Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it?
Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.
A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars.
❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️
7k words
Masterlist Part 1
For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier.
Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile.
“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”
You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.”
“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.”
Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station.
Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.
The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes.
“I see London, I see France…”
You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display.
“Eddie!”
He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple.
“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-”
His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent.
“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you.
“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side.
“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you.
Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.”
“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?”
Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him.
You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”
If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.
Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek.
But that just makes his smile wider.
“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you.
“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door.
“Good afternoon, can I help you?”
“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?”
“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?”
You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world.
At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone.
So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about.
As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff.
“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.
“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment.
You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you.
“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air.
“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?”
Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand.
“Shit princess, what did you do at college?”
“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you.
“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.”
In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat.
Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear.
“Good girl.”
Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.
For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie.
The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines.
Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served.
Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes.
“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card.
“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin.
“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out.
“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.
You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,”
He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you.
Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”
“May I have a beer, please?”
“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.”
Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!”
Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.”
As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.
“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink.
“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being.
“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully.
“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, shoot.”
Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.”
Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery.
“Oh princess, you are too cute.”
Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks.
“What? What is it?”
Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.”
“What, like, kissing?”
Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.”
Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer.
Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?”
His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar.
“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.”
“Oh.”
Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.
“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now.
“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together.
“Liar.”
Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks.
“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?”
He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.”
“I know that, I mean…”
For a second he just gapes at you.
“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?”
Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.”
Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?”
“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing.
Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?”
“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.”
He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.”
That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand.
“Please?”
“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment.
“Fine. Right now.”
“Oh I didn't-”
“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.”
Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him.
“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes.
‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely.
“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”
Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.
“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs.
For a second you stop in sheer surprise.
“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?”
He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.”
You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified.
“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.”
“Eddie!”
He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you.
“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside.
Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.
“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head.
“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door.
“No, no, it's very… you.”
“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious.
“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar.
“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-”
“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.”
You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.”
Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway.
The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if-
“You can sit down, princess.”
Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet.
“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you.
“No I- I was- maybe this-”
“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle.
He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together.
“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.
He'll break your heart.
“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.”
A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns.
“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?”
Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head.
“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra.
He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?”
Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck.
“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.”
He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.”
Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.”
Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.”
Staring at you, he shakes his head.
“You should. You should be told every fucking day.”
You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair.
It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.
“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.”
It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes.
His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.
“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need.
“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him.
He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?”
As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear.
“Fuck, look at you.”
The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms.
“Don't hide from me. You still want this?”
You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him.
“Say it. You need to say it.”
‘Yes, please Eddie.”
That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex.
“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.”
“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands.
“Relax princess, it's a compliment.”
Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture.
The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom.
He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line.
Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real.
“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?”
“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!”
You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure.
Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed.
Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick.
“You OK princess?”
OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup.
“Think you can go again?”
That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?”
Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling.
“I think you've got at least one more in you.”
Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up.
“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.”
This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him.
You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched.
“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do.
With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment.
After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin.
“So? Good?”
It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek.
“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden.
For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose.
“That's not part of the deal.”
Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile.
“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs.
“Stay here. I'll take the couch.”
“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-”
“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip.
“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.”
“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him.
“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.”
“You'd probably like that,” you tease.
“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.”
“Night Eddie.”
When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down?
Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?
After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions.
Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything.
As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond.
There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.
Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.
You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements.
A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs.
Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example.
Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more.
It looks like it's going to be a long night.
********************
“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.”
It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine.
“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth.
“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table.
The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early.
“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly.
“Morning, can I help you?”
“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you.
Face lighting up, you fix your best smile.
“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID?
He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride.
“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?”
Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles.
“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself.
When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting.
“You're not my 10:30.”
The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong.
“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder.
Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter.
“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.”
Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.
“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?”
He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes.
Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves.
There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda.
Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear.
“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.”
“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat.
“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?”
Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Hey, keep it at home guys.”
Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip.
“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie.
“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.
You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window.
“So, as I was saying-”
“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red.
“I was only-”
“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!”
Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally.
You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac.
When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you.
Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest.
********************
It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently.
By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest.
He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.
The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.
“Eddie, can I talk to you?”
He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom.
“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-”
“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile.
“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out.
“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug.
“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.”
You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips.
“Really?”
Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong.
“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.”
Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.”
His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?”
“Of course I would. You got their number?”
He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William.
“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?”
He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored.
“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.”
Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait.
“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is- well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.”
Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly.
His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character.
“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?”
You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.”
He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly.
“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.”
“Eddie I already owe-”
He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!”
You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you.
“Who the fuck is Barb?”
“I dunno, she sounded worldly.”
He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.”
Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other.
Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time.
“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!”
Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly.
“You did good Miss, he's really happy.”
“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.”
He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.”
He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled.
“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately.
“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look.
He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.”
“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening.
chapter six: i don't need to feel the sun, let me touch your skin
(repost)
fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist
pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: Eddie's dumbassery brings the cops to… a door. Not exactly his, though.
cw: fem masturbation mention, demonic shenanigans, mean!eddie but not to reader, murder, there are multiple minor character deaths and death mentions, gore, blood, animal death mention, eddie says ACAB, smoking, implied bullying/harassment towards reader, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat
please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.
ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
Eddie steps– read: stumbles– through the dusty mirror on the back of the closet door. This house he picked is one grade A shithole, but it’ll work for his purposes.
Ohhh, he’s so fucking mad. So mad. He would have stayed with you all night. He would have been there to force you to drink some water, eat some chocolate. Now that you’ve given him a chance– now that you’ve decided you want him– he would have stayed with you until you were crying from pleasure. You’re so fucking precious when you beg, and he’s a creature of pride. And lust. And gluttony and all those other fucking sins– something about becoming a demon has made them all multiply within him.
If he’d stayed with you, he would have taken you to pieces. Pulled you apart and molded you to his whim, given you anything you asked for and more. Maybe he’d even coax you to another orgasm in your dreams; who knows? The possibilities were literally endless.
But he’s not there with you.
He’s here in Fuckass, Nowhere, because the cops decided to dig into your so-called ‘high school sweetheart,’ Eddie Munson.
Why the fuck he gave you his real name, he doesn’t know. Maybe because he wanted you to know it, to have it in your mind the way yours is in his, constantly. But he didn’t imagine the cops would try to look into it.
But, of course they would, because shit like this never goes easy for him. And, of course they would decide to do it the day that he’s got a hot date to take care of.
Fucking cock blocks.
He had to leave you in your post-orgasmic haze to cause a power outage at the department of investigation before he could construct a fictitious Eddie Munson, who’d grown up in or around Eastwick. Sketchy background, a few minor felonies that don’t add up to shit, but warrant at least an arrest record. Something believable without being too on the nose.
The lamp lights flicker on and off as he moves through the trailer. The TV switches on without any physical force directing it to. He picks up a yellowing, half empty box of Marlboro reds from the end of the kitchen counter, and pulls one out of it.
The previous owner of this house rots in a lake a mile away, a few months too late for the party. One of the good things about being a demon is that you can construct an alibi so easily, change names on house deeds and pay stubs and tax forms with the flick of a wrist. Make it so that something you say happened actually did happen, on paper. Erase something you don’t want there.
The rug beneath his bare feet is rough, indoor-outdoor carpeting that the poor idiot who owned this house didn’t bother to switch out. Eddie’s dark jeans hang low on his hips, his chest bare and his hip bones jutting out at odd angles. He looks down and all his old tattoos are there, just the way he likes them. Your taste is still on his tongue, in the corners of his mouth, behind his teeth, reminding him of where he’d rather be.
Eddie lights himself the cigarette as he peeks out of the kitchen window. In the yard, the coppers are rounding the rust bucket of a Volkswagen bug sitting in the tall grass.
He sits on the rickety wooden dining chair beside the door, listening to their footsteps as they mount the porch, whispering to each other. He hates cops. Always did, for obvious reasons, when he was human– but now that he’s beyond worldly measures, all they do is stick their noses in where they don’t belong.
Normally, he wouldn’t do this. A normal demon would allow the consequences of the deal you’d made to catch up with you. A normal demon would let you swim or drown when it comes to dealing with the repercussions, take their share from the deal and run away, allowing the contract to claim your soul. Just like his own demon did to him.
The thing that Eddie failed to mention to you when you cut that deal with him is that he would steal the sun just to keep you warm. He had already decided that he was in love with you when he got your petition, and he doesn’t know how to love passively.
So, this is a walk in the park for him, all things considered.
Three knocks against the door cut over the sound of Scarface on the TV. Eddie shakes his head in solidarity at the house ghost floating in the corner, watching him with hollow eyes and creating a black hole where a lamp is supposed to be.
“Watch me fuck this up,” he whispers to it.
“Edward Munson?” The small one, Officer Leony, peers up at him with a blank expression when he opens the door.
“Uh… yeah?”
He stares down at her, leaning a naked shoulder against the doorframe, not bothering to extinguish his cigarette. He sucks in a long drag.
Christ, this thing tastes like ass. They don’t make ‘em like they used to. Cigarettes taste better when he just conjures them himself.
Eddie exhales a cloud of tobacco, somehow without pulling a face or retching. He’ll smell like smoke no matter what, and he’s sure that the heat of his hellfire radiates from his bare skin into the muggy air. Best to pretend it’s because he’s nothing but a smoker. He can feign mortality up to a point, and that’s where the uncanny valley sits.
