine or in thundering rain, the church spire reached up into that every stretching blue sky. It was as if it spoke love into your family— it was the only time you could see your father be truly at peace with himself. The rare occasion in which he would smile with sincerity.
Ever since your mother passed away when you were only 6 years old, the church has been your father’s guiding light. A love so solid that it provided him with stability and strength.
So, naturally, he made the church a part of your life too. Hoping that it too would make you strong.
And it did, it did make you strong.
But it also excluded you from many things one should experience in their teenage years.
You hadn’t many friends, party invitations always seemed to skip over you, never have you allowed yourself to drink alcohol or smoke a cigarette and you have never partook in any sort of sexual ‘deviancy’.
Including exploration of self.
It was fair to say that amongst your peers, you were an outcast— but you were an outcast that didn’t fit in with the other outsiders. You were martian.
Which made you all the more provocative and compelling to Eddie. He had to get to know you for his own sanity. Understand you. Pick you apart.
The encounters started in the height of Spring and they continued to relent into Summer where sundresses were all you could afford to wear thanks to the smothering heat and you dearly missed the feeling of your beloved rain pattering down to cover your skin.
It sent Eddie into a feral frenzy to see you in a skirt— especially the frilly pastel pink one that allowed the plush smooth skin of your thighs to peek out just slightly beneath the hem, the skin just merely out of reach from the tips of his longing fingers.
“Where ya off to, Sweet thing?” His van crept beside you as you trodded on the sidewalk at a speed that whispered predatorial, one of his arms propped up to rest on the open window which he spoke to you out of.
“I’m going home, Eddie…” Quiet. Too quiet. You knew it would rile him. You knew that walking home today was a mistake:
You never did quite learn to listen to your intuition.
“Can’t hear ya, Sweetheart. Speak up.” A snap of his jaw, his voice is honey laced with poison.
“I’m going home.” Abruptly your feet come to a staggering stop and Eddie’s brakes scream as they slow the vans momentum.
“Jesus H. Christ—“ His head jolts with the force of the vehicle  stalling and his once soft eyes now glare at you, realisation promptly igniting them with amusement, “Ohhh wait— what is it you folks say? Never speak the Lords name in vain?”
Your stomach plummets. Anxiety is a finger pressed to your lips as you prepare yourself for whatever he may say next.
Part of you foolishly thought that you were used to this by now. The teasing, the torment— the disrespect.
How naive and stupid you were.
“Do you pray on your knees?” The engine is killed and the silence only thickens. Eddie is like a gazelle on his feet as he swiftly bounds out of the van to approach you, “I bet you do— I bet…” He taps his fingertip on his lips in thought, “That you do more than just pray when you’re down there. Don’t cha’?” Fast fingers pinch at a strand of your hair, yanking it softly and despite the gentle nature of the assault the action still causes you to yelp in surprise.
“No, stop it!” Unsteady feet stumble backwards away from him and Eddie applauds your attempt at deflection and chuckles wholeheartedly in response.
“Oh— come on! Stop bein’ such a bore.” He beams, all teeth. Wolfish. Ravenous.
An unpredicted switch flips at the sight and your face begins to warm until your cheeks scorch to a newfound shade of pink flesh.
Something foreign within you stirs— awakens.
Serene at first, its grotesque arms and legs gently sprawl out wide as it searches for comfort during its rapid occupancy of your sternum cavity. Its dark eyes shoot open with a deeply rooted and demanding hunger and it begins to shriek— that shriek lengthening into a roar until…
“Where’d ya go, sugar? Gone all loopy on me.” Sharp features appear heightened with his gaze set upon you and still he is adorned by that animalistic mask.
“I just wanna go home, please.” A pathetic beg.
A plea, not only toward Eddie, but toward the growing darkness forming within you. You begged your mind to stop, to leave the lewd thoughts buried. Let them die where they stood. However, the more you begged the more they intensified.
Doubled. Quadrupled.
Because when you ask your brain to not think about something, guess what happens?
You do.
It’s inescapable. The sin. The shame.
It’s the dull knife that twists and rips at your chest.
“I have to go, Eddie—“ Then it’s the raging voice of the one person you had hoped to avoid until dinner time.
Your father.
“Hey, you!!” His distain is directly fired at Eddie, “Get away from my daughter now!” Your father may have played football in high school but his physical fitness was now somewhere between couch potato and pensioner as he jogged his way toward the pair of you.
Instead of shrinking in fear at the sight of your father Eddie simply grins, entertained at the sight. Fierce eyes meet yours briefly before he retreats to the safety of his van and screeches off, barrelling down the street at a speed that was definitely illegal.
By the time your father reaches you he is slightly panting, out of breath, “You alright?” He keels over, his hands resting on top of his jean covered knees as he fights to catch his staggering breath, “Told you to stay away from him, didn’t I?”
“I’m fine, Dad…”
As fine as you were, something didn’t make sense…
“Why are you here? Where were you going?” You should’ve know better than to question your own father but it was suspicious— he was in the right place at the right time?
Unlikely.
“You’re usually home by now so I went out lookin’ — Do I have to worry about this Munson fella? Because I will go speak to his Uncle if need be.” A nuclear threat.
“No! No— it’s alright. He just needed directions s’all.” You were getting good at this whole lying ordeal. Becoming a real pro.
“Well, alright then,” He straightens his posture, rebuilding his spine vertebrae by vertebrae, “You hungry?” His meaty hands land on his hips and you smile softly at the action, forgetting for a moment why you would ever have to hide anything from him.
“Yeah,” Fingers curl tensely around the worn leather strap of your book bag and you shrug one shoulder nervously, “I could eat.”
-
Church bells sing, lulling the crowding sheep into a joyful trance, enticing all to enter the blessed space of mass one after the other in a respectfully calm manner.
No rush. No pushing. No fear.
Just hope.
Hope for brighter days, hope for a laughter filled future, hope for a restful nights sleep—
Something collectively shared as tired bums settled comfortably onto polished, but openly loved, wooden benches.
As the clock hands settled on 8:00am and the chiming bells softly began to fade the sound took your fatigue with it. A newfound energy warming you for the inside out.
“Let us commence,” your lowered eyes find the old maroon carpet that had been badly trodden over the last few years, evident that no amount of carpet shampoo nor conditioner could save the artefact
Today’s service marked the annual bake sale. Something widely enjoyed by the community and issued by the church to try and help raise funds for the restoration and preservation of the deteriorating church building foundations. There was gentle music and song played by generous volunteers, books and pastries all on display up for grabs and of course you would be donating— anything to secure yourself a tasty delight and the comfort of a new book.
“I’ll have the one with the strawberry on top, please!” You beam at the elderly lady, Gladice, behind the stall and she gleams back at you, pushing her rectangular purple glasses up the bridge of her nose before packaging your small order, “How much do I owe?”
“80¢ please, dear—“
“I got it,” An outstretched leather arm engulfs your vision as it hands a 5$ bill to Gladice who seems to take it with no suspicion or second thought whatsoever, “Throw in a coupla’ brownies as well, please. Keep the change.”
The ears attached to your head hear the grin on his face before you see it.
Time seems to slow as you pivot your face toward him, eyes in disbelief as his face comes into view— mere inches away from your own.
“Hi,” Chirpy, as always, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
And it was. Until now.
“Why are you here—“
“Here you go, Petal. Enjoy. I baked them all myself!” Gladice holds out a floral patterned paper bag which secured all of your goods inside. You smile at her politely but absentmindedly and take them from her grasp whilst also trying your best to scoot away from Eddie who seemed to be looming over you like something from a Nightmare on Elm Street.
“To answer your question, which is pretty fucking rude by the way, I’m here to show my support— obviously!” Long fingers find comfort around Eddie’s bicep as he drapes his arms across his body, “You’ve clearly forgotten that I, too, am a resident of this community. Freak or not.”
Widened eyes stare at him. Half horror and half disassociation.
“You never come to church. Never—“
“First time for everything.” A casual shrug that enrages you.
“My dad could’ve been here…” Quiet and clipped.
“But he isn’t,” Devilish eyes shimmer, “Not here to save his precious little girl this time”
His shifting personality made your head spin. It was almost intoxicating.
In your mind, people were staring from every corner of the room with darting eyes and snarled whispers. FBI agents who will undoubtedly be reporting every word and movement back to your dad who happened to be laid up at home with some sort of sickness.
“I don’t need him to ‘save’ me. I just want you to leave me alone.”
Oh, if only it were that simple.
Eddie could never just leave you alone— how could he? Someone else might come along and snatch you up. He had to ensure that his spot was secure in your life. As unpleasant as it was in the present moment he knew that you would grow to love it.
Build a tolerance.
Consume him until he is palatable.
Let him in…
He just had to break you in first—
“Sorry, Bun. Not gonna happen. I kinda like it here.” He wasn’t necessarily lying, but total truth be told, Eddie found churches the pinnacle of creepy! Everything about it weirded him out. The smell of damp festering deep within the walls, like the church was a decaying corpse, the drinking of watered down and nasty wine, the way each person seemed totally zombified whenever the priest started preaching— and don’t get him started on the vampiric cult vibes radiating from each press of the organ keys.
It was funny because despite all of this irrational fear, Eddie was still the one accused of Satanism and Devil worship.
“Well…” Shoulders heave with a sigh, “Can I at least eat my pastry in peace?” You look at him sweetly with blown and bright eyes.
Acceptance. Just what he wanted.
“Sure, Sweetheart— but only if I get to watch you lick the cream off.” Total fucking filth heats your face and your scoff in response is complete disgust, rolling your eyes in a quaking attempt to ignore the gnaw in your lower abdomen.
“You are revolting!” Shaking hands pumped full of adrenaline discard of the sweet goods on a nearby table, “Now I don’t even want it.” Truly, you were utterly devastated.
In challenge, Eddie picks up the paper bag, pinching it with his fingers and examining it before his abysmal eyes flicker to you, “Ya sure?” A growing grin stretches his face almost unnaturally, a knowing smile that read, ‘big fucking mistake’.
You huff and nod, refusing to feed his wicked thoughts any longer.
“Suit yourself, Princess.” Steady fingers plunge into the paper bag, taking out the one thing you had been looking forward to all damn day. A cream and strawberry tart with the freshest berry you’ve ever seen adorning the top- crystallised in a sugar glaze just ever so slightly.
“Last chance…” His tone goes from playful and flamboyant to serious within a blink of an eye.
“Yes. Just have it, you paid for it.” Your crossed arms tighten around your frame.
All Eddie could think about was how much of a little brat you were being. Rude to him from the moment he arrives, turning your nose up at the kindness he showed you when he bought you a pastry and now here you are refusing it all because of a lil’ bit of banter.
He ought to teach you a lesson or two.
One of them being how to sit on your ass properly when it’s stinging and red fucking raw from a spanking.
His teeth grit as he bites back the cruel words that he wants to say and opts for something a lot more amusing instead— something sure to leave you and the rest of the church attendees mortified.
The delicate pads of Eddie’s fingers stroke along the skin of the decorative strawberry, enticing it to speak, but it never will. Fleshy tips skim across the surface of the whipped cream before submerging themselves fully into the dessert and bringing the sugary goodness to his lips.
“Oh baby—“ An exaggerated moan.
Everything about the way he was devouring the pastry should’ve felt wrong. But it didn’t.
Your heart beat out of your ears, thundering anxiously within your chest and you found yourself frozen like a fawn in headlights. His half lidded eyes had you so easily pinned to the spot and where it should have vexed you it only excited you further— especially when Eddie’s tongue decided to join the party.
It was barbaric.
The thirst you felt was instinctive. Primal. A need that only Eddie could satiate. You could lap him up, drink gallons of him, consume him until you were bursting at the seams and yet—
You would still crave more. The hunger would remain.
The greed sickened you, but you couldn’t look away. Vision tunnelled to only focus on Eddie and the way his pointed tongue was pressed hot and flush against the beloved tart…
And it wasn’t just your attention that was dominated by him— other members were bewitched by his actions from near and from afar.
Just as intended.
Horror, disgust, curiosity, morbidity, arousal.
These emotions were evident on the varying faces around the room— they also just happened to be a slim pick of the many, many things you were presently experiencing.
A tightness wound like a spring at the pit of your stomach. A despicable and sloppy sultry need— one that should be shunned and banished to the darkest depths of your being. It’s strength was monstrous and extreme and the way your breathing staggered and laboured had you rocked to your core.
A newfound dampness grew along the clinging panel of your panties and you could feel the curvature of your growing plumpness. Your heat swelling and utterly confused.
It was urgent— the vicious hankering that plucked at your nerves. The images your mind began to conjure up from an otherwise normal activity left you breathless and stunned.
You wanted— you needed Eddie’s thick and sopping tongue against you. Every ounce of you craved to have the strong muscle flexed inside your already dripping hole.
He was the one to ruin you.
And you would let him.
“Never tasted something so sweet…” Blackened eyes settle on your flushed face, flickering to your reddening neck which sets a smile on Eddie’s face, “Well, there may be something sweeter than this. Just not had the chance to taste her yet.”
A quick wink is all it took for you to early crumble at the knees.
You have never despised something more.
It hits you all too quickly, the realisation of where you are and who you are with. The head upon your shoulders tosses from left to right and your worried eyes briefly skim over the faces of your surroundings.
Deep down you knew that they weren’t any better than you. That their expressions, too, shared layers of lustful desire and sin.
And yet, you were chewed up on the inside. Your shame festering into something wicked and unholy.
It proved to be all too much, and in a feeble attempt to save yourself from the inevitable fall from grace, you take off to the bathroom like a fearful animal. As fast as your wobbly legs could carry you.
Hoping for sanctuary.
Praying for forgiveness.
-
The dinner table was oddly silent the following night. Like usual.