Seemingly to support this, Leony rocks back on her heels, but doesn’t step back the way she wants to.
“I’m Officer Leony, this is Officer Casey–” she gestures to the taller man beside her. “There’s been a disturbance at a town upstate, and we’re here to ask you a few questions about it, if that’s all right.”
Eddie shifts in place. Oh, no, he couldn’t have predicted this. “Can’t see what I’d have to do with something upstate.”
“Y’ever been to a little town called Eastwick?” Casey asks mildly.
“I grew up a town over. Across the river.” Eddie lies. It gives him a certain thrill to lie to the cops again. It’s like riding a bike– you never really forget how, but sometimes you miss it when the weather’s right.
“Ever met a man named Andrew Montgomery?”
That piece of shit motherfucker. “Never heard of him.”
“He’s dating– dated– someone we think you may know,” Leony begins.
“You’ve got her name on your chest,” blurts Casey, who seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes on Eddie’s face, in favor of the glaring mark. “Nice, uh. Nice scar.”
“It’s a brand.” Eddie can’t help the smirk that comes to his face when he glances down to see the raised tissue on his own skin. You’d only said that he burned your name on his chest, but he took that a step further and placed it over his heart. Go big or go home, right? “Not as pretty as she was, but it’s not like I can remove it.”
“Right.”
A few paces away, in the trees, a pack of hounds snarl and bark like they’re having a real field day.
“What’s that?” Casey nearly yelps, peering into the trees. He sees nothing. “Wolves?”
“No, those are just my dogs.” Eddie shrugs at him. He fights off a nervous laugh. “They get a little rowdy sometimes, y’know. No worries.”
Leony clears her throat. “Mr. Munson, we’re sure that given your… history, you’re no stranger to automotive accidents.”
Eddie’s eyes flick to her. “Accidents?” Accidents, referring to the spontaneously combusting car that a certain Edward Munson was held in custody for perpetrating, but was acquitted for lack of evidence.
Or something. He doesn’t exactly remember the wording he used on the fake case file. Not too on the nose, right?
“See, Mr. Montgomery’s vehicle exploded earlier today.”
“Shit, is he all right?” Pfffft.
“Why would you assume he was harmed?” Leony asks, looking like she’s just caught him in a lie.
Eddie’s eyes flutter in annoyance. “I know cops. You don’t drive into the middle of nowhere to question someone for a bit of damaged property.”
Leony huffs. “You’re right. Mr. Montgomery is in the ICU, unfortunately. Severe burns all over his body. We just want to rule out any foul play. If you know anything at all…”
“Like I said, I’ve never heard of the guy before now.”
Leony nods, sucking on her teeth. “And, when was the last time you spoke to your ex-girlfriend?”
Eddie puffs out his cheeks, overdramatizing it. “Probably, uh…” Could be talking to her right now. “Five, six years?”
“And you haven’t been back to Eastwick since then?”
“Why would I want to go back to that fuckin’ place?” Eddie growls. His anger isn’t entirely fake– he hates small towns.
“I can think of one reason.” Leony’s eyes fall to your name burned onto his heart. “Mr. Munson, I’m sure you’re… aware of your ex-girlfriend’s reputation within the town.”
“Reputation,” Eddie parrots.
“As a witch.” Casey says it so frankly, as if it holds some kind of merit.
Eddie bristles and looks back and forth between them. “R’you telling me that two cops actually believe in that kind of horseshit?”
“Witchcraft isn’t illegal, even if it… were real…” Leony explains hesitantly, while Eddie tries to keep smoke from blowing out of his ears. “But rumors like that don’t form in a vacuum. We have reason to believe she may have tried to harm Mr. Montgomery. If the rumors are true– which, usually they are in these cases, she has a bit of a reputation for being unusual. We just wondered if you can recall any sort of odd behavior… besides the obvious.”
Another pointed look at the brand on his chest.
EDDIE.
Eddie glances up at the moon in the evening sky, waxing its way to full. It’s a little more than halfway there.
EDDIE. EDDIE. EDDIE.
You’re calling him. He can sense the need in your body, sees flashes of your hands moving down your stomach and dipping beneath the fabric of your pajamas. You’re just lying there, focusing all your energy on him.
Touching yourself to the thought of him.
Your voice is ringing in his ears, screaming for him to leave this place and go to you. He fights not to wince at the volume of it.
EDDIE I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW–
Fuck, he wishes he didn’t have to do this shit.
Eddie clenches his jaw, squeezing the door jamb so hard that he leaves scorch marks in the plaster in the shape of his fingerprints. He’s mad that he can’t be with you as soon as you call, and he hates that this is keeping him away from you.
He hates what they’ve done to you, ostracized you the way that his own small town did to him. Witchcraft. Devil worship. Unusual equals murder. Even if you are a witch, even if he is the closest thing to the devil you’ll know, he hates the way that these cops talk about you like they know you, or what you’ve been through.
“Believe me,” he snaps, letting his temper get the better of him, “If she ever did anything unusual, it’s because she had a damn good reason to. Hell, I’d rather burn that whole fuckin’ town to the ground than see her suffer in it anymore.”
Leony’s mouth twitches up at the corners. “Is that so?”
Eddie blinks.
You fucked it up, comes the whispering voice of the ghost in the corner.
“Shit.” Eddie presses his lips together, and tosses his burning cigarette into the dead grass next to the porch. He lifts his two fingers to his lips and whistles loudly.
Snarling and barking, a pack of shadowy dogs bound out of the trees. Red eyes glow from each smoky figure, varying in size and shape, but all made of the same infernal aether.
Casey tries to run. Leony tries pulling her gun. The juxtaposition between the two officers is laughable, but ultimately, they both meet the same fate between the jaws of the hellhounds that swarm them.
Eddie doesn’t see where Casey gets dragged off to– somewhere in the trees, the shouts take a little bit to die down. Leony’s throat gets ripped out first, so all he hears from her is a faint gurgling that slowly gets overshadowed by the sound of crackling as a fire catches on in the grass.
“Never trust a demon to make things easy,” he sighs, and takes a seat on the porch. It’ll take a few minutes before the fire really gets going on the wood, and by that time he’ll be gone.
He’ll make sure this doesn’t get back to you. It just means another trip into the computers at the department of investigation, and those wires are really fucking tight to squeeze into.
Eddie whistles shortly. “Cerberus. Stop it, you’re making a mess.”
The Doberman spirit drops the decapitated head he’d been using as a chew toy, flinging blood all over the yellow grass. Instead, the German Shepherd spirit beside him immediately snatches it and throws it across the yard before chasing after it.
Eddie glares. “Sauron. Bad dog.”
Out of the mix of shadowy dogs and flying body parts, a tinier hellhound than all the rest trundles up. It’s the newest of the bunch, still in need of training– but Eddie’s not entirely sure that he wants to train it to be like the rest.
Dogs will be dogs, even in the afterlife. He chose the others for their ferocity. Most of them were the losers of dog fights; innocent animals that never asked to be put through the pain and torture that they got in life, but were trained to be killers nonetheless. They’re protective, loyal, and at times bloodthirsty.
This one is different. This dog has never killed, never maimed, never hurt anything in its little life. This one chose Eddie, sought him out, wandering through the Otherworld as a messenger with a piece of copper in its mouth.
Lacey crawls up into Eddie’s lap on her tiny legs, her little red eyes blinking slowly as she settles down onto his thighs, just like she did when she’d delivered your petition. She’d found him lounging against a tree, emerged from the mist and dropped the copper into his outstretched hand. Made a home for herself in his lap as the details of your petition rolled around in his mind, and all at once he decided you were beginning and end of everything for him.
He would have given her back to you– she’s the one that you miss, but she’s too young of a spirit to be able to manifest as a physical dog yet.
But she’s a cuddly thing. He can understand why you loved her so much. He feels a little bit of that love well up in his own heart, underneath your name branded across it.
His hand pets her smoky back as the fire in the grass reaches the porch.
Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?
Series Masterlist
It had been a week since Roy had seen you with Goodman and he couldn't stop thinking about you; how you smiled at him, laughed with him...it caused a deep pain in Roy. One that didn't seem to ease.
The following week, Roy, Clara, and Phoebe were having breakfast. Clara's ladies maid brought in the letters as well as a new paper that's been circling around the city, specifically among many women's circles. The latest gossip about Richmond's own people was being publicized, causing a stir among the city's residents.
Clara, usually not into gossip, suddenly found it to be her guilty pleasure every morning. Setting the letters for Roy aside, she immediately opens up The Richmond Rag. Her eyes skim the page and she immediately gasps, tossing the paper at Roy, "Read this."
"Fucking hell," he mumbles, wiping his mouth and picking up the paper, "I don't care about gossip."
"You'll care about it today. Read it," Clara presses her brother, pointing at the paper.
Roy sighs and he reads the paper. Clara watches her brother in anticipation.
Dear Readers,
It seems we may be hearing wedding bells by the end of the season. My sources tell me that our recently arrived Mister Jeffrey Goodman is looking to court newly debuted Miss Y/N L/N. However, other sources have told me that another is interested in our young debutant. Who, you may ask? None other than Lord Roy Kent. Now, in my honest opinion, I am not sure how much of a match Lord Kent and Miss L/N is compared to herself and Mister Goodman, but we shall sit in anticipation if Miss L/N will accept Mister Goodman's courtship.