However, within the quiet, there was a undoubted shift. Something had tilted your perfect stage but you were the only one who knew about it— your performance never ending.
Mouth full after relentless mouth full.
Meat. Peas. Carrots. Peas. Carrots. Meat.
It exhausted you to chew.
“You look tired,” Your father’s heavy eyes don’t leave his plate, in fact, they are almost shielded by his thick and untamed eyebrows, “How is school?”
His attempt at unwanted small talk.
“School is good,” you lay down your fork, signalling you are now officially finished with your meal, “How.. uh.. how was work today?”
Evidently, you weren’t very good at this. Talking to him.
He never truly knew how to raise a daughter on his own. When you were born your mom and dad moved away from your grandparents and the only family you had, something about them not approving of your parents’ shotgun wedding arrangements, so your father never had much help from anyone. And you didn’t really have a female figure to look up to that wasn’t someone on the television or printed in magazines.
Thankfully, despite this, you managed to keep control of your personal style. You loved girly frills and lace, dresses and skirts. Even in the Winter, you loved it.
Pop music and jewellery, makeup and hairspray. None of it had to be sacrificed.
Your father never batted an eyelid, always assumed that girls will be girls, especially if they are becoming young adults.
So, he left you to it.
He trusted you.
“That’s what I wanna talk to you about,” Finally, fatigued and sunken eyes meet your face as he takes a sip from his glass, “I have to leave town for a bit. Maybe a few days, maybe a week. Think you’ll be okay here on your own? I can ask the Wheelers down the street to check in on ya every so—”
“No, Dad, I’ll be okay.” Reassurance with a smile.
He ponders for a moment before his stiff muscles relax back into the dining chair, “Alright then. I’ll leave you plenty of pizza money—” He chuckles lightly before he adds suddenly rigid, “—Remember to be at Church on Sunday, bright as a bird in May. I need you to hand in some donations for The Salvation Army. Let them know it’s from me.”
He always seemed to tense up at the thought of missing Church or leaving the community. If it were up to him, his job would be at the Church. He would sleep on the grim Church floor if it meant he never had to leave.
You hum a soft ‘mhmm’ and nod.
“Oh—“ He stands up, his callused hands slowly beginning to clear the small dinner table, “And mind that Munson boy,” He says his name with such bitterness, “Stay away from him, I mean it. He ain’t nothing but curly hair and trouble. Someone ought to speak to his Uncle about all the meddling he’s been doing on holy grounds.”
Your breath catches in the base of your throat and you swear that your heart momentarily stops beating.
Someone had spoke to him about the events of yesterday. Someone had snitched.
Though, luckily for you, none of his displeasure was directed at you. And as your bulging eyes settle on the back of your father head it seems that you may have just gotten off the hook. Although you hadn’t done anything wrong, a huge part of you still felt otherwise guilty for Eddie’s behaviour. He was trying to rattle you and in the process he managed to… upset… others.
You, too, leave the table. Saying goodnight with another smile and retreating to your darling bedroom.
Light fell at the end of the day, washing vibrant green to their softest of hues and uplifting purples to their most vivid. Even the clouds that had been a creamy white only an hour before were now an enchanting shade of deep rose. With the gold of dawn and midday banished to tomorrow, all that was left was for the sky to be painted a thick layer of tar black and whisper the return of the moon.
The darkness is welcomed as your mechanical fingers switch on one of your two bedside table lamps. The warm bulb is quick to warm your room and you smile at the beaded and pale pink inanimate object. Rejoicing in the memories of all the years you have owned it. That lamp has seen you weep, snore, laugh and long. Other people had teddy bears from childhood but you?
You had your lamps.
Slipping into the waiting coolness of your bedsheets you are overcome with bliss. For no particular reason, today had been gruelling. It felt busier than it usually was and at times you were left with whiplash, trying to keep up with your own mind which seemed to be close to combustion.
You roll from left to right, the bodily movement punctuated with a airy sigh as you reach for a sip of water. Propped up on one elbow whilst the other arm was occupied with the simple task of gulping down some fluids. Even in that moment it still seemed like too much effort— more than what it was worth.
Remaining upright your eyes creep to the window, surveying the small crack which parted the curtains just ever so slightly. Childishly, your mind wanders to a place filled with monsters and ghouls— horrifying beings that waited for you and lurked in the dark.
Your rational mind knew that there was nothing there, but you still swiftly switched off the lamp and scampered beneath the duvet cover with a quiet girlish giggle. Pulling the thick blanket up to your chin where it would remain for the foreseeable future.
Fists knock and misshape the pillows beneath your head harshly until out of frustration you decide to discard of one entirely and instead clutch it to your chest in a tight hug.
“Ahh— better.”
The slow swirl of the shadowed ceiling and the plush embrace of the mattress beneath your weary bones is happily familiar. The scent of recently washed sheets and the buzzing silence elicits a comforting sigh from your throat.
Eyelashes drift down, then reopen, then back down again. A state of perfect half-sleep.
The weight of the pillow pressed so close to you feels nice— like a person held to your breast.
Your grip on the pillow tightens, the soft insides conforming to every curve of your silhouette in the best way.
You shift to lay on your stomach, the pillow separating you from the mattress below. And in an unexpected, but welcomed surprise, you feel the firm corner of the pillow pressed perfectly between your thighs.
A faint tingle finds your lower abdomen and a slight tremor sneaks up on your thighs. It’s strangely comforting. Familiar, even though you haven’t fully felt this sensation before. You allow it to linger there, undisturbed for a while as your mind and body agreeably adapt to it.
Trying to doze off with your hands wedged beneath your pillow proves difficult when the stubborn heat between your legs refuses to disperse. Five minutes turns to ten and with each passing second your thighs grip and squeeze the pillow tighter, greedier.
A small gasp and a throb from within when your clit is rocked just right against the hardened edge.
“I shouldn’t…” You knew that much, but sometimes the heart— or the body— wants what it wants.
Without a wasted second you begin to push your cunt down into the pillow, swirling your hips and biting your lip. Drool dampens your bedsheets and you chew on them as you writhe around beneath the warm duvet. A steady rhythm builds, your lower back arching and compressing with each greedy curl of your hips. Messily your knees knock and knead at the mattress springs below and without warning your foggy brain recalls Eddie’s tongue.
Usually you would fight away the thoughts, but it wasn’t your brain doing the thinking anymore.
With each aggressive hump of your pussy you picture yourself grinding down on Eddie’s mouth. His plump lips ravishing you from below.
You swallow back a whimper, your eyes screwing shut and your eyebrows narrowing as the sound of erotic slick fills your empty bedroom. The noise is intoxicating and you allow yourself a soft and muffled moan into your pillow, “Agh…”
Soaking wet panties drag sloppily against the now ruined pillowcase, your muscles lock into place with the pleasure and your cunt has a mind of its own. Forcefully fucking itself against the bed, your slit over flowing through the cotton of your panties and saturating the fabric below.
The tip of Eddie’s nose prodding at your clit just enough to tease you as his tongue lapped at your dripping folds. His gorgeous brown eyes blown with lust looking up at you hungrily as he devours your aching pussy.
“Oh, Eddie…” A hot breath and a shaky mewl against the bed, desperate not to be heard.
A sudden rush of warmth grows between your quivering thighs and you push harder, groaning as hot rivulets of lust course through you. Butterflies tickle your lower stomach and a pressure dominates your senses. A hand clamps over your mouth to hush your scream and differing series’s of jolts electrocute your abdomen, your pulsing pussy staggering against the mess of your panties.
All in a swift second you feel the stress of the day wash from your chest, down to your legs and leave out of the covers. Vanishing.
There comes a steady hum of silence, punctuated by your own ragged breath as you collapse into the mattress. Tiredness claiming your mind, not allowing you to dwell too much on the name you just whimpered aloud.
-
Summer shivered beneath a storm. Rain blossomed from the ether, kissing the lips of the dusty and drought ridden concrete. The streets were no longer bathed with sunlight and now had to content itself with mean and howling winds. With a positive outlook you could’ve smiled at the heavenly split in the sky, welcoming home the pounding rain— but goosebumps don’t lie and you didn’t even armour yourself with a coat. Bare arms and bare legs.
Thunder clapped the clouds and deafened flocking birds. Every bright colour was washed dim and you caught sight of your own reflection in the grocery store glass. Every customers smile fell flat whilst you gaped at the weather thrashing outside. It was beautiful, but in a deathly way— as nature always is.
It wasn’t supposed to have arrived yet, the storm, but it was here. That’s all it took for shutters to close. Doors met their catch with bolt and chain, too and people retreated to the comforts of their homes. One cannot simply ask the sky to recheck the calendar because one wants to barbecue. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t know.
So, after grabbing everything you need, you take cover beneath a nearby hanging tree.
What else was there for you to do?
Your dad was long gone and you had no one else to rely on for a car ride home.
You had to brave the torrential rain.
Shivering.
“It’ll pass…” You tell yourself in half hope and half surrender.
It would pass— the problem you faced was: when?
How long could you endure the wind cutting at your glacial and rain soaked skin before you catch a summer fever?
Probably not very long.
Your flesh had been whipped raw and you feared the consequences of ammonia. Flat hair sticks heavily to your forehead as your soggy sneakers charge into the brunt of the storm. Skin is streaked with bruising droplets and you laugh as you bring your forearm up to try and shield your face.
It was a pointless manoeuvre but with rain so thick you could hardly see through your fallen eyelashes.
There is something about a rain covered path that is so inviting to playful feet. Each new step is rewarded with a tiny splash and puddles yearn for you to jump in them— you don’t, but you wish you could’ve.
You trudge along, determined to make it home without your clothes being blown off of you. The closest supermarket to your house was 15 minutes on foot so you knew you still had quite the challenge ahead of you.
The thin and lightweight material of your dress had been soaked all the way through and now clung to every inch of your skin underneath, accentuating the soft curve of your hips and stomach and the fullness of your chest.
This outfit seemed like a perfect idea this morning and now? Not so much…
The once grey road was now a fine black line of ink against natures greenery. Jagged brush spilled out from across the tarmac road and it was only now you realised how empty the streets had became. Not a person in sight. Not an engine to be heard.
What was recently a joyous walk had now transpired into something sinister as the thickened and plagued clouds tormented the sky above in huge twists and swirls. You were alone on this path and were suddenly struck with a low level of panic.
You had to get home.
Out of the gloom up ahead, like a beacon of hope, was two headlights that shone blindingly bright. However, upon closer inspection you realised they belonged to a vehicle whose owner was the last person you wanted to see at present.
So much so that you deeply considered nose diving into a nearby thorn bush just to avoid confrontation.
Out of mere habit your legs eventually still and Eddie’s van rolls to a gentle stop. He nearly didn’t recognise you with how drenched you are.
“What are you doing?” He could laugh at the sight of you, but watching you tremble and brace yourself on unsteady legs alerted him that this wasn’t the right time, “Need a ride home?” He had to strain his voice to be heard over the rain.
Dumbfounded you gawk at him, his blurred appearance felt dreamlike and angelic. Looking at him now gave you bags upon bags of mixed feelings.
Yes, you needed a ride home, but after what you did the other night it felt totally perverted and wrong to climb into a van with him. Here he was, in the flesh, how would you cope in such a confined space?
What would you even talk about? What would you say?
Too much to weigh and comprehend in such a little amount of time.
“Helloooo? Have you turned into a popsicle?” His eyebrows furrow with both confusion and mild concern at your lack of verbal and bodily response. You were as stiff as a board, “You’re gonna get sick.”
If you weren’t so caught up in your emotional turmoil you may have actually chuckled at his fatherly scolding tone.
He makes a sound that mimics the frequency of a walkie talkie and he speaks into a closed fist, “Don’t make me escort you into the vehicle.”
“I’m not too far now, I can just walk it—“
Eddie throws his head back at your stubbornness and let’s out a bellowing groan, one that makes your nervous stomach do a somersault.
In one swift motion and without a second thought Eddie unclips his seatbelt and prances over toward you. Promptly, he shrugs his heavyweight battle jacket from his shoulders and arms and hooks it over you. The warmth of his body heat feels like gentle kisses ghosted along your goosebump covered skin.
You remain there for a long moment, second guessing reality as your eyes take in the bare skin of Eddie’s now exposed arms. Thoughtfully placed charcoal ink blinks back at you. Engulfing you as your vision flickers from one tattoo to the next. You couldn’t help but wonder the story behind each one— Did he choose them himself? When did he first get one? How badly did it hurt?
Questions that had to remain unanswered for now. Growing more and more thunderous by the second you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Eddie’s hair now drizzled with cobwebs of water droplets.
It was Eddie’s turn to get near drowned by the rain.
“Jesus H. Christ, just get in the van.” You pause for a moment, your eyes scanning the road for oncoming cars from left to right before you eventually decide to cross over with him, circling around the bonnet of the van and finally deciding to clamber inside— your legs were chilled to the bone and numb to the touch.
Slippery hands quickly palm at the excess water on your face, pawing as much of it away as you possibly could. Your arrival into the passenger seat is welcomed with warm condensation steaming up on the front windscreen, the fog slowly fading as the minutes passed.
“You okay?” His tone is prying but soft. Eddie is speedy to take to the road, swerving the van in a violent U-turn, but not before checking to see if you are buckled in first, “Warm enough in here?”
It’s dizzying to watch his silver adorned fingers toy and twist frantically at the ventilation dials. He always seemed to be bouncing off of the walls with energy.
“M’ okay, Eddie. Thank you.”
You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bare the thought of him seeing through you— of him seeing into who you are and what you’ve done. Even now, with guilt caving in your chest, your mind was still fizzing away with erotic scenarios.