Roy's jaw clenches and he sets the paper aside. Phoebe asks, "What does it say, Uncle Roy?"
"Shut up and eat your food," Roy grumbles.
Clara rolls her eyes, "Roy."
"I don't want to talk about it," he murmurs, going back to his food.
"Maybe you should talk to Y/N and see-"
Roy abruptly stands from his seat, "Fuck this," he says before walking out of the dining room.
_____________________
Your mother was squealing in delight to see that you and Jeffrey were mentioned in The Richmond Rag, especially the fact that Jeffrey was thinking about officially courting you. You're not sure how you felt about it, honestly. Sure, he's funny and makes great company, but you don't know if you could see yourself falling in love with him, let alone if he'd be a good husband or not. But then again, you don't have many options. You're already much older than many debutants. Many men wanting a younger wife than yourself. You don't have much room to be picky now.
"Mama, isn't that just all gossip? I'm not even sure if Jeffrey is still interested in me. I saw him dancing with other women at the ball last night. He seemed to enjoy their company."
She waves off your skepticism, "It's best to be hopeful. Anyway, we need to pick up your new dress for the next ball." She stands with a sense of urgency, gesturing you to quickly follow her. She then calls for your father who emerges from the kitchen with Cece in tow.
"Yes, my love?"
"Y/N and I will be picking up her dress," your mother answers then she looks at Cece, "Would you like to come along darling?"
"Can I go to Phoebe's?"
"I'm not sure if they're busy today, but we can see," your mother replies and Cece excuses herself to grab one of her dolls.
You smile at your excited cousin, "She acts like she didn't see her two days ago."
"You know how hard it's been since your aunt and uncle's passing," your mother whispers and you nod.
"I'm ready!" Cece rushes back the stairs to you and your mother. Your father escorts the three of you out and to the carriage.
When you arrive to Lord Kent's estate you take a deep breath. You follow your mother and cousin to the door. One of the servants bows to you three and goes to announce your arrival.
A moment later, you hear squealing and Phoebe is rushing towards Cece. She takes Cece's hand and they're immediately off somewhere else in the house.
Clara emerges with a chuckle, "Mrs. L/N, Y/N, wonderful to see you again."
You curtsey, "Good afternoon, Clara. I hope we weren't disturbing any plans you had for the day. We're off to town and Cece asked to pass by."
"Nonsense, Cece is welcome here whenever. You should know that by now." Clara then asks your mother about the plans for the day and as they talk, you feel eyes on you. You look up to see Lord Kent staring down at you. There doesn't seem to be any emotion behind his eyes.
You give a small curtsey and he replies with a curt nod. You two continue to stare at each other until he turns and walks away. You let out deep breath.
"Well, we best be off. We will be back in two hours to pick up Cece."
"Would you like to have lunch with us when you do?"
"That would be delightful. Thank you so much, Clara." your mother says with a beaming smile.
Once back into the carriage you groan, "Why did you accept lunch with them?!"
Your mother scoffs, "Just because you have some animosity towards Lord Kent, doesn't mean we still can't socialize with them. Besides, you'll have to accept that Lord Kent will be in your life seeing how Cece and Phoebe may be attached to the hip forever."
"Lovely," you grumble, slumping against the bench in the carriage.
____________________
At the modiste, you're trying on your dress one last time to make sure it's to your liking. You give a little spin on the raised platform then look at yourself in the mirror, "I think this is my new favorite dress, Charlotte!"
The older woman clapped her hands together, "Thank you, miss! I'm honored that you love it as much as I do!"
Your mother nods, "Yes, I think this color suits-"
The bell above the door rings and you all turn to see Lord Kent standing there with a surprised expression on his face.
He cleared his throat and gives a nod, "Ladies, pardon me. I didn't mean to intrude."
Charlotte moves to stand before him, "Hello, Lord Kent! How may I help you?"
He doesn't answer because his eyes are on you. You know this, you can feel him looking at you, but you try not to give him any mind. Rather, you look at yourself in the mirror making sure the dress is flattering in all angles.
Your mother smirks and speaks up, "Lord Kent! Wonderful, I think a man's perspective would be helpful," she loops her arm around his and tugs him closer to you, "Tell me, do you think this dress is flattering for my daughter? I've heard that it's Mister Goodman's favorite color."
You're mentally cursing your mother at this moment.
"Yes, it suits her well, but not as well as pink, ma'am."
"Pink, my Lord?"
"It brings out the color of her eyes," he says this and it causes you to look at him through the reflection of the mirror. He's doing it again, staring at you, but this time, emotion in his eyes. Unlike before. There's something there you can't quite read.
"Hmm...I suppose that will be the color of the next dress we'll request. Anyway, dear, did you need Charlotte's help?"
He breaks his gaze away from you and turns to the dressmaker, "Yes, sorry. My sister would like the same style dress as she previously ordered, but in navy blue."
Charlotte is writing down Clara's request, "Yes, I have a few fabrics of that color. If you could please tell your sister to come by to pick out which fabric she prefers, that would be most helpful, my Lord."
"Of course," he nods to you three, "Enjoy the rest of your day, ladies."
With that, he exits the shop and you frown at your mother, "Stop it."
"I didn't do anything."
"You and I both know that's a lie. If he was interested, he would've done something by now. He hasn't. There's no chance of us being together, so, please, mother, let it go." you step down from the platform and move to the back of the room to change out of your dress.
_____________________
Two days later, you're at a ball hosted by the Bartletts. Their own daughter, Eliza, had debuted as well and she's gotten many men interested for her hand already.
So far, you have two names on your dance card, Jamie and Jeffrey. Jamie's name once, and Jeffrey's twice. You're not too bothered by it. All of the attention is and should be on Eliza tonight.
"Jeff and I could always fill up your dance card," Jamie says as he sees you glance at your dance card.
You shake your head with a snort, "No, it's okay. It's best I stay in the shadows. If the author of The Richmond Rag sees me dancing with you two too much, I'm sure I'll end up being mentioned in their next publication."
Jeffrey smirks, "So you've read what they've said about us?"
"Not necessarily. I don't care for the gossip too much, but my mother does. She tells me about it."
"So what are your thoughts on our potential co-"
"Miss Y/N," Jeffrey is interrupted by Lord Kent.
"Lord Kent, good evening," you curtsey and Keeley follows. Jamie just nods, but Jeffrey bows.
"May I add my name to your card?" he gestures to the slip of paper on your wrist.
"O-Oh, um, if you'd like," you hand him the card and pencil. He scribbles his name and hands it back to you. He walks away without another word.
Before you can even look at the card, Keeley snatches it from your hand.
"Keeley!" you try to grab it from her but Jamie stands between you and her, "What is it, love?" Jamie asks.
Keeley smirks and hands him the card, "Lord Kent wrote his name down on the rest of the spots."
"What?!" you push Jamie to the side and grab the card, looking down at it, "Oh that bas-"
"So much for staying in the shadows. That'll guarantee your name in the Rag for sure," Jamie says with a snicker.
Jeffrey looks displeased and annoyed, "Are you really going to dance with him the entire time?"
"I-wouldn't it be rude if I didn't?"
Jeffrey frowns, "I thought you didn't like him."
"We're not very...amicable, but I'd say I...tolerate him?"
"Hm," Jeffrey doesn't seem to like your answer and excuses himself for a drink.
Jamie whistles, "He don't look too happy, darling."
For the first dance, Jeffrey doesn't appear to dance with you, so you just don't dance. The next dance, Jamie does his best to keep you cheerful. The next dance, Jeffrey still doesn't make his presence known to you. When it's time for the waltz, Lord Kent appears, his palm stretched out to you.
You take it as he leads you to the middle of the room. In your peripherals, you see Jeffrey bringing another woman to the floor. Your jaw clenches and you look away. Lord Kent, seeing this, scoffs and murmurs, "Prick."
You shake your head and look at Lord Kent, "It's your fault you know, putting yourself down on the remainder of my dance card."
"It didn't seem like anyone else was going to put their name down."
You scoff, "So what, you did it out of pity? I don't need your pity or sympathy from you, my Lord." You don't care that you were in the middle of a dance, you promptly turn your back and walk straight out of that ballroom, cursing Lord Kent's name.
Request: Hey, I was wondering if you'd do a Roy Kent x reader series (maybe) where she asks him to pretend they're boyfriend/girlfriend because her ex-boyfriend is marrying her somewhat younger sister. Kinda like The Wedding Date (if you've seen it). Ends up happily ever after?
A/N: it's been over a month i have no excuse other than MY BRAIN HURTS and I AM SO TIRED but i am so glad to be out of this rut. get ready for more, and get excited for this incredibly roy centric chapter
Word Count: 7.2k
Chapter Eleven
A month or so later you sat, rigid and tense, in the green room at Sky Studios. Up until then, the fanciest or most intense place you’d ever visited was that of AFC Richmond, the Dogtrack, but these studios kicked Nelson Road out of the fucking stadium. The only way you could describe it was sterile. Like a hospital, or some morbid place where people came to sit and be quiet, except you weren’t here for either of those things.
You were here to see Roy, and that was the most intense part of it all.
In the green room was a screen with a live relay from the stage, where you saw Roy, Jeff and Chris sitting at their familiar, unusually large, commentary table. They were taping some bits for an upcoming episode of Soccer Saturday, the parts where they weren’t required to be there live and in person.