His swole biceps and the dark grey band t-shirt cuff clinging around the plump skin. The same t-shirt ever so slightly cropped, just enough for you to have caught glance of his happy trail of hair skipping down toward his—
Rue. Wretched rue.
In your peripheral you could see his fluffy bangs bouncing with every glance at you he decided to steal. He was trying to work you out, but he couldn’t. Not really.
Not yet.
“Hey, so uh, where am I going, exactly?” You knew he was beaming, you could hear it in the small laugh he offered you. He partly laughed to ease the growing tension but also because he was driving off without a destination. He didn’t want you to freak out and think he was trying to kidnap you.
The way your face warmed was nothing but dishonourable. How could you be so easily flustered?
And were you really about to give this man your home address?
“It’s uhm… it’s just a couple minutes up this road and then to the right.” Eyes are trained on the barely visible road ahead, struggling to see through the moggy and dirty window. Nonetheless, you stayed poised with precision.
“M’ kay, well uh, you just direct me.” Wary of your current state, Eddie took recognition at your avoidance of him. Allowing his normally teasing exterior to soften just so, “How long had you been out there?” He longed for you to look at him, even just for a second, only so he knew that you were okay.
Dampness invades your nostrils and you grimace slightly at the faint stench of marijuana that hits your senses.
“Only like, 20 minutes. I think.”
“20 minut—“ He clicks his tongue in disapproval, “Oh you are definitely gonna catch something. Is it straight ahead orrrr?” Distracted by you he must’ve missed the right hand turn toward your house.
“Oh, shoot! Sorry, it was back there,” You glance in the wing mirror and look back over your shoulder, “Take the next right up here, that should help us out.”
God, could you get any more precious?
“Shoot? Really?” He physically couldn’t help himself, “What’re you, five? Just say the word shit.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Amuse me,” He grins widely and his attempts at riling you earned him a prolonged look of defiance, “I’m not gonna tell anyone, promise.” He takes a hand from the wheel and crosses his heart with his pointer finger.
“Profanity is unkind and makes you appear brutish.”
The words of your father cartwheel through your mind and spill out into reality.
“Swearing is fun and harmless! Especially when it isn’t directed at someone in particular. Try it.“
Another push.
“Hey, isn’t this Nancy Wheelers street—”
“I’ve cursed before, Eddie, I’m not some otherworldly being. You obviously just don’t know me. Take the next left.” Your words began to sour your mouth and your thoughts weren’t much help.
Did he see you like that? Like all of the rest?
Were you alien, even to him?
It was strange because out of everyone in Hawkins, you had foolishly thought that if anyone could even remotely come close to how you felt amongst your peers, it would’ve been him.
Eddie.
That Munson Boy.
“Woooah, I didn’t mean to upset you or tick you off, Angel, I was just jokin—“ Each word was a punch to the gut.
“Stop here.” You demand, your house now in eye shot at the end of the sleepy terrace. Eager to please, Eddie stalls the van gently and begins to search your body language for a sign of a lasting temper.
A small awkward cough fills the space as Eddie clears his throat in a discreet but non-discreet manner, “Well… you can keep the jacket until I see you next—“
Water burnt cheeks and deadpan eyes meet his doe like expression, “You didn’t tick me off, Eddie, don’t be ridiculous,” The ball was now in your court to give him a taste of his own vile medicine, “You pissed me off. Now, thank you for the ride but stay the Hell away from me.”
You barrel from the van in a hurry, fleeing as fast as your legs could manage: like a criminal from a crime scene. Too hastily to the point that your panicked brain didn’t clock that you were still draped in Eddie’s clothes until you slammed the patio door behind you and were met with a scent that didn’t quite belong in your home.
Which then lead to the realisation that you also left your small bag of groceries in his front seat.
“Shit.” A palm drags down your face and your voice is broken and small as you lean back against the door, closing your eyes as you welcome the dry caress of the vacant house.
Muscles still for a moment, tensing as you contemplate bringing the thick material of the jacket up to your nose for a sniff. Without seeing the harm in it you decide to follow through on the thought. Inhaling the scent of the brunette deeply and moaning gently on the exhale.
The idea that followed was lightening sharp and just as quick.
“No.”
You hush yourself, not allowing your brain to wander and get lost in that part of you. The throbbing and aching part of you that willed your fingers between you thighs whilst your nose nuzzled worn fabric and your teeth gnawed on the denim collar of Eddie’s jacket.
You couldn’t allow it.
Not tonight.
-
That rug, that stupid old filthy rug had seen more dancing shoes than a ballroom tonight. It was where they all squealed and grooved, everyone with everyone, the music escaping from every open window and door.
Once the colour of cherries, now it told a trodden tale of love and laughter, of more good times than anyone is ever promised in life. Your father could have replaced it years ago, brought in another just like it, but instead you hauled it over to the river in good weather at least once a year and washed it as best you could. Sometimes the earthy red tones would return, other times not so much.
Wooden flooring vibrates underfoot with each sound wave that pulses from your borrowed speakers. It causes a known feeling to erupt inside of your chest— only this time you weren’t sure if it were the familiar hug of anxiety or the red hot spike of adrenaline.
“Please mind the—” Neon and artificially coloured fruit punch, which had been indefinitely spiked with booze, is comically spilled onto the sofa in that moment, “Furniture.” Only now do you wonder whether you’re playing a losing game. Everyone was beyond wasted and your voice couldn’t rise loud above the thumping base to be heard. Tonight’s occasion only expected to entice a few attendees, maybe enough for a book club, but not enough to fill a barn house rodeo.
Safe to say, things had spiralled far out of your control and you weren’t sure you could rein it in.
Bottles clanked in the kitchen and the penetrable sound of porcelain breaking hits your ears and makes you jump in your skin. Regret sinks deeper and deeper into your weary bones and your head spins with the laughter surrounding you.
You recognise the remnants on the floor to be the mug you painted in pre-school. Bright with pastel pinks and fluorescent greens. It was your father’s favourite. You never knew why but it was the one he always reached for. The one he smiled into each morning.
A frog like lump forms in the base of your throat, luring tears to your eyes as you think of the devastation that’ll be brought to your father when he realises it’s gone. One of his prized possessions. A childhood relic which he loved.
Which you loved.
“Oh my god, Ronnie!! You’re soooooo funny!” Jessica Rogers squeaks, the red head who you knew as the new face of the cheerleading squad, as she fawns over Ronnie Mitchell. Hawkins’s very own Johnny Depp.
Ronnie, very evidently being the culprit of the smashed glass, grins like a hyhena about to snatch its prey and within moments his thin lips are trying to eat up Jessica’s entire face.
Bravely but teary eyed you decide to enter the crowded designated lions den which was the kitchen. Swallowing harshly to allow yourself to speak.
“Hi, sorry, can we please be a bit more careful—“
“Heyyy, Harrington!! Where’s Nancy at?” A huge body breeded for American football shoulder barges by you, whacking you into the nearest wall with such force you’re sure the plaster board had splintered. The saddest thing about it was that the event went totally unnoticed by the surrounding part goers and your body smacking against the wall sounded so faint against the drums blaring in your ears.
Composing yourself proved difficult with the group of four other bodies trying to enter and exit through the small entry way to the kitchen. They pushed you flush against the rustic orange wall and only in a great deal of struggle and panic are you able to get away, struggling to regain your balance and breathe clearly. Human functions that should come easily.
Each breath stuttered in through your nose and staggered back out through your mouth, drying your throat until it felt raw and sore. In your mind you were still there, suffocating beneath the stampede of bodies.
They didn’t see you. They didn’t care.
You were nobody to them. They didn’t even know this was your house. Your family home.
And they were disrespecting it. Ruining what you, your father and your gorgeous mother had worked so hard to build.
They didn’t care. They couldn’t see you.
They refused to.
Your heart thundered at an alarming pace, like the hooves of racing horses pounding into the ground. Shaking nimble fingers clutch at your tightening chest, a last resort to soothe yourself. You had to calm down or you were sure to fall apart.
In front of all these people.
You couldn’t.
With agility you take the stairs two at a time, the soles of your shoes snagging against the trampled carpet and causing you to near collapse as you reach the top. Your breathing heaves your chest up and down harshly as you fall into your bedroom like a bat out of Hell searching for silence. You didn’t find it.
Cold wood meets your sweat sheened forehead as you press yourself to your bedroom door. Both of your hands lay splayed against the doorframe, supporting your trembling body as you fight to stay upright.
“What’s the point…” A blabbered and wet whisper slips, begging a flood of tears to your reddened eyes. Beneath you your knees weaken and in a painless motion you crumple to the floor like a piece of paper.
The thing about crumpled paper is that you can try and fix it all you want. Iron it, smooth it out, speak nice to it— in the end there’ll still be creases. The pain will remain.
Your shoulders shake as you swallow a despaired whimper, your knuckles wiping furiously at your runny nose.
You adjust yourself slowly to position your back against the door, and instead of solitude you found something unexpected lurking around in your sacred space as your eyes find the back of a familiar brunettes head. His hair is different tonight, it’s pulled back into a low ponytail. Neater.
“Eddie?!” Your voice betrays you and cracks on the verge of tears but also sings with alarm at the sight of him.
“Hey, are you okay?” He is slow to move toward you.
“What are you doing in here? This is my room—”
“Uhh looking for my jacket which you seem to be holding hostage? Where is it by the way—”
“No.” Your tone was totally saturated with disbelief.
“Yes?” Above all else, Eddie was confused at your anger but deeply wounded at the tear streaks on you face.
“I don’t believe you. Get out.”
“Okay, fine. Don’t believe me, hot mouth. Just hand me my jacket and I’ll be on my merry little way. Took hours to make it, y’know.” He beams at you, hoping to see a smile return to your face. His hands find the front pockets of his dark indigo jeans and his shoulders rise boyishly toward his ears, “Unless… you have something else to confess before I leave?” Tamed eyebrows wiggle at you and your first guttural reaction is to scream at him.
“I don’t. I don’t have anything to say to you right now. Just leave me alone, please.”
Bloated silence.
“I’m not upset,” Your softened exterior beseeched him to remain where he stood, “I’m just— They’re just breaking so much stuff down there. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“S’alright…” He sincerely meant it, “I have to say, I was surprised to hear that you were the one throwing the rager. Not like ya.”
You shake your head in distaste, “You don’t know me. Not really.”
“I want to…” A shrill inhale of breath. A pause so feverish it left your skin itching, “So uh, what’s going on down there?”
In defeat you perch on the edge of your beautifully made bed. Sacrificing the taunt sheets and crinkling it with your body weight
“Well, after the fourth broken glass I sort of lost count of everything else they’ve ruined. My dad’s favourite coffee mug, too…” An agonised and breathy laugh leaves your lips, “I sort of feel like that mug right now.”
“What? Broken?” Eddie’s legs twitch toward the bed, his heart wanting to sit next to you but his brain fighting against the urge.
“No. Not broken,” Your lips quirk up at the corners and your hands toy with one another in your skirt scrunched lap, “Just… changed.”
“Change is good. Change is better than broken.” His reply is as speedy as light and he uses it as courage to propel himself forward to perch next to you on the mattress.
You allow his presence. Actually, you welcome it with open arms and a shy smile.
“If you need someone to talk to about anything then you can count on me. Both of my ears are in pretty good shape. Can hear all sorts with these puppies.” His wrists flick by both sides of his head causing his hair to be blown back and forth.
It prompts a real laugh from you. Something honest.
Something true.
“Thank you, Eddie. That’s real sweet of you.”
Despite the high energy radiating from outwith the safety of your four bedroom walls, it failed to seep on through infect the pair of you. Life in this moment with Eddie felt easy, slow and you were in no hurry to change scenery.
With the door closed every pretence falls. The facade you show the world melts away and all you want is to exist with one another. In those tranquil seconds something unspoken shifts.
In the lamplight you discover more of Eddie than you’ve ever been gaul enough to before. Unafraid to meet his gaze as your eyes study his features. Honey eyes appear black, like bullet holes through his skull, encapsulating the light instead of reflecting it. Across the strong bridge of his nose you admire the faint freckles painted there, ever so tenderly kissed by the suns rays. Your next observation is one you hadn’t expected to affect you so much— his pillowy blood flushed lips.
Eddie knew what you were thinking. He could see it splayed all over your face like an open book. Your parted lips, your lidded eyes with pupils the size of a coin and the small scrunch in between the middle of your brows. It amused him more because he knew that you probably thought you were hiding it all so well. You wanted him. You fucking needed him. Who was he to deny his sweet angel of that?
“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” Praise. Something you craved with such greed. Something your heart beat inside of your chest for.
On instinct, you shake your head, “What? No…”
“I’m serious,” Tactical fingers stroke against the heated curve of your cheek, soft in your hair as he tucks a strand behind your ear, “So fuckin’ pretty.”
You watch round eyed and entranced as his two front teeth puncture his bottom lip— blissfully unaware of the way the pad of his thumb stroked against your own mouth.
Eddie couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. You had bewitched him, body and soul— or something like that.
“Been wanting this for so long…” His voice trails off, almost like he had accidentally spoken a private thought aloud, “The closer I am to you the more perfect you are.”
His deep voice purrs softly, lulling you to close the waning distance between you both. Your remain still, though, afraid you’ll ruin the moment.
“I’ve… I’ve never done this before.” The one thing you’ve wanted to confess for so long, “I don’t think I’m any good at it.”
You knew the ins and outs of sex, of course you did, you just hadn’t partook. Never provided the opportunity. Until now. Until Eddie.
You weren’t even sure that he wanted you in such a way— but what you knew was that you wanted it to be him.
He was the one to have you. He was the one to make it all better.
“How about I kiss you and we can go from there, sweet girl?” A slow and sure nod of approval from you is all Eddie needs to cross the forbidden line. Eyelids flutter closed as you prepare yourself mentally for whatever may happen next. This was your first time for most things: your first party, your first kiss and your first.. sexual encounter.