The breath hitched in your throat whenever Roy appeared on screen. It was still entirely new and off-putting, yet the internet had blown up when they’d seen the ex-Captain on the show. Finally, Roy Kent was back in the football world. Not playing, or coaching, but commentating. It was a good alternative, and he rocked it during the show, even despite his way with words and his… not entirely enthused demeanour. To anyone that didn’t know Roy, they’d probably think him crude and rude and blunt, all the ways he’d been described in the past in the press. To those that knew Roy inside and out, watching him on TV was like a breath of fresh air. Those closest to him had been saying the same thing for years– I could listen to you talk for hours and not get bored.
You were no different, and in fact, had known Roy for over a year now. It was crazy how time flies, wasn’t it?
When he’d texted you an invite to the studios, you’d said yes immediately. Your time with Roy was short enough already, but now that he’d landed the gig his time was being soaked up more and more. You found yourself now, sitting at your desk at Pluto Press, just thinking about when you’d next see him. Any opportunity that arose you took by the fucking balls, and that’s exactly what went down when he’d asked you to the studios.
Right guys, that’s a wrap for today. See you at the weekend.
The show director said over the live screen, and you watched intently as Roy and his co-hosts had their microphone packs removed. The sound switched off immediately, but Chris approached Roy and stuck out his hand. The two legends shook hands quickly, and you noticed the smallest of smiles appear on Roy’s face as they pulled away.
It made you smile back at them, bashfully, to yourself. There was something warming about seeing Roy interact with others like this. It was rare to catch him in a good mood at any of his prior jobs– which you knew very well from working alongside him at the Dogtrack– but seeing him enjoy his time, become buddy-buddy with Chris fucking Kamara, and all the rest made you exceptionally happy.
You were proud of his successes, and understood his plunders. You wanted to feel that he felt the same about you in return, but you’d started this thing where you tried not to think about him like that. Assumptively, or overly-affectionately, or anything that reminded your heart of how you really felt about the man on the screen before you. It was just like you’d said to Keeley and Rebecca– you would never mention it, never tell him, and you were okay with that.
You were okay with that.
You jumped suddenly when the door to the green room burst open. A production assistant entered, headset donned and clipboard in his hands, shoved into his chest like he’d die without it. “Roy Kent’s plus one?” he asked.
You looked around the empty room. You were the only one in there, but the assistant hadn’t even met your eye yet. You cleared your throat and raised your hand in the air, like a schoolgirl in class. The production assistant finally met your eye, and then clicked at you abruptly.
“You– right. Come on, you’re wanted on set,” he said.
You wasted no time standing up and pushing past him at the door, heart in your throat. The two of you navigated the backstage corridors of the studio, until you finally emerged on the set of Soccer Saturday. The lights were bright, too bright, and exceptionally warm to stand beneath. Camera operators, gaffers and runners still milled about the set, but you blocked them out as you went to step onto the stage.
“Can I?” you asked the production assistant from earlier. He glanced up and went to object, opening his mouth wide, but stopped as soon as a hand descended on his shoulder.
“‘Course you can,” Roy said, peering down at the production assistant. “Isn’t that right, Jacob?”
Jacob nodded, no doubt sweating profusely as Roy hoarded himself over the skinny kid. He was definitely younger than you by a number of years, probably fresh out of university. “Y-yes, of course, Roy.”
You looked away, not wanting to laugh so meanly at the ordeal. It was just so Roy of him to intimidate crew at the studios, probably just from standing and doing nothing. It made your chest compress painfully, as you forced yourself away from the all-encompassing nostalgia of being around him all the time before, at the Dogtrack, and seeing it in person a whole lot more.
God, you thought you needed a fucking lobotomy with how much you still clung onto the past. It only made you feel more childish, more pathetic, with every flashback that hit your brain and made you swallow away the want to cry.
You stepped onto the stage a bit more, and looked out towards the several cameras. They all pointed in your direction, camera one and two and three, and however many more. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered, scoffing at it all as Roy joined you on stage. “This is intense.”
“I never know how to react when I realise people can see my beard in 4K,” Roy said, as a small smile curled onto his face. He peered down at you softly, his gaze flicking across your features as you looked around the set curiously. “It’s good to see you.” You turned to him and looked up, smiling at him bashfully.
This was just it– those little moments where you’d happily melt into a puddle on the ground beneath him, but you couldn’t.
You coughed, laughing awkwardly, before you gently poked him in the chest. “You too,” you said, trying to keep things as playful as possible. Roy perked his brow at you questioningly, amused, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched you panic subtly as you continued around the set, until you’d rounded the desk to his chair.
“May I?” you asked.
Roy bowed at you smally. “Be my fucking guest.”
You sat down in his chair slowly, and leaned your elbows on the desk before you. You shuffled your shoulders, and puffed out your chest. “Oh, I could get used to this,” you said, feeling powerful. Roy growled at you gently. “Come on, sit in Jeff’s chair.”
If Roy wanted to object in any way, he didn’t. He obediently made his way around the desk and sat in Jeff Stelling’s chair, all the while looking at you like you were gold. You sucked in a deep breath and cleared your throat. “So, Jeff– what did you make of AFC Richmond’s last game? When will these fucking tied games end, hm?” you said, putting on your most gravelly voice possible in an attempt to imitate Roy.
He sighed, but he still didn’t object. A small smile was still curled on his lips, and it made your gut coil. He leaned forward, and adopted Jeff’s stance. “Well, Roy,” he started, taking on a much cheerier voice than his own. It was off-putting. “Richmond has been hit hard, but not as hard as their mascot Earl was a few months ago. Poor fuck–” He coughed, and recomposed himself. “Poor dog.”
“Well fucking said, Jeff,” you replied, but burst into giggles as soon as you did. “What do you reckon is the reason for their tie records on top of it, though? And what about that prick, Jamie fucking Tartt, sculking around the club after his stint in the reality TV game?”
Roy furrowed his brows at you quizzically. “Jamie fucking Tartt is trying to get signed to Richmond again?” he said, his normal voice cutting through.
You waved him off. “I’ll tell you later. Keep going,” you said quickly, bringing it back to the game.
Roy growled, and went back to his Jeff impression. “Well, it could be a number of things, Roy.” You smiled to yourself, elated just to be around him again. “Your retirement, for starters, has left the team utterly abandoned and in the dust.”
You perked your brow at him.“I’m not sure that’s entirely true, really–”
“They’re devastated by the loss,” Roy cut you off again, and you burst out a giggle. Roy swallowed away his amusement then, as he met your eye. “That, and the loss of their social placement was definitely a hard pill to swallow.” You froze as the words fell from his mouth. “I– inside sources– have told the press about how hard it’s been after she left. Her fanclub made up of Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes and Sam Obisanya haven’t been the same since her placement ended.”
You swallowed painfully, as Roy’s gaze stayed stuck on your own for a second too long. Neither of you looked away, but your heart swelled to twice the size beneath your ribcage. This fucking sucked– cutting yourself off from feeling all this– fucking sucked. But, you felt it was necessary. You didn’t want to lose Roy again– couldn’t– and this would ensure he stuck around.
Still, as he looked at you with a softness reserved only for people he truly gave a shit about, you couldn’t help but give in just this once.
You dropped the act, and reverted your voice to your own. “I seem to remember there being more people in the fanclub,” you said. “Who else hasn’t been the same, hm?”
Roy leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs. You thought he’d tense up, or lean forward, but you knew that position was a sign that he was truly comfortable. Meanwhile, you were trying to hide the fact your fingers were shaking.
“I can think of one more.” He shrugged. “Want a name?”
“No,” you said instantly, abruptly, taking back everything you’d put out before. You recomposed yourself, and smiled as normally as you could. “I think I already have a good guess.”
Roy opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, before he nodded at you in understanding. It felt like a situation similar to that first night, after the charity ball, when you’d offered another time. Roy could easily count how many times you’d held yourself back from him. He didn’t know what to say to reassure you that this– you and him– was okay. He wasn’t one for being mushy, but he figured there was a reason as to why you hadn’t made it clear yet.
So, he stayed put. He waited, and he wondered if you ever would, and if you never did– then that would be that. It wasn’t worth blurting out his feelings in a, no doubt, blunt and plain way if it meant risking this all. Seeing you, being around you, taking it on the chin everytime you scolded him when he deserved it.
You were one of the only people out there that could tell him to fuck off. He liked it that way.
As the two of you drove home, you stared out the window on the passenger side. Being around Roy always made you feel warm, but since he’d become a pundit, things had felt heavier. Thicker, tenser, like you’d be able to cut the atmosphere between you with a plastic butter knife. Maybe it was due to you setting yourself invisible boundaries, but something still made your stomach flip whenever he indulged.
Innately, you told yourself to shake it off. If things stayed as they were with you both meant nothing would change, but you admitting your feelings to him would. It was still out of the question, but you had to be stronger around him. You sucked in a breath, and it cemented things in your brain. No longer would you crumble at his warm remarks, his soft stares, his playful behaviour. These were just things that Roy did with you, and hell, you enjoyed it platonically just as much as you would romantically– so what did it matter?
Roy pulled up outside your building, and you clicked off your seatbelt. You didn’t get out of the car, however, and placed your hands in your lap instead. “Thanks for–”
“What are you doing next Wednesday?” Roy cut over you. Your brain short circuited.
“Uh– finish work at five, like normal. Why?”
“I’ve got Phoebe that night. We were going to grab a chinese and watch Ice Age. You in?”
You smiled to oblivion. “I’d love to. Why Ice Age though?”
“Because she’s fucking seven, and I’m unashamed to say that film makes me cry every time.”
You scoffed abruptly, surprised. “Really?”
“Really,” Roy said seriously. “That baby is still fucking ugly though.” You laughed, and nodded in agreement. Roy tapped the steering wheel, expelling happy energy. He growled in approval. “Fruit Shoot pre drinks are at six, so you better not be late.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you said, before you opened your door and got out of the car. Roy rolled the window down when you hopped up on the pavement on his side, and stuck his elbow out like a trucker.
“See you later,” he said, though not with his usual hostility and unbothered attitude. This was a see you later that had feeling behind it.
You swallowed bashfully. “See you.”
On Monday, Rebecca met you at Pluto Press. She strolled through the building with purpose, shoes clicking intently on the hardwood floors, until she loomed over your desk fiercely. “I’m here to see the best writer in the building,” she said.
You peered up at her and smiled profusely, before you shot up and gave her a colossal hug. “God, I’ve fucking missed you.”
“Me too, darling,” she said, before pulling away. She kept her hands on your shoulders for good measure. “Come on. Pasta and wine won’t eat and drink itself.”
You liked getting dinner with Rebecca alone. She was an important figure to you, despite the previous way she’d felt about the club and people like you in general. She twisted her arm around your own as the two of you made your way out of Pluto Press, and you had to admit that you felt confident when in stride next to Rebecca. She was well-known, a prominent businesswoman, a strong person, and you were glad to have her in your life.
Especially, when she had gossip to spill.
“He’s called John. He treats me nice. He’s good looking and intelligent and everything good, but…”
“But?” you questioned, feeling giddy during girl talk.
“Well, after Rupert and all the other bozos I’ve been with, I want to make sure he is everything I think he is.”
“Ah, you want your friends’ approval, is that it?”
Rebecca picked up her wine glass. “Absolutely, I do.” She sipped at the contents, before placing the glass back on the table. “I had an idea of a double date with you and Keeley pretending to be girlfriends.”
You scoffed abruptly. “We wouldn’t even need to pretend that much. I love her and she loves me.”
“Exactly my thoughts! But, Keeley is away in fucking Edinburgh this weekend, so that’s a no go.”
You thought through your options. Who could you bring as a possible fake date to this double date situation if it wasn’t Keeley? You snapped your fingers. “Oh, I know— I could bring Ted!”
Rebecca looked like you’d run over a child with Roy’s Jeep. “Absolutely fucking not.”
You recoiled. “Oh, come on. Who the fuck else then?”
“Just bring Roy!” Rebecca exclaimed. Your cheeks warmed intensely.
“Oh, fuck off,” you spat out, bringing your wine glass to your lips and trying to ignore the way your gut had lurched.
Rebecca leaned towards you, a mischievous smile on her face. “Just imagine it. You and Roy already look and act like a fucking couple sometimes–” You swallowed your wine abruptly.
“No, we do not—”
“Yes, you do!” Rebecca said strongly. “But push that aside for just a moment, and this could be a good experiment.”
You placed your glass down strongly, curiously. “Go on.”
“If he feels for you the way you feel for him, then this is a good way to show it. Might give you both some clarity, because Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t take this back and forth much longer.”
Your defences were on high. “There is no back and forth—”
“Yes, there is! When are you going to grab that fucking hairy man and just kiss him!”
“Rebecca!” you exclaimed. There was subtle anger in both of your voices, but it was drowned out by the extreme hilarity of the entire situation.
Despite your eyes being wide and your brows being perked wildly, both you and Rebecca had small smiles plastered on your faces that only meant one thing— I love you and I love this. She understood you, and understood your concerns and feelings and all the like, but that didn’t stop her from wanting you to get out and emerge from this funk.
“Just… think about it?” she suggested.
You smiled at her warmly. “This is Roy we’re talking about. He probably wouldn’t even do it.”
“That’s a possibility, for sure. But it’s still worth asking, isn’t it?”
You tapped your wine glass thoughtfully, before you nodded strongly. “You’re right. I’ll ask him, and if it means we can help you, then it’s worth the emotional embarrassment.”
Rebecca smiled back at you. “And who knows?” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “It might be fun.”
You raced home from work on Wednesday, and knocked on Roy’s door quickly, a bit after six in the evening. You were late for Fruit Shoot pre drinks, but the tube was to blame. He opened the door strongly and laid a blunt stare in your face.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“The Fruit Shoots are almost gone,” he said, smiling just a little.
“Then let me in quickly so I can fucking have one!” you exclaimed playfully. Roy let you in, and you slipped off your shoes in record time.
Roy’s house was so familiar to you now. The atmosphere inside made you feel safe and comfortable, and always brought you back to past times when you’d been inside or passing by his road. He strolled in toe next to you as you made your way to the kitchen. There were a number of Fruit Shoots and some snacks on the island as you entered.
“Phoebe!” Roy called as you grabbed a drink, and the pitter patter of feet erupted from the living room and around the corner.
When Phoebe bound towards her uncle you could hardly contain how happy you felt. She was someone special to him, really special, and he’d chosen you to meet her. That must’ve meant you’d done something right, surely?
Phoebe stopped before her uncle, but peered at you in curiosity. “What is it, Uncle Roy?”
“I want you to meet someone,” he said, before the two turned back to you. He placed his hand on her head affectionately, before he met your eye. “Phoebe, this is my friend—”
“Are you the one that wrote that story about my Uncle Roy?” Phoebe cut over him, and you scoffed abruptly from how confident she was at only seven years old.
You leaned down slightly. “Yes, I am. Has your Uncle Roy talked about me before?”
“All the time!” Phoebe exclaimed, and you peered up at him playfully. Roy growled, embarrassed at his niece spilling all his secrets. “He told me that you wrote a story about him in the newspaper,” she said.
“I did. Lots of people read it.”
“He also told me that he’s annoyed at you because you’re the only person that can tell him when he’s done something bad,” she said it so surely that it caught you off-guard. You scoffed as you straightened out, and shot a playful look at Roy.
He looked thoroughly embarrassed. His jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were square, and you knew he wanted to yell or hide away in that moment. It only made you laugh even harder, as a few giggles trickled from your mouth.
“I’m definitely not the only person who tells him off, but I might be the only one he listens to about it,” you said. “Come on, what else has he said about me?” you urged playfully.
Roy stepped between you and Phoebe. “That’s fucking enough.”
Phoebe gasped suddenly, and your eyes widened. “That’s a bad word, Uncle Roy!”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, as if he’d apologised for the same thing a thousand times. He probably had.
“You owe the swear jar a pound!” Phoebe pointed at Roy threateningly, chastising him.
Roy messed up her bright blonde hair affectionately. “Add it to the rest of the bill.”
After a huge chinese dinner, where you all opened fortune cookies and laughed at the fact Roy got life will get better, just wait in his own, the three of you sat in the living room. Phoebe and you sat on the plush rug in front of the sofa, while Roy took the sofa. He crossed his arms for the duration of Ice Age, staying quiet as you and Phoebe bonded over how funny Sid the sloth was.
When the baby came on screen, you grimaced immediately. You’d forgotten just how ugly it was. Roy was absolutely right. You twisted yourself around to meet his eye, and furrowed your brows. “You’re right. It’s still so ugly.”
“Told you,” he said, before you turned back around to the TV. Phoebe jumped up onto your lap as you did, and you snuggled her close to your chest as the film continued.
Behind you, Roy was twitching. Despite only seeing the tops of your heads, and the shake of your shoulders when you laughed, there was something brewing within him when seeing you with his niece. He didn’t often introduce people he knew to her, because of the impact it would have on her when those people could inevitably leave. It had happened with her piece of shit father, and from that moment, Roy had started involving himself even more– just to give his sister a break, just because he loved his family so fucking much.
Seeing you with her, getting on so well in this way, made him swallow away his deepest wants. In a perfect world, he would have made his way down beside you both on the floor. You would have leaned into him, sharing the weight of the child in your lap, and he would have draped his arm over your shoulder and held you close– but no.
Roy inhaled a laboured breath, and forced himself to focus on the screen for the rest of the film; knuckles white, body tensed, trying and failing not to feel everything.
Phoebe was fast asleep by the time the credits rolled. You held her in your arms as Roy got up and switched off the TV, before turning back to you both. You glanced down at Phoebe’s dreaming face as you frowned awkwardly. Roy’s expression was somewhere between stoic and glowing. His jaw clenched when you peered up at him in subtle pleading.
“What do I do?” you whispered.
“Fuck all. You’re stuck like that until she wakes up,” he replied, crossing his arms. You gulped away your nerves, looking back at Phoebe in your arms. Roy took his opportunity to smile without you seeing.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you whispered harshly, but you inwardly accepted your fate. You peered back at Roy, and his face flattened. “So, are you just going to stand there?” He shrugged. “Roy!” you whispered strongly.
That was enough for him to finally crumble. His hard expression faltered and was replaced with the smallest of smiles. He dropped his arms to his sides as he started towards you. “I’m fucking kidding,” he whispered deeply, as he knelt before you. “I’ve got her.”