Above all else it was exciting but also quite terrifying.
You didn’t want it to hurt.
Expectant for Eddie’s lips to meet your own it pleasantly surprised you when his mouth ghosted over one of your eyelids, and then the other, teasing kisses over the entirety of your face. Everywhere but your mouth and it is sweet enough to give you toothache.
For as long as Eddie had wanted to see you this way, he also yearned to have you be his. To shower you in endless love and heartfelt affection. To provide you with the tenderness you so desperately deserved. He wanted to take care of you. In more ways than one.
“Eddie—“ you whine breathless and impatient but smiling all the same.
“Shhh… just keep those eyes closed, Baby. Good things come to good girls who know how to wait,” The small quirk in your expression had Eddie’s mind reeling with sinful ideas, “Are you a good girl, hmm? You wanna be my good girl?” His forked tongue kitten licks at the lobe of your ear and is accompanied by a shiver drilling down your spine.
Your hips shift against the bed, Eddie’s warm breath across your cheek spreads along the surface of your skin like a wild fire through dry brush, melting your loins as you struggle to hold on to any sort of rational thinking. Your grasp inexorably slipping.
When he finally leaned in you knew what was coming and shyly turned away, but his hand reached under your hair below your ear and turned you gently back to him, his thumb caressing your cheek. Lips parted and your heart fluttered as he guided you to his sensuous mouth and your breaths mingled in a way that felt fated. For a season tongues wrestled, fanning a minuscule smoldering ember into a ferocious flame.
Beneath the hem of your skirt Eddie’s thumb prowled the skin, leaving behind tedious circles of electricity. Trailing down, his fingertips tenderly traced the valley between your knees and upon reflex you press your thighs together. He grinned against you, pleased at the effect he had over your untarnished and perfectly responsive body.
Eddie is first to pull away from the heated entanglement, leaving the pair of you panting and searching desperately for breath. For a long moment Eddie examined your expression for any signs of second thoughts and panic but he found nothing but reddened cheeks and starving lips.
“Now, if anything happens that you don’t like just say the word and it’ll all stop, ‘kay? Gotta communicate with me.” His tone is suddenly serious and you meekly peek up at him through your eyelashes.
“Okay.” You whisper, the first you’ve spoken in minutes. He smiles, pleased with you.
“Climb on the bed for me.” Eddie scoots away from you, watching like a predator to prey at your uncertainty as you find a comfortable position on the bed.
“Like this?” You ask in innocence, searching for reassurance.
Eddie grumbles in approval, his voice deepening at the sight, “Mhm, just like that, Sweetheart. Doin’ so well.”
His body feels like liquid as he stands at the base of the bed, towering over you, “Part your legs, nice and slow,” You start, leaving them barely ajar as a self consciousness swarms your mind, “Further, Honey. I gotta see what I’m dealing with.”
Oh and what a sight it was. Powder blue panties plastered to the swell of your mound. Slickness meeting your folds solely from his kiss alone. The sight was biblical and dragged a guttural groan from Eddie’s throat, “Fuck, how are you even real?”
He sunk to his knees slowly, careful as to not startle you, his wide eyes remaining fixated on the space between your legs, “Gonna touch you now, Sweetheart. S’that okay?” His dark gaze flickers over you from head to toe, acknowledging the way your hands clutch the sheets looking for a lifeline, “Need you to relax, Baby. Can you do that for me?” His voice trails off and his smirk softens just a bit.
“I’m not gonna bite cha’… unless you ask nicely.” He winks, his tone teasing but not unkind which helps to ease the tension growing in your shoulder blades.
“Sorry, I’m just nervous…” Your voice is hushed as you carefully watch Eddie kneel between your parted thighs, the warm skin of his palms heat your knees as he balances himself above you.
“First rule, you never have to apologise. For anything,” Eddie melts at the way you soften, “And secondly, we don’t have to do this. I’m happy to just lay here with you…”
Sure, would he be disappointed? Yes. He has his dream girl at the mercy of his fingertips. But he wanted this to work— after all, the man saw himself marrying you a month ago.
“I want this,” You were I fingertips away to what you have wanted for weeks— A stern readiness urging you to continue on this steamy pursuit, “I’ll just need some guidance is all.”
A wide and wolffish grin splits Eddie’s face, “I can work with that.”
Resuming his previous position Eddie found a comfortable spot on the mattress between your thighs, his face only just visible behind your scrunched up skirt. A forked tongue darted onto Eddie’s bottom lip, the muscle longing to slip between your moistening folds, “Gonna touch you now, Princess. Remember what we talked about.”
You hum, breathing steadily as you succumb trustingly to Eddie’s touch. Eyelids are slow to close and the palm of your hand blindly finds the smooth and warm skin of Eddie’s forearm. A longing touch you have finally been able to quench.
Propped up on his elbows Eddie is tender as he tickles the insides of your legs, softly peppering the plush skin with lingering kisses which makes you shudder, “Heavenly. Absolutely stunning.” Each compliment is emphasised with a open mouthed kiss and a wet stroke of his tongue.
A string of small whines leaves your mouth in a breathy plead, your hips stirring up from the mattress slightly to try and meet Eddie.
Strong hands pin your hips to the spot, “If you keep moving I won’t be able to give you what you want. What do you want, huh?” His voice doesn’t waver and his grip leaves you, only for the pad of his thumb to stroke a pressured line down the seam of the panties from your clit to your aching hole, “Tell me, Pretty girl. What do you want?”
A gasp is shocked from your throat and you grew more sensitive with each passing second and with that reactivity there came desperation, “Eddie…” Your voice is dripping in sin, sweet and laboured. All air leaves your lungs in total entirety, “Please.”
You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, all you knew was that you didn’t want it to stop. You wanted his touch all over you.
A shiver strikes Eddie’s spine like a match and he buries his nose into your heat, sniffing in your scent like a bloodhound on a trail, “Fuck— I’m gonna take your panties off, kay’? Is that okay?” Truth be told, Eddie was just as needy as you were in this moment. He was eager and willing to do absolutely anything to please you.
“Yes— yes that’s okay.” Shakily you lift your hips to try and rip the fabric down yourself, but Eddie settles you back down gently and helps you to slide them down your legs. You relax again, then sensuality of the action urging all tension to drift from your body.
Slyly he pockets the underwear for later but he soon is left gawking with a slack jaw at the banquet between your thighs which just ached to be devoured by him, “Pussy is so pretty. What a picture…” Spell bound he crawls toward you, his arms linking around your upper thighs and dragging your greedily toward his face, “This may tickle at first, may feel a bit odd—“
His presence alone was enough to send you reeling, “Please, Eddie, I can’t wait any longer—“
He didn’t need to be told twice. He was already salivating to a concerning level.
It’s as if you forget how to breathe when his mouth collides with you—hungry, wet and feverish. Your insides pulse and your muscles tense in the best way. A moan erupts from the pit of your stomach and your eyes pinch closed in ecstasy.
“Oh Honey—“ He cooed, his words muffled by the mouthful he has on his tongue, the vibrations rippling through you like a current of recklesswater.
It took such concentration for you to focus on the way Eddie lapped and nuzzled into your leaking cunt. His hands roamed your body freely and found grace in nipping and squeezing your stiffened nipples beneath your button-up blouse. Your head spun with lewd thoughts and your throat was vocal all on its own. You and no control over it.
Eddie’s lips sucked and consumed you with such shamelessness, each stroke and prod of his stiff tongue to your swollen clit left your mewling like an animal in heat.
“Feels so good, please don’t stop— agh,” Your head is heavy as it presses back into the pillow beneath it, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull as your fingers lace into Eddie’s hair, gently tugging on the strands which elicits a growl from his throat.
Goosebumps arise on your skin, raising every bodily hair to stand on end when you feel the tips of Eddie’s fingers teasing your gushing entrance. You were past the point of communication now— whatever Eddie wanted to do, you were right there with him.
His pursuit is hot on you clit, stimulating you to the point of tears when he eases his middle finger inside of you, inch by inch until he is fully submerged. He pumps his fist gently, stretching you out until you’re ready for a second finger. With your arousal it doesn’t take long at all until you’re nearly ready for a third.
Erotic sounds create a symphony that fills the space, drowning out the chaos happening beneath you, “Such a greedy little pussy hmm, swallowing my fingers to the knuckles.” His digits curl within you which causes your spine to arch slightly, pleasure taking over and burning into your lower abdomen, “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long— touch myself to you all the time.” His confession sends you to another dimension, one where rational thought just doesn’t exist. You grind against the palm of his hand and when his lips reattach to your clit it sends your spluttering over the edge and plummeting back to earth, your walls clenching around him as your body quivers into the springs below.
“Fuck—“ Your vision is shaky as Eddie plants a kiss to your lips, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth allowing you to taste yourself on him.
“Ready for the main event?” He speaks into your neck where his teeth drag and nibble at the skin, sure to leave bruising along the curve to your shoulder.
That’s when you feel it, his stiff bulge pressing into the soaked skin of your upper thigh. Still high on your first release all you can muster vocally is a soft hum and a eager nod.
“Gotta hear you, Sweetheart. Do you wanna feel me?” The tip of his nose kisses yours and you smile at the sight of his gorgeous brown eyes which appear more amber in the warm hue of the light. More inviting and romantic.
“Yes. I want that.” Another press of wet lips against yours, Eddie’s quirk up at the corners with his hands lovingly stroking your hair.
“S’ all I needed to hear, Baby. We’re gonna take it nice and slow. Got you all warmed up.” His hand sneaks down to cup your mound, his fingers relishing the slickness that they are met with as they pump back inside of you— testing the waters to ensure they’re still warm.
“Can I undress you?” The words are foreign in your mouth, like an unknown entity had possessed your voice box, cloning you and then speaking.
Eddie only grins, his response immediate, “Absolutely, Princess. Up ya get.” Forcefully, but not brutishly, Eddie takes hold of your upper arms and brings you to sit in an upright position, “We can undress each other.”
Excitement burnt Eddie’s chest when your eyes lit up at the idea and he found himself cupping your face in the palms of his hands and kissing you delicately and passionately.
“I’ll go first.” He couldn’t wait a second longer to see you, all of you, bare for him. Your soul exposed to him.
Button by tedious button Eddie’s fingers fight with your blouse in a painstaking battle to undress you. It’s all worth it when he sees your bra. A blush pink colour and a modest but pretty design against your flesh.
“Breathtaking.” He could look at you forever.
Your face heats bashfully under his gaze and your hands are hesitant to reach for him, “My turn…” You mutter, your fingers curling around the hem of his acid washed t-shirt and gently removing it up and over his head which leaves his hair slightly tossed an dishevelled.
You allow the garment to fall to your lap and your hands lay flush against the skin of his chest, revelling in the warmth of him, “You’re beautiful, too, Y’know.” You peek up at him through your eyelashes, smirking at the way Eddie’s cocky face starts to flush.
“Thank you…” Is all he meekly musters, his shoulders softening as he melts into you. The quiet moment brings you closer together, foreheads blissfully meeting as Eddie’s fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra, the elastic straps falling from your shoulders and gliding effortlessly from your frame.
You welcome it and Eddie tries not to stare. He had seen women naked before— but none like you. None as soft and angelic. You belonged in a gallery, displayed with pride next to other great pieces of art.
He hadn’t ever felt this lucky, to see someone as perfect as you up close.
It felt like dream.
Only when you decide to unbuckle his belt is Eddie snapped back to the present, his hands smoothly massaging the plumpness of your thighs as he waits his turn to steal the only article of clothing you have left— your skirt.
“Stand up,” He demands in a voice is so low it could be mistaken as a whisper. Contently you comply, rising to your feet and finding your place stood in front of Eddie’s seated silhouette. Sensually, he begins his pursuit on the zipper of the garment. Carefully as to not snag the fabric as he cranks it down and lets it fall from your waist. Leaving you slightly chilled and totally naked before him.
Instinctively his fingertips trace the curvature from your hips to your waist, soft and inviting as they paw and palm the tender flesh of your breasts.
Promptly Eddie rises to meet you, pulling your body close to his and in one swift motion he is laying you back onto the bed, standing to remove the rest of his pesky clothes.
He massages his cock through the denim of his jeans and moves on to pull them down his legs, kicking them off onto the floor and then doing the same with his underwear— only this time he is menacingly slow. Ensuring he has your full and undivided attention when his throbbing cock springs free from the waistband.
Part of you couldn’t believe what you were really seeing. Eddie Munson, fully stripped and in front of you. His sex in his hand with the tip red and glistening— aching and leaking for you. Your touch. Your thoughts flicker to how he will fit inside of you. The stretch. You yearned for it. Trembled for it.
“Safety first.” He reaches into his pocket to retrieve a red foil packet, tearing the ragged edge with his teeth and taking the condom from inside. Entranced you watch his fingers roll it along his thick length from tip to base and your pulse quickens with excitement.
He stands looming above you, his demeanour darker as he climbs onto the bed and positions himself between your legs. His elbows rest at either side of your head and his eyes bore into yours, “You ready?” His rough thumb strokes across your brow bone and Eddie chuckles softly at your fast nod.
He holds his hand in front of his mouth and spits into it, covering it in saliva.
Reaching down between the both of your bodies he smears his drool all over your pussy, his fingers pushing and pumping inside of you again, “Oh yeah, she’s desperate for me, huh? You want it bad, Baby, don’t cha’?” His dirty words plagued your mind and infected it from the core outwards. Forever changed. Your body writhed and you moaned into the shell of his ear with each thrust of his skilful fingers, and just as he stopped you felt a much larger push at your clenching hole.