You would have looked away as Roy picked up his niece if you had the chance. He was soft, and gentle, as he slotted his hands beneath her and hoisted her from your lap easily. He draped her over his shoulder with such care, as her cheek squished sleepily against his shoulder. His hand found her back and stayed there warmly.
“I’ll tuck her in,” he said, before making his way out of the room and up the stairs.
You stayed put after he left, cleaning up the snacks from the coffee table and straightening out the sofa cushions just from habit. You chucked away empty crisp packets and yoghurt pots, and threw some finished Fruit Shoot bottles in the recycling bin. It was comforting as you familiarly navigated all the cupboards and drawers in Roy’s kitchen. You knew your way around his house very well, and often found yourself jealous of the space. It’s not that you didn’t like your apartment– of course, you did– but Roy’s house was proper.
It was funny. Without trying at all, you were able to slot yourself alongside Roy here. Living alongside each other, cooking dinners, drinking beers on his back patio, watching shitty movies on the sofa. You slammed another Fruit Shoot bottle in the recycling as a way to snap yourself out of it. No good came from imagining more between you and Roy, especially after everything that had already occurred.
You let out an angry huff at yourself as you leant upon the kitchen island, looking out towards the dining table. You wracked your fingers through your hair, as your eyes settled upon his bookshelf in all its glory. You enjoyed looking at it, no matter how many times you’d already scoured the overflowing shelves. Squinting, you gently approached the dining table as your eye hit upon something new; something that hadn’t been there previously.
On the middle shelf, right between cards from Phoebe and Roy’s sister, your article had been framed and placed for all to see. At the top, next to the title, was that classic picture of Roy from the first game of football you’d ever seen. His foot was on the ball, his stare hard, his hair trimmed in that robotic way that he’d used to do.
You couldn’t believe he’d kept it, and framed it, and put it up– all of it. It made your heart thump incessantly in your chest. It made the logical side of your brain completely disappear; the side that told you not to jump, that held you back, that told you not to complicate things.
“You noticed it, hm?” Roy said suddenly, appearing in the kitchen as you stayed glued in front of the dining table.
You turned to him, wide-eyed and full of love. “You kept it?”
“‘Course I did,” he said, walking towards you slowly. “It was your big break, and the nicest thing ever fucking written about me. Why wouldn’t I keep it?”
“I don’t know, I just–” you started, but chose to stop part way through. You settled, and smiled. “It’s nice that you did.”
Roy nodded, and growled subtly. Silence trickled over you both, as the obvious tension between you was cemented even further. This always happened when you were alone, together, looking at one another like you were memorising the lines on each other’s faces.
“Fancy a drink?” Roy asked coarsely. He had to cough slightly to stop his voice from breaking.
You breathed out deeply. “Yes. Please. Yes please.” You found your voice again, and the tension dissipated slightly as he headed towards the fridge.
You sunk into one of the chairs at the dining table, watching closely as Roy opened the fridge and grabbed two green bottles of beer. It was nice that you didn’t have to say what it was you wanted, didn’t have to even direct, he just knew. He knew you, and you knew him just as well. He popped the tops off both bottles, before sitting down opposite you. He slid you a beer, and your fingers touched his own as he made the pass. It went unsaid, and you ignored your heart in your chest.
The two of you sipped at your drinks in unison, transcending into a different realm of awkward (and) or sexual tension. It was always this way, this feeling. You’d grown so used to it from being so exposed to being watched, analysed, affectionately stared at, by Roy’s gaze, that you didn’t bat an eye when you looked at him– only to find him already staring at you.
You squinted at him playfully. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said.
You raised your drink to your lips. “Fine.” You drank, and let his lingering eyes watch as you gulped back more beer. As you placed your bottle down, you smiled. “Thank you for letting me meet Phoebe.”
“It was about time,” he said, leaning forward. “Like she said– I apparently don’t shut the fuck up about you.” He smiled smally, before the two of your drank in unison, just to fill the happy silence.
You thought of Rebecca then. Of her strong jaw and broad shoulders and confident strides. If it’d been her, she would have taken matters into her own hands a long time ago. Before Roy’s retirement, before the article, she would have launched herself into this all strongly from the moment he’d invited you for a drink after the charity ball.
As Rebecca’s gorgeous face shone behind your eyelids, you remebered your lunch. “Oh, fuck,” you muttered suddenly, as you recalled her double date situation.
“What?” Roy questioned.
“Well,” you started. You leaned forward to bridge the gap between you, and innately psyched yourself up to broach this idea to him. You couldn’t believe what you were about to ask of him. “Rebecca is seeing a man– John.”
“John,” Roy repeated.
“And, well,” you said, stalling for time. You grimaced, just for lack of how to even get it all out. “She… well, she–”
“Are you having a fucking stroke or something?” Roy asked, before he slammed his hand over your forehead abruptly, searching for a fever.
You burst out laughing as soon as he did, and swatted away his fingers. “Jesus Christ, I’m fine!” you exclaimed.
Roy removed his hand from your head. “Then get to the fucking point!”
“Okay!” you exclaimed, getting worked up. “Rebecca is seeing this man, and she wants her friends’ approval to be sure he’s not a fucking weirdo.” You sucked in a deep breath, and reworded your entire question until it wasn’t one anymore. “You’re going to pretend to be my partner, so we can judge if this guy is a psycho or not.” After you blurted it out, you half expected Roy to scoff. Surely he wouldn’t say yes, surely he would protest, and whine, and sulk, and everything else that his thirty-six year old arse would do when forced into this kind of situation.
Instead, he stayed still. He stayed calm, and his express didn’t falter. “When is it?” Roy asked.
“This weekend.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” You stared at him, utterly boggled.
Roy furrowed his brows, as if saying yes was the most obvious answer of all. “Who else would you fucking take? Fucking Ted?”
You chose not to tell him of your first choice, or of Rebecca’s obvious dislike of the idea. You leaned back in your chair and took a surprised gulp of beer, before clutching the bottle to your chest. “I can’t wrap my head around why you’re fine about this,” you said honestly. “Are you having a fucking stroke?”
Quickly, you reached your hand out and laid it upon Roy’s forehead, mimicking his earlier behaviour. You thought he’d push you off, or laugh, or copy the way you reacted. When he gently leant into your touch, you froze.
“I feel just fine,” he said lowly, his stare glued on yours. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, and you dropped your palm from his head. Quickly, Roy shuffled his hand so his thumb hit your pulse point. “Are you alright?”
You felt your heart rate accelerate, which meant Roy felt it, too.
Quickly, you pried your hand out of his grasp, but not before your fingers swiped over each other’s. You moved your hand to your lap, just to avoid staring at it as your mind raced.
“I’m fine,” you said, despite the fact it was an obvious lie. That’s when Roy’s lips curled into a small smile. “But– great. This is great.” You tried to redirect the conversation to the double date, tried to keep things professional. “Rebecca gets the answers she wants, we get a free meal, and I get to dress in something other than the same five outfits I wear at work every week… but,” you said, tapping your glass anxiously. “We have to pretend to be a couple.”
Roy shrugged. “We’ll live.” He wasn’t ready to admit to you that he knew it would be easy. Maybe you might make it harder, but if all Roy had to do to be convincing was occasionally hold your hand, or sit close to you, or bicker like an old married couple, then he was already there.
You squinted at him, still confused. “You’re seriously okay with this?”
Roy shrugged again, but it was only with the sole intention to have you roll your eyes at him. He succeeded.
As Saturday approached, it properly dawned on you what was about to happen. You and Roy had to pretend to be together, while simultaneously navigating not just Rebecca, but her newest man, as well. You found yourself wishing that Keeley wasn’t away, but that definitely would have been the easy way out.
It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go on a fake double date Roy fucking Kent– that in itself was something that (ashamedly so) made you so fucking excited that it was miracle you’d been able to contain it for the remaining days before the weekend. It wasn’t about the possible awkwardness that you could both feel at having to be noticeably affectionate, or the fumbling fingers that you would both have during those first few tries.
It was about the aftermath.
It was about the possible shift that could happen as a result of this little charade. It was about the marathon you were already running to keep at bay every single feeling you had for Roy (and the ones he held for you that you had no clue about). It was about being able to leave that table at that restaurant still knowing that everything would be normal and unchanged and not fucking complicated.
That’s what you focused on for the rest of the week, and when Saturday morning turned to afternoon, and when that afternoon turned to early evening, you felt stronger. As you got ready to go into this shitstorm, you were determined not to let all hell break loose.
Just down the road, Roy pulled a black t-shirt over his head. He paired it with black jeans, the usual, but opted to spray his most expensive cologne over the top— not the usual. It was true that he was excited about this. Just the opportunity to make you blush was enough to make him smile, and after he felt the upbeat pitter patter of your pulse he was beginning to doubt that you harboured no romantic feelings for him.
Either way, no matter the outcome, he was going to grab hold of this situation by the throat. It was funny; being given the opportunity to be close to you, to imagine being together, and all the rest; but even just being allowed to pretend and put on a show for one evening made him feel satisfied.
Innately, though, he told himself not to go overboard. As much as your pulse had betrayed you, he wasn’t about to put you in an uncomfortable situation for the sake of it. Roy was almost a decade older than you, he harboured experience galore— what with being an ex-star footballer— but he still knew you weren’t the time to fuck around.
He glanced at his watch; he had a little under an hour before he was due to pick you up. This evening was certainly going to be one he’d remember for a while, even if he ended up wanting to fucking forget all about it by the end.
Roy’s Jeep pulled up outside your flat. You heard it from your living room window, and quickly slung a small bag over your shoulder before leaving through your door. Roy cut off the engine before he jumped from the driver’s seat. As he rounded his car, the squeak of your building door sounded. He peered up, and what met his gaze was only the first step of his night fully starting.
As you shut the door behind you, your dress blew up to just past your knees. Compared with the charity ball, you’d opted to wear a jacket over it in this cold, which almost made Roy laugh to himself. You descended the steps as he took a relaxed stance by the passenger side door, and when you finally glanced his way, he was already looking at you. This was a running theme, you thought, catching Roy’s eye, only to find him already looking at you gently.
“Hey,” you said, slightly breathlessly from the cold but also from him. You trickled your gaze over his body. He wore nothing different than normal, his usual combo of black on black, but this time it felt different. It was oddly reminiscent of the night of the charity ball, a year ago now, but with a slight twist.
You felt older, you knew each other better, and that unspoken tension hadn’t cropped up until later that fateful night. Now, everything was different. But in the best way.
“Hey,” Roy said lowly, his voice gravelly. “Ready to go?”
You nodded sweetly, smiling at him as you stood face to face. You inhaled, and as you did, his cologne hit your nose. You had to ignore how fucking good he smelled, even more so when you both clambered into the car.
A few minutes into the journey, Roy cleared his throat. “So,” he started, and you sensed some trepidation in his tone that made you look at him slyly. “This double date thing… how far are we taking it?”
Abruptly, you choked on your own spit. You coughed loudly and turned towards the window, until the tickle in your throat finally ceased. “What?” you croaked, panicking. Roy smiled to himself quickly, before he clenched his jaw forcefully.
“This guy, Jim, or whatever. He thinks we’re an item, right?” Roy continued.
You furrowed your brows at him curiously. “Yes.”
“So, how far are we taking this fake relationship shit?” Roy asked again.
Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “I don’t fucking know.” You tried to act casual and unbothered. It was fucking difficult. “Far enough for it to be believable, I guess.”
“So,” Roy said. “Can I hold your hand?”
You swallowed. “Yeah, obviously.” You kept your eyes ahead of you, but could feel Roy’s stare hit your profile every few seconds, only when he wasn’t looking at the road.
“Okay,” he said. “Can I touch your waist, or– I don’t know– your thigh under the table, or some shit?” Roy attempted to lace stoicism within his words. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but he also wanted to know what he could and couldn’t do. Just for clarity, just so you were on the same page.
You glanced out the window, looking away from him. You didn’t want him to see the warmth that had appeared on your cheeks. It was a miracle he couldn’t hear the butterfly wings that ravaged your stomach. “I don’t see why not.”
“Alright, fine,” Roy said, clearing his throat afterwards. His knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel.
You sucked in a deep breath, but all it did was remind you of his cologne. “Anything else?” you asked assumptively, tensing yourself involuntarily.
Roy stopped the car at a red light. “Yeah,” he said sharply, turning to you strongly. You turned to look at him, too, catching his eye with as much confidence you could muster. “Can I kiss you?”
You stopped breathing. The urge to look at Roy’s lips was unavoidable. You wanted to stay calm, to stay cool, to stay composed, so your initially thought answer of yes, God, yes had to be contained on this occasion. You’d spent three days internally preparing yourself for this, but as soon as Roy started asking his questions your walls practically crumbled. His prying had a feeling behind it, intent, and you knew Roy well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t ask these things lightly. That was the first hurdle to jump over.
The next– the way he was looking at you made you want to abandon your evening with Rebecca and John altogether. If it were up to you, you’d tell him to pull over the car on any desolate street he could find, just so you could finally give in to this silly crush. It was obvious this wasn’t just you anymore, that this small unspoken thing had developed further inside both of you, until it had left you in this fucking situation.
A fake date, with real feelings. What a fucking nightmare.
“I–” you started, but couldn’t get another word out as Roy’s gaze darted to your lips and back.
Oh, the fucking bastard. He was good, really good, and he knew it, too. Was this what he did with the Spice Girls? Because it was fucking working. It was enough to make you want to spill everything, to not hold back any longer.
“Roy.” You breathed out.
He looked at you so softly. “Yeah?” he said lowly.
“I need to tell you something–”
The shrill boom of a car horn from behind made you gasp. Roy twisted himself abruptly to the windshield, and the light that once was red was now green again. The car honked its horn once more, and Roy let out a growl. “I’m going, you fucking twat!” he yelled, before smashing his foot down on the accelerator.
And just like that, the conversation had to take another back seat. You still had parts to play, and hearts to bear, and lots and lots of wine to fucking drink.
Plot: Roy doesn't love her. In fact, he finds her irritating above anything else. And yet he manages to tell her in so many different ways.
Pairing: Roy Kent x female reader
Warnings: A lot of swearing, mentions of food and alcohol. Reader takes Keeley's spot in some plot points - no disrepect to her though she's my favorite.
Notes: This is inspired by a "100 ways to say I love you" List. It’s 8.3k words, It's a big one.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please
"It's enough for this restless warrior
Just to be with you"
Take my jacket, it’s cold & You can have half
She’s irritating. Everything about her manages to get under his skin. The way she’s always smiling that big radiant smile of hers or the perpetual scent of jasmine and vanilla that seems to follow her anywhere. She laughs too loud, she’s a terrible driver and even worse at parking. The music coming from the physio room is mostly cheesy 80s and 90s pop songs that make Roy want to give himself a lobotomy. She’s irritating in every which way you look at it — and maybe that’s the exact reason why Roy can’t keep himself from looking at her.
Tonight is no exception. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes manage to find her across the room and in the crowd, every single time without fail. It’s not like it’s a conscious choice on his part either. It just happens. That sparkly green dress of her’s just seems to call out to him like the damn light across the bay at the Buchanan’s dock.
And the worst part is that she noticed. She caught his eyes on her more than once, even had the audacity to smirk back at him. During the auction, for a small moment, he thought she might bid on him when her hand just barely twitched and her eyes held a sense of infinite mischief. She didn’t though and for a second he could feel a string of disappointment pull at his heart. Not because he wanted her to bid on him or anything, he just wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to spend time with Cheryl Barnaby.
He managed to find her across the room all night — except for right now. Everyone’s on the dance floor. Keeley, Jamie, Ted, even Beard. But not her.
No one’s paying attention to him right now, if he were to just slip out of here, no one will notice.
It’s not like he wanted to be here in the first place. Sure, raising money for underprivileged children is something honorable and he would never let his own disdain for overly glitzy social events get in the way of doing the right thing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.
Emptying his glass with one last sip he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and steps out into the chilly air of a London night.
It’s funny, really, how the moment he stops searching, the green light calls back out to him and she steps into his vision. A glowing beacon of refuge, guiding ships through dark nights to safe shores.
The cold air nips at her skin, sharp and vicious and Roy doesn’t even have to get any closer to her to notice that she’s shivering. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at her. Of course, she’s cold, she’s only wearing the dress and some flimsy chiffon scarf thing around her shoulders. That’s gonna do fuck all to shelter her from the cold. Irritating. She’s so irritating.
The most irritating part though, is that he can’t help but slip out of his suit jacket. The most irritating part is that he can’t help but care.
“Take my jacket, it’s cold.”
There it is again, that smile of hers. The one he sees sometimes when he’s about to fall asleep. How ridiculous, he thinks, how foolish of him. How absurd it is to fall asleep to the image of a smile belonging to a girl that annoys him more than anything and anyone. (Except maybe Jamie).
“Are you — are you talking to me? Little old me? Are you being nice to me?”
“Jesus fuck, don’t make it weird. I’m always nice.”
She giggles and it’s bloody adorable. So adorable that a smile threatens to pull the corners of his lips upwards. See? Fucking irritating.
“You hardly talk more than 3 words to me when you’re in the physio room but — okay. If that’s your version of nice.”
“Take the jacket or not, I don’t care. I’ll let you freeze out here if you’re trying to be difficult. Means fuck all to me.”
That’s not true. They both know it. No matter how much Roy tries to deny or hide it, there is a soft heart buried inside the rough exterior. He just can’t risk showing that to everyone. Can’t have people getting the wrong ideas.
“No, please I — sorry I’m just — you make me nervous and when I’m nervous I talk a lot and then most of what comes out is just stupid nonsense or deflecting humor or something. I would really appreciate that jacket. It really is fucking freezing.”
Roy has been in the public eye for years now, he’s used to people being intimidated, nervous. Usually, it’s strangers though, people who don’t know him. Those that do, that work with him, usually lose that feeling pretty quickly.
“Why the fuck would I make you nervous?”
She just glances at him before turning her face back towards the street “Have you seen yourself?”
He’s not sure how to take that. Is it a compliment? Does she think he’s handsome? It’s not like it matters to him really. In fact, the thought that she might find him attractive is — say it with me — fucking irritating.
He contemplates asking her outright if this is something she does on purpose. If she’s deliberately trying to rile him up. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he notices her shiver once again and all that was on his mind vanishes against the desperate need to keep her warm.
“Jesus. Let me just — “
Jasmine. Vanilla. He smells it when he slips the jacket around her shoulders. He wonders if his jacket will smell like that, like her, when he gets it back. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not because it’s her or anything — just because it smells fantastic and Roy is not one to deny himself the simple pleasures in life.