Eddie ruts his rampant cock against you, covering himself in slick before he is carefully pushing inside of you, his eyes hooked on your face as he does, “Just the tip, first…” He promises and you nod, breathing shallow as your mind focuses on the intoxicating stretch of your core, “You okay?” He asks, unbeknownst to you he is still pushing inside, inch by inch.
You smile up at him and nod an unspoken ‘yes’, your eyes half lidded and shimmering as you welcome his sinking shaft.
“Fuck, squeezing me so good. Made for me.”
With each frisky word Eddie spoke it had you growing wetter, inviting more of him to plunge into you and back out again. His hips still whilst he is fully submerged, allowing you time to fully adjust to his length and girth before he rocks into you.
You moan when his hips snap back against you, the feeling familiar but intense, “Ya like that? Feel good?” He searches for reassurance.
“Yes.. yes.” You stutter, half moan and half confirmation.
Every kiss has a raw intensity - breathing fast, heart rates faster. Then before you know how it happened you are skin moving softly together, like the finest of silk.
His hand enters from below moving fast to tangle in your hair and your tongues entwined in a sloppy kiss. He changes your breathing with every feral thrust, hearing your moans timed to the muscular movements of his body.
Then all at once he stops and kisses from your breasts to the flesh of your stomach, his hands feather light and ticklish before resuming his previous position. He’s licking and biting and using his fingers all at once. Watching every reaction on your face, feeling how your legs move and stiffen, watching your body writhe.
You release a moan, unable to articulate a response when Eddie whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Praising you. Telling you how he’s going to ruin you. How good of a girl you are for him.
In seconds he’s fucking you harder, pounding you into the mattress just long enough to intoxicate your mind before stopping again. A strategy of his to ensure you’ll get hooked on this drug forevermore— his drug. Him and only his.
“Fuck— so tight, Baby. Think I’m gonna burst.” You could feel his muscles straining on top of you and his cock twitching inside of you. You wondered how it would feel to have him spill inside of you—
“Eddie arggh—“ You claw at his back, your hips bucking up to meet Eddie’s every move. Skin slapping against skin.
You were fucking hooked alright.
Sensations sky rocket and you swear there’s a moment where you are floating outwith the confines of your own body, looking down on the way Eddie humps you like a jackrabbit. The imagery proves to be too much, sending you into total over stimulation and you shake and nearly scream at the pleasure that comes with each deep stroke of Eddie’s cock.
“Gonna cum, Sweetheart if you keep grabbing me like tha—“
“Me too!!“
You squeal, clutching to Eddie’s bicep like your life depended on it, and at its upmost tallest height, you succumb to it all and falter beneath him. A shaking and shivering mess as your ride your comedown along Eddie’s length.
Moments after, Eddie collapses onto you after chasing his own orgasm, smiling like an idiot into the crook of your neck. Your perfume penetrated his brain in a way he could only describe as witch craft and you lovingly paw at his dampened hair.
“So…” you pant, out of breath and slightly delirious, “Where do we go from here?”
Eddie’s strong arms position your naked body to lay flush against his bare and sweat sheeted chest, “Well… how about I start all the official paperwork to take you out on a date?” His fingers comb through you hair, creating a tiredness within you that you hadn’t noticed until now.
A small yawn cuts through the untroubled space and you would have giggled at his remark if you weren’t so sleep stricken, “Mmm, yeah?” Your face nuzzles into the fleshy pillow of his pectoral muscle, “What kind of date?”
The sound of his heart beating against your ear lulls you into a state of unconsciousness. A place between awake and deep slumber.
“Anywhere you want, Sweet girl. Anywhere you want.” Eddie presses kisses to your hair, his vice like grip around you tightening like an anaconda. He refused to let you go.
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summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue lunch break visits, rocky road ice cream, a too-big bouquet, and the rainbow connection.
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, tw talk of dying (and past lives)
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You're dozing against the back wall in the kitchen when Benny clears his throat. The grease back here while he's cooking tends to get pretty thick and you're tired to begin with. It's a recipe for nodding off.
Flinching into a proper standing position, you give your boss an apologetic smile. "What?" you ask, blinking hard.
"Your boy's here."
"My boy?"
"Curly hair, tattoos. Looks like he hasn't showered this week. Or any week, actually." Benny laughs, a chesty, self-satisfied chuckle.
You rush to his side, careful of the spitting hot grill, and follow his gaze out of the kitchen window. Eddie's about two seconds away from opening the glass door, clad in his smart work uniform.
"He's not my boy," you say.
Benny scrapes his spatula across the grill's bubbling surface and flips a burger. "If he's the reason you're tired today, you can consider him banned. He's ruining my best waitress."
"I'm your only waitress." The door opens. Eddie stops in the doorway and casts his gaze around the room. You hide behind the wall and fuss with your hair. "And no, he's not keeping me up. It's Junie." Isn't it always Junie? She's your baby and you adore her, but that doesn't mean she's getting any easier to handle. The terrible twos are persevering with a ferocity you can't quite withstand, or at the very least sleep through.
"He eating?" Benny asks.
"I'll go find out."
You wipe the oil from your nose and grimace as you walk out into the actual seating area of the diner. It's empty but for one person and Eddie, who grins when he sees you.
"Hey, sweet thing."
You try not to show how much you like being called 'sweet thing'. Your face must betray you somehow because Eddie's grin turns smug and he approaches until he's basically stepping on your toes.
"How's it hanging?"
You snort. "Benny asked if you're eating."
"What's today's special?"
"Cheeseburger."
He fixes your shirt collar. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and the cooler metal of a ring grace your throat. "Yeah, I'm eating."
You report back to Benny with his order and find the cook's already added two burgers to the grill. He points his spatula at the now grilled and constructed burger for Darren. If you hadn't taken it you'd still know who's it was; Benny's regulars are loyal to a fault. The same old guys come in here day in and day out, and they all want the same thing.
Quarter pounders.
You take it, twist around a childish Eddie trying to trip you up and deliver it to Darren, a frowny-faced farm-hand that Benny swears is a nice guy deep down. You've yet to dig far enough.
Eddie tries to trip you up again when you come back. You glare at him, stepping on his toes gently – more a threat than a real show of aggression – and disappear again through the kitchen door.
"So." Benny throws down a basket of fries before moving to the chopping board with a fresh tomato in hand. "He's your boyfriend?"
"Do we have to do this?" you ask, joining him at the chopping board. You try to snag a slice of tomato and are quickly tutted away.
"Is he?"
"No," you say, trying again for some tomato.
"Kid, if you don't wait."
You pout and set back on your heels.
The burgers sizzle. Benny throws a slice of cheese over Eddie's and lets it melt. Quicker than you can believe, Benny constructs two burgers and fills a red plastic basket with fries.
He offers them to you. "Lunch break."
Free food. You smile at him sheepishly and try to take them. He pulls his arms back.
"Wha-"
"If he's your boyfriend, you better tell me now."
"Benny, I don't know if you know this, but I'm an adult. Already got knocked up once."
"And where is he now?"
Chastised, you mumble, "He's not my boyfriend," and Benny finally hands over the food. He looks like he might try to ruffle your hair if you stick around, so you knock open the kitchen door with your hip and make a speedy exit.
"What's with the face?" Eddie asks as you sit, reaching for the hot plate balancing across your forearm.
"I think Benny just tried to give me a dad talk."
He laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Really? What did he say?"
You shake your head. That's not a bag of worms you're interested in delving into right now. Your brains too fried, and the food smells great. Your stomach aches with hunger.
"You want a coke?" you ask.
Eddie stands up. "I'll get them. Sit down, okay?"
You sit down and shove a greedy handful of fries into your mouth, turning in your seat to watch Eddie talk.
He leans over the metal ledge of the kitchen window. It's quiet enough to hear him laugh, hear him say, "No, sir," in a tone that borders sarcastic.
He wields a five dollar bill at Benny, who shoots him down.
"Put it in the Junie jar," Benny says.
"Junie jar?" Eddie questions, though he's smiling.
Your eyebrows furrow at the expression. You've never heard it either.
"I don't bother pretending she spends it on anything else."
"You got that right."
You flush with heat all the way to to the tips of your ears and turn back to the table before Eddie can catch you watching.
He throws himself into his seat like he's collapsed. The twin cokes in his hands upheave and then splash back into themselves, an impressive and ridiculous show of skill that makes you gasp.
"For you." He shoves a glass down next to you. The ice cubes clink.
"Thank you," you say, and don't waste any time digging into your food.
He squints at your eager eating, though he waits until you've taken the worlds biggest bite of your burger before he asks, "Hungry?"
You swallow before you mean to and have to take a big sip of your drink to avoid choking to death. "I didn't eat breakfast."
"How come?"
You can't take his concern. Your eyes drop this hand where it picks through fries, no rings in sight. He’d told you once he can’t wear them at work, because he gets really warm and the rings are costume jewellery. His hands look bare without them, but they’re very nice hands. You follow the stark line of a bone down from his knuckles and focus in on his simple wrist watch as you explain.
"It took me an hour to get her to finish a slice of toast this morning. I usually wouldn’t make her finish, but she's not eating well."
You don't have to say who. Eddie tips his head back to eat a handful of fries like a courtesan eating grapes, all grandness.
"Teething?"
"She has all her teeth already," you say. A laugh bubbles up, delighted at his suggestion.
"What do you think it is?"
You wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin and shrug. Eddie sees straight through your forced nonchalance.
"No, seriously. What do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe she's gonna come down with the flu. She didn't sleep all night either, and…" You rub your tired eyes with the backs of your hands. "I don't know. I hope she's feeling better at pick up, but I doubt it."
"How are you feeling?" He says 'you' softly, almost crooning.
"Tired, Eds."
"I can see that."
The door opens and a breeze whips your ankles. You hide them further under the table and cringe when you kick Eddie straight in the foot. He only raises his eyebrow at you and kicks you back. "What's your problem?" he mumbles under his breath, smiling.
When the burgers are gone and there's only a couple of cold fries left, you and Eddie fall into conversation about tonight. He's finally playing a gig after months without one, and you're riddled with guilt.
"I wish I could come," you tell him, feeling gutted that you won't see him in action.
You wonder what he looks like on stage. Sometimes it's hard to coalesce the Eddie you know and the other Eddie, rocker Eddie. He's so sweet. The image of him on stage and sweating, rocking out, you can't summon it.
You clear your throat. "I'm sorry we can't."
Eddie shakes his head quickly, fingers playing with the chain around his left wrist. "Don't worry about it. Junebugs's gotta sleep. You gotta sleep."
You pick at your nails, shame-faced. If you were a good friend you'd go and see him perform, but you're a good mom so you can't. Maybe you could get a sitter… only you don't trust anybody to look after her. Not the way you would. And people can be evil.
Maybe I could take her to the Hideout, you think tentatively.
You couldn't. It's too loud, it's too rowdy. You're not sure they'd even let you in with a baby.
"Sorry," you say again, dropping your cheek into your palm.
Eddie doesn't smile. He turns his wrist, the back of his hand to the table and his palm open between you.
"Don't be sorry," he says. He watches your face and slowly, slowly, mischief creeps into his expression. "How about I give you a private show?"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"You and June've never heard me play. I could bring an amp. June can play drums. You'll sing."
His allocation shocks you out of your thoughts. "Why can't you sing?"
"What will you do, then? If I sing?"
You flounder.
He lifts his coke to his lips and smirks at your silence. "Exactly."
"Eddie, I can't sing."
He waves his hand at you rather than answer.
"I won't sing."
"Oh, you won't?" he asks, tone enough to make you cross your legs under the table. He rolls his eyes.
"No. Let Junie do it. She's always singing."
"And you'll-? What?"
You shrug. He imitates you, over-exaggerated enough to make you gasp a laugh.
“Is that supposed to be me?"
He ignores your question in favour of his own. "You'll do nothing. Typical."
"You're getting too big for your boots, Munson," you warn, sliding his plate on top of yours.
He stacks your empty glasses. The two of you stand and linger. He should go back to work. You should too.
"I'll come over tomorrow?" he asks finally.
"Okay." You look over him in his clean clothes and neater than usual hair and can't help smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say quietly, opening your arms just slightly.
Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms quickly around your shoulders, careful of the plates in your hand. He rubs them once, a good, grounding pressure across the breadth of your back. Your nose presses against his neck. He smells like aftershave and cigarette smoke and skin.
Before you know it he's pulling away, the end to an amicable embrace between friends. Almost disappointing, not quite what you want anymore, but a relief and a comfort all the same.
He chucks your chin. "Tell Junie I miss her."
"I will."
"Okay." He turns to walk away. "Bye, sweetheart," he shoots over his shoulder.
"Bye!" you call.
The door shudders in his wake. You stand there watching until Benny clears his throat pointedly and asks you to come and make some more coffee.
You rush through the rest of the day. You finish earlier than you should because Benny's in a gracious mood, thrusting your tip jar into your arms with a command to get some sleep. You promise you'll try your best and head out for the daycare.
Junie's asleep in a bean bag by the baby gate when you get there. You stop dead in your tracks. She has her shoes and coat on already, her backpack in her lap. You look up at the childcare worker in charge today, a nice lady called Deborah, quizzically.
"She's been like that for an hour. I'm sorry we couldn't keep her awake."
You pout at Junie. "Why she got her coat on?"
"She insisted. Screamed bloody murder. Think she was excited to see you," she says, smiling softly.
You smile in return. "Thank you, Deborah. Have a nice weekend.”
Deborah nods and disappears back into the play room. You open the baby gate with likely less dexterity than you should have as a mom and drop to your knees in front of the beanbag, careful not to make too much noise. You're wondering if you can carry her to the car without waking her up when her foot moves, then her arms. They fall to her side as her eyes open.
"Hey, baby," you say, feeling weirdly emotional. She looks so lovely and pretty, and if she's sick that's gonna pluck your heart strings (and cause a boat load of problems).
"Mommy," she mumbles, eyes bleary.
"That's me." You reach out to squeeze her little thigh. "My poor girl, what's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?" you ask carefully.
She blinks.
"Why're you sitting here all by yourself? You didn't want to play with Adrien? Or Lucy?"
When she doesn't reply you take her backpack and thread your hand through the strap, offering your open arms to her. She can barely sit up, her movements slow and sluggish.
"Here," you murmur, sliding your hands under her armpits and pulling her into your chest.
She finally smiles, hands bunched up at the collar of your shirt. You leave some room to look at her and she looks at you. You're surprised she's not whining or crying.
"Hey," you say again, amazed at her droopy smile. "You look like you've had a good day."
Her head drops forward. You think she's nodding, though that might be wishful thinking. You don't even know if toddlers can nod.
Of course they can nod, you think to yourself scathingly. I mean… can they?
And Junie isn't like most toddlers. She hasn't really done anything by the book. She meets milestones when she wants to, sometimes early, sometimes really, really late.
You pat her back, her nylon coat crinkly under your hand. "Ready to go home?"
You stand up with her clutched to your chest. Usually you'd have her say goodbye to Deborah or the other daycare workers but Junie doesn't look like she knows her own name right now. You frown at her and encourage her forehead against your chin, trying to gauge if she's a little warmer than usual.
"I missed you," you tell her honestly. You miss her every single day. "I want to know everything you did today. Do you remember what you did?"
Junie pushes against your chest with her hand as you walk out of the daycare centre and into the parking lot.
"Did you do… colouring? Or… building blocks? Did you sing?" you ask, grinning.
You cross the road, and when you look back she's staring at you, straight into your eyes.
"Hi," you say with a laugh.
Her hands rise to your face, fingers thankfully clean and warm against your wind-bitten cheeks. You slow, gazing down at her expectantly. She raises her chin as high as she can and smiles big.
"You want a kiss. I can tell," you croon smugly.
She kisses you. It's a little drooly as baby kisses always are, but it's the best thing that's happened to you all day. It's always so surprising when she initiates affection. That she loves you just as much as you love her.
You steal another kiss.
"Guess what?" you ask, reaching a hand to stroke a little baby hair back.
She says a word that isn't real. It sounds like 'mod'.
"It's payday today, which means…" You beam at her. "Ice cream!"
That grabs her attention.
-
Eddie can't believe it. "You had what without me?" he asks over the phone.
Junie herds your knees, arms around your legs and face turned to the TV. You stand slumped against the wall where your phone is plugged, curling the landline's coiled cord around your finger so Junie can't grab it.
"Ice cream," you supply helpfully.
His voice isn't easy to understand. The Hideout is a very loud place. Eddie's practically shouting down the line. "I can't believe it."
"It couldn't be helped. She needed to be tempted."
"Tempted! Has she eaten anything else?"
You look down at the girl in question and reach down to rub her back. "Oh yeah. She ate like, an entire bag of lays, one of the big ones. She still smells like honey barbecue."
"Nothing else?"
You sigh, that creeping, ringing thought edging in. You're a bad mom.
"I made her cereal, and celery sticks and sandwiches and little cut up peaches and- and she won't touch any of it," you say, like you're promising. Your tone begs to be believed.
There's a loud racket. Eddie shouts, "What did you say? I can't hear you!"
You repeat yourself. You miss the start of what he's saying, but you catch, "-not your fault! She's probably just having a moment. You remember when she kept throwing her bottle? She doesn't do that anymore."
You nod. "Yeah, maybe it's like that. She's figuring she has choices." Not the best timing for your kid to decide she's gonna get picky.
"Exactly! Or maybe she is sick. Does she look sick?"
You look back down at Junie and feel across her smooth forehead for the twentieth time today. "She doesn't feel warm."
"Good. I'm sure she-" You miss the rest.
"I can't hear you," you say with a small laugh. "I can hear the drum kit though. Are you going on soon?"
"I said, 'I'm sure she's fine.' And yeah, couple of minutes."
"Okay. Um. I'll let you go, then."
"Okay." A small gap where you think he's hung up, but then, "Can I talk to her?"
You bite back a smile. "Sure."
You kneel down. Junie looks a short fall from suspicion, though her arms quickly reach out for a hug.
"June, d'you wanna talk to Eddie?"
"Eddie?" she asks, turning to the door.
You catch her hand before she can walk away. "No, babe, on the phone."
You sit down flat with your legs crossed and encourage her to do the same. She doesn't not want to be encouraged, eyes still trained on the door.
"Baby," you say, though you're bringing the phone to your mouth as you do. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Okay, I'm gonna pass her the phone and you're gonna have to talk straight away, because she doesn't know how it works. Alright?"
"Yeah, alright. Bring on the junebug."
You press the phone to Junie's ear. She looks startled and then annoyed, shoulder hiking and head moving in like she might push it away. You can see the moment she realises Eddie is on the other side, her lips part and her eyes widen in wonder.
She listens for a while, flabbergasted. You think you might be able to hear his voice. Not what he's saying, but his bubbly baby tone.
"Eddie," she says suddenly. She looks at you, says a bunch of nonsense words and babbling punctuated by Eddie Eddie Eddie.
"Are you listening to him?" you ask, excited at her recognition.
She grabs the phone out of your hand and stares at it. You try to wrangle it back and put it back to her ear. She is not happy.
Hardly news that your toddler's mood may swing, you shove the phone between your head and your shoulder and wrap her up in your arms with a placating shush. She starts to cry regardless. You think they might be crocodile tears.
"Eddie?"
"Sweetheart, I gotta go, okay? I'm sorry if I upset June–"
"You didn't, you didn't, she–"
"– I'll make it up to you, I swear."
"– misses you, I think–"
"See you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Good luck!" you say. The line's already dead. The dial tone makes your ear prickle.
You feel upset for a second. It's a mess of feelings. You're too tired to deal with any of them.
"Eddie?" Junie asks, hands pulling at the hem of her nightie.
"Just mommy," you say with a smile. The longer she looks at you the easier it gets. "You wanna go to bed and cuddle?"
She laughs and runs away from you.
"I'll take that as a no."
-
Eddie knocks the door and doesn't get an answer.
He pauses, a bouquet behind his back and his acoustic guitar heavy around his neck, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his elbow. It's a very heavy grocery bag. He'd figured he has a lot of apologising to do this afternoon.
It seems like there's no one home to apologise to.
"Girls? It's me."
Still no answer.
"Eddie," he adds, like a loser.
He thinks he can hear small footsteps.
"Eddie!"
He laughs to himself. "Junebug? Where's mommy?"
"Hello?" you call finally.
"Hey, can you let me in?"
He keeps the flowers hidden firmly behind his back as you open the door. He hears the deadbolt, the chain slide free and then the regular old lock unlocking, and you pull the door open and suddenly he can't breathe. You look that pretty.
"Eddie!" Junie shouts, to his pleasure.
You grin brilliantly as he steps over the threshold.
Junie's arms are quickly around his legs. She's in a sweet blue dress and frilly socks looking almost as pretty as her mom does, hair neat and tidy, face pristine.
You're nearly matching her. You've a soft white shirt on, tucked into a simple blue skirt and a cardigan to match.
You barely stop to look at him, flitting back to the kitchen where you’ve brown paper bags upended, the fridge and freezer doors both wide open. "Sorry, I'm just putting the groceries away. How did the gig go? Did you rock the house?" You giggle to yourself.
Eddie wants to scream, you’re that endearing. “It went great. Awesome. Not sure I rocked the house, but it was metal.”
"Amazing! I- I'm sorry I didn't hear you, I was in my own head," you say as you go, stepping over toys and frozen peas and Junie's Muppet Babies backpack like a natural. He notices your small white socks and feels himself slipping that little bit further into a terrifying feeling.
He doesn't have time to tell you it's okay, or that he wishes you’d been at the gig, or to watch your step. Junies's babbling for his attention and he'd rather die than not give it to her, moving the grocery bag he has hanging from his hand over her head and tossing it toward the couch, where it lands and spills.
"Okay, June, I'm gonna pick you up," he says quickly, pulling the guitar over his head. He props it up by the open doorway, Junie tugging at his jeans the whole while.
"So demanding!" he teases, scooping her up to prop on his hip and unveiling the flowers at the same time.
You aren't looking. He nudges them towards her face and shakes them gently.
Junie can't decide what's more fun, the flowers or Eddie. She wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can but stares at the flowers with a dawning comprehension.
"What are these, baby?" he asks, holding them lower so she can see them all in view. They're mostly red. There's some whites too, big round roses among other flowers he can't name.
"Red," she says quickly. "White. Yellow, blue, green."
She's not right, there aren't any yellows or blues, but he can only blame himself for drilling them into her the way he had. She's showing off that she knows them all, and she deserves some praise.
"Good job! Red, white," he shakes the bouquet enough to reveal a few small pink ones, "pink flowers. They're pretty, don't you think? Pretty as you and mommy?" He hums to himself, patting her back thoughtfully. “Maybe not that pretty."
You're not listening. If you were he's not sure he could say it, not while you're looking like you do. You're always pretty, always, but right now he feels like he did the first time he saw you. Just gone.
Junie tells him something, a more factual tone and air about her. He rubs the top of her upper arm encouragingly, asking, "Is that right?"
"Do you want food?" you call.
He sets June down on her feet and she hates it until he wraps her hands around the bouquet's neck. "Can you give these to your mom for me? Please?" Junie stares at them. "For mommy," he adds, pointing at you where you're closing the cabinet door.
Junie, the tiny smarty-pants that she is, runs to you. Eddie's a coward for it, but he doesn't think he can give them to you himself under honest pretenses, doesn't think he could admit that he'd been thinking about getting you flowers for a while now. Much easier to have her give them to you.
You make a sound like you've swallowed a gasp and stare at them.
"They're nice, right? I saw them and I thought they'd make a good apology for last night."
You don't take them. You can't contain a smile, but you don't take them.
"I'm sorry if I made any trouble for you," he says tentatively.
You drop your hand on top of Junie's head. Your tone is warm, each word reassuring. "No, you didn't. She just… you know, she has a routine, and she loves when you come around. She missed you. That's not your fault."
"Okay, good. I missed her too. Nobody can jam out like she can.”
Junie whacks you in the thigh. Eddie's starting to think he did something wrong because you still haven't taken them from her, your eyes as unreadable as the way your hands move, rigid and curling.
You shake them out and finally take the flowers.
"Thanks, baby," you say. Then, looking at him. "Thank you."
"You can get me back," he says.
Shell shock turns to eagerness. "Yeah, anything."
He picks up the spilled groceries and brandishes them at you. In one hand is this week's dessert, a huge carton of rocky road ice cream, the fancy kind with big chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows on top. In the other, a plastic jug of your favourite drink.
"Find room for these in the fridge?"
Since accepting them, you've yet to put down the flowers, holding them protectively to your chest as you take what he’s offering and carry them into the kitchen.
June runs full pelt at his legs and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up.
"You're so happy today!" he cheers, saccharine sweet as she burrows her little face into his collar. "Have you been having a good day with mom? I love your matching outfits."
You try to hide how the compliment affects you, face buried in the freezer. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that your freezer has ample room, you don’t need to look for space. and he can see the way your hand tightens around the bouquet. He loves how shy you've become lately over his compliments, no matter how small. It's worth the possibility of making a fool of himself to see you flustered.
Junie reports back on the day. Eddie listens intently for words he might understand but finds none.
He doesn't let this bother him, leaning against the counter behind so he can hold Junie low on his stomach to watch her expressions flicker, hands encapsulating her back. She looks happy, obviously, but she also looks very intent on something.
"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head toward her knowingly. "Was the grocery store exciting? Did you do anything else?"
"Duckies!" she says.
"Duckies? You saw ducks?" he asks curiously, looking to you for confirmation.
You're still holding your flowers to your chest.
Junie chatters. "Duck, duck, duck."
"What's she talking about?" he asks, pulling her up enough for her head to rub against his chin.
"Oh, we went to the duck pond. She was obsessed," you say.
"Right, right. Can't say I blame her.”
"Trying to explain why they weren't yellow took some dedication."
Eddie smiles at you softly. "You can put them down, you know."
Your eyes flicker between him and the flowers. "I- nobody's ever got me flowers before. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do with them. I don't… have a vase."
He hadn't realised he'd be the first guy to get you flowers. It makes him wanna wrap you up and hug you, because how is it fair that a girl like you never got flowers? Not once?
"Shit," he says instead.
He flinches hard and looks at Junie. She's too busy with her hands in his hair to notice what he's said. He apologises anyways.
You roll your eyes. Eddie's relieved to see it's with obvious fondness, a funny lopsided smile to your lips.
"If she starts dropping s-bombs, you're the one who has to deal with it," you warn.
"I will.”
He takes a step toward you and you take a step toward him.
You hum and hold the flowers up to Junie as he had before. "Aren't these just something else? Look how pretty they are! Why don't you pick one, baby?"
Eddie shifts her onto the right side and you both watch her touch them, hands adorably careful as she feels the leaves between her fingers and pokes the fuzzy yellow centre of a flower with white, round petals.
"That one?" you murmur, pulling it out from the rest with the same adorable carefulness.
Junie accepts the flower and immediately shows it to Eddie, ecstatic.
“Yellow," she proclaims.
"And white," he says, ruffling the petals with his index finger.
She smells like talc and you, that soft jasmine perfume, and her hair is fragrant where it tickles his face. He indulges and hugs her that little bit tighter. She indulges him in turn and hugs him back, the flower petals cold and silky against his neck.
"How do you…" You scratch the base of your neck. "Do you think I could squeeze all the stalks into one glass?"
It's only a bunch from the grocery store but he thinks a glass might be a little too small. "Maybe you can split it? Have one in your room, one in here."
You set about following his suggestion, snipping away the cellophane with a pair of scissors and acquiring two tall glasses. The stalks are tall. You trim them down and begin arranging them. Eddie has no clue why you're being as particular as you are but he's happy for you to do as you please, traipsing into the living room where Junie seems to have been running rampant before his arrival with intentions of cleaning up.
He closes the front door and bends at the waist to let Junie back on her feet.
She goes down easy enough. Eddie turns on the TV to keep her occupied while he whips around the room. He wants to clean (as best as he can) before you see him and tell him to stop. He puts your small handbag and Junie's backpack at the sideboard by the door. He sweeps up all of her toys and tucks them under the television as you would, then moves onto the rogue dirtied pajamas on the floor. They're Junie's favourites, the ones with tiny strawberries that she always chooses when given the option.
Your laundry basket isn't anywhere in the living room or kitchen. He attempts to sneak past you where you're still arranging flowers intently. The sight of you stops him in his tracks.
I need to get her a vase, he thinks. And another bouquet.
You turn to him, a pleased expression turning your features from pretty to chest-achingly lovely.
He holds up the pajamas and then keeps on down the hall to the bathroom, even as you chasten, "Eddie," with a fond exasperation.
You showcase your first bouquet upon his return, sheepish, awaiting judgement. You're conflicted tonight, a handful of emotions shaken and stirred.
"Tada," you sing.
"Looks sick, sweetheart. If this whole waitressing thing doesn't work out for you, you could definitely be a florist."
You huff a laugh. "Oh, for sure."
"I'm serious. It looks really nice."
He thinks maybe he can see the way you might've been before, in that moment. There's something so young – and you are young, as he is, as he keeps forgetting – about your face and how you take praise. You look like you want desperately to brush it away, and you look like you want him to give you more.
He stands close enough that you're forced to turn back to the counter where the second bouquet is taking form. "This one looks nice too."
"I thought I'd put the prettiest one out here." You lean back and your shoulder presses to his chest. "And then the reject in my room," you say, chin lifted to look him dead in the eye.
He feels heat crawling up his neck and decides to fight fire with fire, even if the fire is entirely imagined. "Do you often have rejects in your bedroom?" he questions with a smarmy smile.
You laugh. Far from the polite and prim giggling you'd used when you first met, though that was cute, too, this laugh is something else. He wishes he had a tape deck with him to record it, play it back.
"Only if they're very pretty," you say. You place the last of the flowers into the second bouquet. "And these ones are beautiful. Thank you, Eddie. You didn't have to get me flowers."
"I wanted to."
Your head falls gently against the top of his shoulder. He stands very still.
The faucet drips. The TV plays. If he listens, Eddie can hear the sound of kids outside on their bikes, shouting and jeering.
Like this, he can see the curve of your neck, the hill of your chin. He can see the pillows of your lips and the slopes of your cheek. The darling shape of your nose. He knows a kiss would fit there well, fit there perfectly, if he would only raise his hand to your shoulder. Turn you ever so slightly.
Even the flat of your forehead begs for affection. He can almost feel it from looking at you – the warmth of your skin under his lips. He can't decide whether he'd kiss you from temple to temple, or smack dab on your crown. Between your brows, at the tail of them. The corner of your eye might work.
Anything would work.
Eddie lifts his hand. Careful not to startle you, he cups the side of your waist like he had before a hundred moons ago when you'd cut his hair in this same kitchen. He spreads his fingers wide and inches over your soft abdomen, feeling for the shape of you.
You turn your cheek into his shoulder. He lets his lips touch the back of your head.
Plinking echoes from the living room sudden enough to startle you in tandem. Kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you and Eddie both turn to the living room and come away from one another. You're more confused than Eddie at the sound; a split-second and you're out of reach.
He closes his hand and follows you. Now past the obscurification of the cabinets, he can see that Junie's finally noticed his guitar and has pulled it down flat on the floor.
She plays with the strings enthusiastically. Eddie can't bring himself to care at her roughness when she looks the way she does, curious and entertained, giggling her contagious baby laugh.
"I forgot you brought that," you say, looking to him, he suspects, for a cue. A silent, Is she allowed?
Of course she is. “I told you I'd give you a private show."
"What happened to the amp?"
"My hands were full." Eddie sits on the floor to Junie's left. "Whatcha doing, trouble?"
She hits the neck.
He takes her hand in a gentle grip and encourages the side of her finger across the strings.
She laughs thick and sweet as honey. "Brmm," she imitates, lips pinching between giggles as he helps her do it again.
"You're a total rockstar," he says.
You kneel opposite. "She's gonna lose her mind when you play something."
Eddie feels very smug at what's to come.
You let Junie play for a time, and then you open your arms and she walks around to your side, sitting on your thighs. She continues to reach for the guitar, seems sulky when Eddie picks it up, and quietens when he plays an experimental note.
"Are you gonna sing? I've heard you sing before, you know? You're not bad."
You wrinkle your nose.
First, he plays the Muppet Babies theme tune for June. She gets excited and starts to hum. You have to hold her in your lap to stop her from messing him up. He wouldn't mind if she did. He's hoping, maybe one day when she's old enough to understand, he could get her behind her own guitar. He's not kidding about starting a band.
He drops his eyes to his fingers, shaking his head on instinct to try and shake away the thought.
June sings and sings and eventually, quietly, you start to sing too. You’re purposefully not trying but any flatness is easily made up for by the familiarity of your voice alone. The way you talk, so charming and careful, the sweetness of your newfound shyness and the rough hint of ever-present tiredness you carry, it all seeps into your singing. Eddie adores it.
Junie almost gets some of the words right. It's very exciting for you, Eddie can see it in the tilt of your head. You enunciate precisely and he slows the tempo to give you time.
"It really sounds like she's almost there. She definitely said 'dreams come true,’” he says as the song ends.
"You think?"
"Definitely. Do you want to sing it again?" he asks, words falling into a high-pitched sugar, eyes on Junie.
"More?" you add, a slight correction. Junie doesn't know what 'again' means yet, but she understands 'more'.
"More," she says seriously.
You go through it one more time. If he plays slow to drag out your reluctant singing, that's his business.
He unveils his next song with a dash of edgy stage presence. "For my next song, I'll be playing what can only be described as the absolute pinnacle of music."
He sounds legitimate.
Your eyebrows pinch together at his sombre attitude. "Sure."
"I'm gonna play it as true to form as I can, but… I don't have a banjo. So…"
He plays the first few seconds of Kermit The Frog's The Rainbow Connection.
When he sings, he does it after an internal pep talk consisting of a scathing, Be brave, idiot.
"Why are there so many, songs about rainbows. And what's on the other side?" he sings, trying and failing to sound like Kermit. He abandoned that pursuit immediately in favour of his regular voice. Thankfully it's a slow song. Simple. It doesn't take much to play, either. The real challenge are the lyrics, which he doesn't really know. "Rainbows are visions, but only… illusions?"
You bob your head appraisingly, hands crossed over Junies front, cheek pressed to the top of her head.
"And rainbows have nothing to hide."
You’re making it impossible to concentrate, looking as earnest, homespun, and ridiculously pretty as you do. Pretty in more than just your looks. The way that you watch him, the way you rub a pattern over Junie's ribs, it’s all so indicative of your heart.
He fucks up the rest. Bad timing, amateurish fingering over the struts, lyrics that escape him. You'd never know he could play Master of Puppets a month after it's debut from the way he performs now.
You cheer, gathering Junie's hands into yours to help her clap.
He blushes like a fool.
—
Dinner tonight – take out.
You're prouder than you should be when Eddie asks, "Can I help you cook tonight?" and you get to say, "No, you can't. I'm not cooking."
You'd never shake your head at a frozen pizza but there's an irreplaceable satisfaction that comes from getting hot food delivered. Maybe it's the convenience, maybe it's that you don't have to cook it yourself. It might even be the grease. Whatever it is, it tastes better than any freezer food ever could.
You've trapped Junie in her high chair. Diaper changed, pajamas on, bib in place. You rolled her sleeves all the way up and gave her two slices of cheese pizza cut into small pieces that have been blown on for a more than generous amount of time and tell her to go ham. She doesn't bother with her plastic fork and you don't blame her, eating your own pizza in a similar fashion.
Rather than sit opposite you or next to Junie, Eddie has opted for the chair on your left. Junie on your right, your daughter eats with an animated little grin that apples her cheeks, giving her that chubby baby-like smile.
"You see her smile?" you ask, taking a big bite of perfect crust. You have to stop yourself from sighing happily, fingers covered in crumbs.
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, pizza sauce or his face like a little kid.
You sit back in your chair so he can really see her. "She's always been a smiley baby, and when she was much smaller all her smiles were so chubby cheeked. She was chubby cheeked. Now when she smiles like that she makes me remember her when she was a baby."
"I'm not surprised she was a smiley baby if she had you… D'you miss having a baby?"
"Watch yourself," you say, and then giggle as all the blood drains from his face. "Kidding. I don't know if I miss having a baby baby. I mean, she's so little, she's practically still a baby. But I do kinda wish I could go back and hold her as a newborn."
Eddie wipes his cheek and stands up to get some paper towels. He wipes his face and hands and grabs the juice from the fridge to fill his glass (that's basically still full) and then yours (the real reason he'd stood, you reckon).
"Was she heavy?" he asks.
You worry for a moment he's humouring you. It's clear how much you love Junie, you know it is, and that shows in how much you want to talk about her. You'd never expected that part, though of course it makes sense – sometimes she smiles and you wanna call the newspapers – and you don't think Eddie's insincere. He seems like he genuinely wants to know and that's enough for you to want to round the table and throw your arms over his shoulders.
"I think…" You pick up your glass and hesitate with the rim to your lip. "I think if you'd held her back then, you wouldn't think she was heavy."
He practically smolders, bringing an arm up to tense his bicep. "Thank you."
You laugh at him. "Shut up! I just think, you've been good with her ever since you met her. When I held her for the first time it's a good thing I was laying down. I probably would've dropped her."
Eddie takes Junie's sippy cup to fill. You'd say it was a waste if he hadn't bought it himself, she's too busy eating her weight in cheese to care about something as rudimentary as juice.
"You would not have dropped her."
"I would've."
"You wouldn't have! And if you did, it would've been an accident. Next point, they don't have skulls, right? No harm, no foul."
"Who told you babies don't have skulls?"
"...I'm not at liberty to say."
You eat the rest of your crust and shake your head at his misguided education. "They have skulls, Eddie. The scalp is super soft and fragile for ages, but they definitely have skulls. You know what they don't have?"
Eddie squeezes Junie's shoulder as he walks behind her. "What?" he asks in alarm, passing you to sit down again. His knees touch the side of your thigh.
"Kneecaps."
His hand stops on the way to the pizza box, body frozen.
"What?" he asks, his alarm doubled.
"Swear down. No knee caps."
"Don't they need them? For crawling? I feel like knee caps are more important than skulls."
"If you didn't have a skull you wouldn't be able to breathe," you say, though you're guessing.
"What use is breathing if you can't move?"
You turn to him to take him in properly. You beam, because this is an outlandish conversation and you're enjoying every second of it and he looks just as happy as you feel.
"Do babies need to move? June could never move again and I'd still look after her,” you counter.
"Sweetheart, you're cheating."
"I can't exactly breathe for her-"
"What are you talking about? Of course you could. I don't know how but you'd find a way, Y/N, I know what you're like."
Your teeth click together, a funny retort squashed down by his unexpected admittance of faith. He always does this; Eddie loves to tell you the kindest things anyone has ever told you like they don't cost him a thing.
"I would," you agree, blinded by love rather than supported by any logic.
"Mommy," Junie says, like she knows she's the topic of your hypothetical devotion and she wants in. "More pizza"
"Please?" you tack on, though her small sentence had impressed you to the point of elation. You turn to her already with your hand in the pizza box.
"Pizza," she says. You love the way she says it, like the 'zuh' sound at the end is a complete surprise.
The pizza's cold enough by now to give it to her intact. She's amazed at the big slice you put on her plate, picking it up with a coordination you know is taking a lot of effort for her.
"Good job, baby," you praise, using her distraction to pull a little string of cheese off of her messy cheek.
She takes a huge bite. You watch her worried she's gonna choke, and feel Eddie's knees press deeper into your thigh as he moves forward to join in.
"Is it weird that she's impressing me right now?" he asks.
You giggle and roll your shoulders back until you can feel the brush of his hair against your shirt. "No, she's awesome."
For dessert, you insist on plating up. Or bowling up. You scoop a more generous than she should really have portion for Junie, something similar for Eddie, and a normal portion for yourself.
"On the couch?" Eddie asks.
You can see him cleaning up Junie out of the corner of your eye. You wish he wouldn't but you're grateful that he does. His attentiveness makes your hands feel heavy in that you remember you have them, and you remember what it's like to want to hold someone else's.
"Yeah," you say, though eating on the couch makes you nervous. You don't want to ruin it. You're lucky you even have one.
Eddie scoops Junie up easy and pats her back.
“You put away a lot of cheese, kid. A lot. Was that yummy or what?"
She burps. His laughter is roaring and boyish as he applauds her.
"You're patting her back, she's gonna keep burping.”
"That's what you're supposed to do for babies, isn't it?"
He stands under the harsh kitchen light with his face turned away and down toward Junie, hair a mess of flyaways, t-shirt covered in shiny toddler fingerprints over one shoulder and jeans slipping down low on his hips. Your explanation comes breathlessly. "When you give a baby a bottle they suck in too much air and it gives them trapped wind. You burp that kind of baby. Not greedy almost three year olds."
"She is not almost three."
"I think I'd know, Munson."
"She's like, two and a half at most."
"I'm rounding up for emphasis," you say, and glare at his eyebrows rising.
He pats her back some more anyways. She burps again and he laughs even more. "Juniper The Burpiest," he says to himself as he walks away, voice fading as he settles down across the way on the couch.
Junie has crashed and burned, warm thick cheese and dough putting her quickly into a close to listless state in his lap. He faces her out toward the TV and she leans heavily against his chest with his hands around her torso, propping her up. You shepherd in the desserts.
"Gimme Junie's," Eddie says.
"She's gonna fall asleep," you say, but pass it over anyhow.
Eddie places the bowl of rocky road in her lap with a hand between to stop from making her legs cold and starts to spoon ice cream into her mouth. She accepts. It's adorable to watch. His face over her shoulder, Junie's face slowly deflating, eyes bleary and blinking as her lips close lazily around the spoon. She barely flinches at the cold.
You eat your own ice cream in the seat next to them and wonder if this is forever.
Eddie wipes her chin with the side of his hand and watches her head fall. He wears a loving smile. It makes you want to cry, to know someone else loves her.
You let all your weight fall against his shoulder and eat your ice cream casually. This is the least casual thing you've ever done. Spoon in your mouth, you press your cheek to the top of his arm and glue your gaze to the TV.
You swear you can feel his eyes on you, but when you chance a look he's watching the TV, head inclined to yours ever so slightly, a hand brushing Junie's hair from her dozing face. You're weak. You give yourself over to what you want and turn your nose to his arm. He smells lIke he always does, warm in the truest definition of the word.
You close your eyes. After a few minutes, you feel Eddie take the bowl from your hands and set it next to Junie's. You want to open your eyes and say sorry but they’re heavier than you'd thought, and you can only manage a murmur of sound.
His hand sliders under your elbow and curls around your arm. His head drops on top of yours so softly you almost don't feel it.
You doze, digging your face further into his arm, feel the curve of it under your cheek and the cut off of his sleeve rising.
A frayed thread tickles your cheek and you complain without thinking, sighing your annoyance.
"What?" Eddie asks.
You raise a hand to rub at your face and eyes. "Tickled me."
"Did I? M'sorry."
"T-shirt. Did you cut them yourself?"
"You know it. Was going through a phase."
"Going through."
"Say it to my face," he says. Soft, teasing.
You lift your head and find him smiling at you.
He has a beauty mark under his eye, occluded near completely by his eyelashes. You can't believe you've never noticed it before.
"You have a freckle," you whisper.
"Where?" He nods. "Under my eye?"
"Yeah."
You sit up and stare at him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I've never seen it before," you continue, still whispering. "It blends in with your eyelashes."
"I think you're the first person to see it who isn't my mom. No one ever looks at me this long,” he says quietly.
If his eyes weren't closed you'd never have had the courage to do what you do next. You raise your hand with his cheek, thumb pressed to the skin beside his nose and fingers slipped under his ear. You turn his face toward the light. Eddie lets you without complaint, his breath warm where it fans over your thumb. You push your fingers further until they've threaded into his soft hair, your thumb brushing up under his eye. You part his mess of dainty lashes with your thumbnail until the beauty mark is clear in view.
"That's so sweet," you whisper, awed.
Eddie readjusts Junie in his lap with an overabundance of caution and doesn't speak. He's lax under your touch.
"It's really pretty. You had it since you were a baby?"
"I think so."
You laugh under your breath.
"What?" he asks.
"It suits you." Something pretty hiding in plain view.
"I heard," he says hedgingly, "that freckles are a sign of how you died in a past life."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Bet it was something really gross, like a parasitic worm-"
"Ew."
"Or someone stabbed me. Or shot me. With an arrow."
"You're only twenty. Your past life would have still been in this century."
Eddie opens his eyes just to glare at you. "Don't deprive me of a badass past life. How would you have had me die?"
You push his hair from his face. "You know what I heard about them?"
"What?"
Fun to whisper with him like this. Like you’re younger than you are, trading secrets in the dim light.
"I heard they're kisses from a past life."
You raise your second hand to his cheek and cradle his face.
Eddie leans into it. “You wanna give me one for the next?” he asks, a short fall from salacious.
Your breath doesn’t catch. Your hands don’t shake. “Is that what you want?”
He falters. Bravado slips. Your heart skips a beat, worried maybe he doesn’t like you the way you’re thinking after all.
“Y/N,” he says.
You can’t hear his rejection. You won’t.
You close your eyes and kiss his cheek. Your nose slides over his skin, the heat of his blood under the surface warming your palms, and you steal a second there, two, breathing in his smell. If this is all you get, you can be okay with it. Eventually.
You pull away.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
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thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
please forgive any mistakes and how long it took, i have been a bit unwell! hopefully it won’t be too long before part four :3
summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]
warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic
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Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie.
Toddlers like cookies, right?
He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time.
He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.
You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird?
"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue.
You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.
"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one."
He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past.
He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour."
You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."
You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.
Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking.
It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!"
He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening."
"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her.
"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?"
"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf."
"I brought cookies."
"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets.
Your bravado makes him laugh.
He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one.
Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting.
He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout."
"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something.
Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you.
"She loves the floor,” he says.
"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch."
"Yeah? What's the tab?"
"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed."
"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies."
"I think those might help me out."
After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos.
"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks.
Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them."
"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."
You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever."
"I like sugar."
You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends.
He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.
Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?"
You pass it to him.
"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip.
"You don't think it looks cruel?"
"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?"
"How many babies do you know?"
"One."
You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it."
Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies.
He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it.
When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"
He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite.
"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done.
Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh.
She has to like Oreos. They're a staple.
"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it."
She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze.
"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely.
Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite.
"Yummy?" you ask.
She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.
You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.
"Do they taste like you remember?"
You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively.
"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together.
One oreo, twice the cream.
You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh.
You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another.
"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them."
"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies.
"Oh."
You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure.
He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure.
Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught.
You could ruin them completely for all he cares.
Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.
“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie.
Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do.
“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks.
You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”
He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”
You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”
He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?
“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish.
“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?
“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.
“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”
“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain.
He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip.
There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him.
“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?
Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.”
“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”
“What?” he asks.
“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”
“Are you saying my head is made of wood?”
Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended.
When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click.
He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.
"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?"
He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles.
"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?"
Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started.
Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?"
What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm.
Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.
"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father."
You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.
He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this."
Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom.
He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world."
Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!"
-
You're clinging to sanity.
It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic.
Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress.
You're terrified.
You've found yourself in tears, too.
"Just tell me, baby," you plead.
It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital.
You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.
He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack.
"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.
There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt.
"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books.
You take a ragged breath.
"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?"
Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say.
"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer.
You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over.
"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown.
"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything."
"She was like this when you picked her up?"
You nod.
He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.
"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise.
He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe."
"Yeah."
Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen.
His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in.
You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it?
Eddie stands by your side, waiting.
“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."
You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock.
You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood
You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe.
"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.
Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?"
"Yeah. A hair."
A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer.
"Stay there," you say without any explanation.
You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees.
You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear.
You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.
"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.
"A hair remover."
You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit.
"How long does it take?"
"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital."
Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.
Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues.
The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.
You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks.
You take the hair between your nails and pull.
"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you.
Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen.
You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully.
"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out."
"I don't feel well."
"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."
You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?"
"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself.
After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see.
Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know."
You're trying very hard to calm down.
"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right."
He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it.
You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.
She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest.
Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this."
"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.
"Maybe. Does it matter?"
"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically.
Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it."
You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to.
"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears.
Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching.
"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.
"Don't be."
"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own."
"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.
"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth.
His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring.
"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.
"I got so freaked out, I just…" You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.
Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh.
You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"
"No.” Your chest burns.
"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast."
Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum.
Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now.
You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears.
"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today.
"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want."
"Do I look that bad?"
"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."
You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.
Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can.
"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas.
Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss.
"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel.
"No socks," she agrees.
Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world.
Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence.
Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm.
"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk.
She sighs. You sigh too.
Eddie hums from the kitchen.
He kissed my knee.
You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.
"I think he likes me," you tell Junie.
She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion.
"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers.
You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird."
"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot.
Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices.
"You can cook," you say, surprised.
"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross."
"I doubt it's gross."
You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.
"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon.
It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained.
He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.
"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look."
"So don't look. Eat."
You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.
He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?
He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth.
-
“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater.
Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh."
On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin.
You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows.
Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head.
Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson.
You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful.
Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it.
“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you.
Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.
“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”
“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.
He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.
“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe.
You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”
“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company.
He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no.
“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest.
“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”
He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to.
He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.
It's embarrassing in its intensity.
You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes.
He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about."
He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible.
“If you’re sure,” you say.
“Positive.”
-
Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him.
He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly.
“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks.
You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty.
Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing.
Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you.
You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek.
You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin.
You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings.
“I’m great.”
He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?”
You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware.
“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie.
“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”
You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn.
Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily.
One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.
Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter.
"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask.
She looks at you curiously.
You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy."
A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile.
Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.
"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.
He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip.
He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently.
"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut.
She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring.
You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair.
"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye."
Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off.
If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement.
“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.
“Eddie.”
“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”
“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”
He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”
You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”
“You first. Where’re her shoes?”
You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”
His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge.
-
“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.
The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride.
“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour.
He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist.
You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said.
I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.
Don’t patronise me.
You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare.
“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“
“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud.
“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real.
He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”
You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”
“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”
You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”
He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”
You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore.
Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away.
You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly.
“What?” he asks.
"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”
“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.
“Is there a way around?”
“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”
“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”
He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”
Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot.
“Maybe we should find another way.”
“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”
You blow air out of the side of your mouth.
Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”
You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress.
You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.
He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”
You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real.
“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms.
“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”
“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.”
Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs.
You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically.
“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek.
She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like.
“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”
He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same.
She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging.
“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”
You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”
“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely.
You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”
He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”
“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.
“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”
You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh.
Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric.
You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.
He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”
“No. I don’t deny it.”
“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”
You nod happily, warm under his touch.
Wait. “What?”
“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly.
“Eddie!”
“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion.
“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko."
“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you.
You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same.
“Can I get in on one of those?”
You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”
“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.
Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion.
He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."
"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."
"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.
"Whatever it's called."
He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need.
"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow.
"If you're sure…" you say, following him in
The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow."
"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook.
You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed.
Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes.
Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves.
You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both.
"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately.
You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page.
Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book.
The further you read the closer he gets.
Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters.
"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy."
Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her.
She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. .
"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh.
He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet.
-
"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later.
Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat.
“And they were awesome."
“Eddie,” you complain softly.
He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers.
You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”
“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky.
“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”
“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.
“I’m really not hungry.”
“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”
Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag.
He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.
“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours.
Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.
Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin.
When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.
"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly.
Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts.
After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand.
"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process.
Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly.
Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?"
You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say..
"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls."
It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway,
-
When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle.
Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile.
And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart.
You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why.
"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return.
He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs.
"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting.
"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?"
"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose.
He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside.
It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?"
"Okay," she says.
"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you."
You kiss her cheek.
Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe."
Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"
Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds.
"Grand," Eddie praises.
"What did you want to come here for?"
He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there."
'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys.
"Why'd they have so many?"
Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."
"So these are knock-offs?"
"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though."
He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side.
You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time.
Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck."
He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit."
"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck.
"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new.
It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more."
"Who's that?"
You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her."
"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.
You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?"
"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you.
"It would be sick, if you liked them."
He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap."
You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully.
"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?"
It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt.
"You want?" he asks.
You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents."
He gasps. "What?"
"I can afford that one myself."
He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?"
"They won't."
"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match."
Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick.
You see your saving grace across the way.
"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?"
Junie perks up.
"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage.
"What?" she asks.
"I saw… teddies!"
"Mr. Bear?" she asks.
You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?"
She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.
Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.
She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games.
"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe.
"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.
You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her."
He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness.
"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says.
"And if she gets dermatitis?"
His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."
"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash."
"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath."
You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly.
"Shit, really?"
You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk."
"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved."
Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away.
You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose.
You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other.
After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two.
Best day ever.
"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies."
Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever.
She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.
You can't afford all three.
You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one."
"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."
"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."
It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.
"Eddie," you say again, quietly.
He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."
"Really?"
"Only for the rabbit."
You purse your lips to fight a smile.
Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.
"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.
"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"
You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."
-
Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.
"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.
Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"
"A rash."
"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.
You laugh. "Poor baby."
"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.
"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."
"He thought you were hurting yourself?"
"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."
"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.
You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.
"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."
"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.
"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."
You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.
"You are pretty funny," you say.
"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."
You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."
"Yeah, you should've."
Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.
"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.
"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.
You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.
You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"
"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.
He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.
He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"
You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.
"You want me to drive?" you ask.
"No, sweetheart. You're good."
You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.
"Eddie…"
You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.
He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.
You waver.
"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."
You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.
"I'll crawl."
You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.
Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."
"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.
The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.
The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.
Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.
"Eddie," you start.
"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."
You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.
"Now you're getting it."
He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.
You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.
Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.
You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?
I didn't force him. He likes me.
He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.
He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."
You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.
"Of course you can."
You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.
"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.
"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."
"Eager to get back?"
"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."
"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.
"I'll try that one after you."
You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.
"Leave some for me."
"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."
He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.
He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"
"I think so."
"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."
"What?"
"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."
"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"
"A long time ago."
You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.
He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.
You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"
"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."
"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"
You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.
You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.
"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.
"Cake?" she asks.
"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."
You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.
"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.
"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.
There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.
"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.
"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.
Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.
"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"
You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.
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thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
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
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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
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