“I really appreciate it, Roy.”
And the gratefulness with which she says it is not irritating at all. It’s endearing. It’s flutters-in-his-tummy kind of wonderful.
Instead of reacting like a normal, reasonable person with a simple “you're welcome”, he gives her one of his signature grunts. That’s as good a normal reasonable reaction as anyone can expect from him, really.
“What are you out here all by yourself for anyway? Trying to get kidnapped or something?”
“No,” there it is again, the giggle. Ugh. “ I’m waiting for my Uber. He’s — “She checks her phone, illuminating her face with the harsh blue light. He thinks she looks wonderful either way. Then scolds himself for thinking it. Some simple pleasures he has to deny himself. “ 12 minutes away.”
Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He helps out his sister, he gives in to all of Phoebe’s wishes even if it means having to play the princess yet again and never getting to be the dragon. He donates more money to charity than the press is aware of, leaves hefty tips whenever he goes out to eat and though he does swear a lot, he still tries to be polite if he can.
He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let a woman wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.
“Do you mind if I keep you company? Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive.”
A laugh tumbles from her lips. A step up from a giggle and god does it send shockwaves through his traitorous heart.
“The press would have a field day if that happened. I can see the headlines, ‘Football legend Roy Kent involved in the disappearance of Richmond sports physio’ and then they use a picture of you from like 10 years ago with the really bad long hair that makes you look a little sketchy.”
“I didn’t look sketchy.”
“You looked a little sketchy.”
Roy glances at her through the corner of his eyes. She really is a dream in forest green, the sequins, and rhinestones reflecting the street lights like little kaleidoscopes. He’s almost certain he’ll dream in shades of green tonight. He’s sure he’ll see her smiling face.
“You look beautiful.”
The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and it makes him want to put his head through a wall. Fuck.
“Thank you —” she replies bashfully, “do you want some sausage roll?”
In all the scenarios running through his head of how this conversation could’ve gone, this is not one of the outcomes he expected.
“What?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Do you want a part of my sausage roll?” she chuckles and pulls a brown paper bag from her sparkly clutch bag. “I wasn’t sure if they were gonna actually feed us or just serve us rich people portions so I brought backup. You can have half if you want.”
She breaks the flaky pastry in two and holds one piece out to him. Even her nails are painted to match the dress. If he was any worse a man he would risk it all for just one taste of her and whatever black magic she possesses that gets so deeply under his skin.
He is a better man than that tough, so he settles for a taste of the sausage roll.
“You’re a strange woman”
“Strange or smart?”
Taking a bite from the sausage roll, buttery and flaky and greasy, he must admit she has a point.
“Bit of both.”
“I can live with that.”
Silence settles upon them, well as silent as a London night can be. It feels weirdly comfortable. No expectations to be someone or do something. Just her and the city and the fucking Greggs sausage roll.
And — Elton John?
“Oh, I love that song!”
A string of pink lights adorns the top of the rikshaw as it turns the corner, loudly blasting Can you feel the love tonight. The driver catches sight of them and Roy can’t suppress the annoyed groan slipping its way out.
“Good evening can I interest you lovebirds in a — “
“No, fuck off!”
Elton’s voice gets quieter and quieter as the startled driver rides his rickshaw further away and back into the inky black of the night.
Lovebirds, he called them lovebirds. Thought the two of them were anything other than acquaintances. People pushed together by circumstances and coincidence. As if anything between them could ever happen. She’s already getting under his skin, sticks around his thoughts, and ghosts through his head without him ever giving her permission to do so.
She’s all he can think about lately and yes he knows it sounds repetitive but god it’s so damn irritating.
“I would’ve liked to hear the rest of the song.”
Roy scoffs “Figures.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
He turns to face her and, for the first time since he’s stepped out of the building and into this tiny bubble they’re sharing for just this fleeting moment, he looks at her. Really looks at her.
With her sparkly dress and her lips painted a deep red like candy apples. With flakes of the pastry sticking to her lower lip and his jacket wrapped around her looking almost like this is where it’s always belonged.
He’s never had a heart attack before, he wonders if this is what it feels like.
“You play the worst fucking music when you’re working in the physio room.”
“Uh — are you insulting my taste in music? Are you really out here insulting the legend, sir Elton John? The Lion King soundtrack is a religious experience, okay?”
He hates that he can clearly tell by the glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she is joking more than anything. He shouldn’t be able to tell. Mere acquaintances can’t do shit like that.
“No, in fact, it’s a pretty fucking great movie. It came out when my sister was a kid though and I had to watch that shit a million times. You know how traumatizing it is having to watch Mufasa die over and over again?“
She grants him a look of understanding and shrugs her shoulders in agreement “At least it’s not Frozen, eh? “
“I have a 6-year-old niece.”
Roy Kent has a lot of things in his life that he takes pride in. His career and talent, all the hard work he put in to be where he is today. He takes pride in being a good brother and a loving uncle and maybe even a good friend and leader.
Making her let out a snort as she laughs at his Frozen-induced misery? That might be his proudest achievement to date.
“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”
“What can I say? You’re a funny guy, Roy Kent. So funny in fact that I almost bid on you at the auction.”
He wants to let out the most guttural scream in the existence of mankind. She can’t just go ahead and say stuff like that. Not when he is trying so hard to keep their interactions at the most basic level. Not when she already haunts his dreams. She’s irritating, Roy. Not charming or lovable or — beautiful. Or maybe she is all those things but most of all she’s annoying and infuriating and — oh he’s so fucked.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Oh, well I’m just a measly sports physician. Don’t get me wrong, it's good money but I don’t really earn quite enough to throw thousands of pounds at a man to have him spend time with me.”
He’d do it for free. Hate every second of it, naturally. But he’d do it for free.
Can’t tell her that though. Never. So once again he just grunts.
A silver Toyota pulls up to the curb, effectively bursting their little bubble of comfort as the driver leans down to look out the window. “You (Y/N) ?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
She makes a motion to slip out of the jacket, only for Roy to step in and hold it closed, keeping it in place, wrapped around her, and shielding her from the cold.
“Keep it,” his voice comes out all rough and husky. More than usual. It’s probably the jasmine scent getting to him, clouding his every sense. “Don’t want you to freeze on the way home. Just give it back another time.”
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Goodnight, Roy.”
He opens the door for her and closes it softly once she’s settled into the car. Roy tries so hard to be a good man, a good person but in that moment all he wants to do is be a little bit worse, just a little bit. Just enough to rip the door open again, pull her out of the seat and kiss her stupid.
Instead, he wishes her a good night and sends her off before stepping out into the night himself. There is a smile playing on his lips all the way home and it’s so fucking irritating.
I was in the neighborhood & It’s okay I couldn’t sleep anyway
The door leading to her apartment is bright red and there is a little white sign and the picture of a dog with huge fucking ears that reminds him of Gizmo from the Gremlins. It says “Beware of the dog — might cuddle you to death.”
It’s cheesy as hell. He loves it.
He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Losing is never fun. Feeling yourself slowly becoming unable to do the things you love, the things you were good at, and actively playing a part in your team losing? That’s absolutely mortifying.
Of all the places he could’ve gone, all the people he could’ve seen — he ends up in front of her door. Red and shiny like her lips that night.
It’s almost 1am and all things considered, this is a really dumb idea. She’s probably asleep and waking her up would be fucking rude. He should just go and forget this ever happened instead of knocking on her door in the middle of the night. That’s what the rational part of his brain tells him at least.
Roy was never really good at listening to the rational part of his brain.
Tiny barks, no doubt belonging to the dog on the sign, echo through the hallway before the door swings open just enough for (Y/N) to look at him with tired eyes.
“Roy?”
“I was in the neighborhood I — I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”
It’s not a lie, really. He was in the neighborhood. He walked here specifically to knock on her door and see her.
“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
Now that is most definitely a lie. Her eyes are sleepy, her hair disheveled and he can just about make out the pillow print on her cheek.
“Do you want to come in?”
He does. He shouldn’t but he really does.
The apartment is small but it feels cozy rather than cramped. The walls are lined with pictures, little reminders of happy moments and people she loves.
There’s one of him too, well him and Isaac and Sam and then her at the end of the line. He thinks it was taken at some get-together after a particularly hard-fought win. He likes to know that there’s a picture of him on her wall even if his appearance in the photo is probably more incidental than anything.
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
It’s a stupid thing to say, there is so much he doesn’t know about her. He doesn’t know where she was born or if she has siblings or if she always wanted to be a physiotherapist. But there are things he does know, like the specific way she likes her coffee and that she always gets a snickerdoodle cookie from the bakery down the road from the stadium, every Wednesday without fail. How she scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated and that she snorts when something makes her laugh really hard.
“His name is Yoda. He’s a papillon and also my best friend.”
“Don’t let Sam hear.”
“Oh, he’s also Sam’s best friend.”
Yoda, it’s a fitting name. He does look like a Yoda.
“So what brings you here, Roy? At uh — “ she glances towards her open kitchen and the digital clock on the microwave “ 1:04 am?”
Should’ve gotten his story straight before he came here. What is he supposed to say? I felt like proper shit and wanted to see your smile? Surely not.
So he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.
“Came to get my jacket back.”
Absolute dumbass.
“Your jacket? Oh uh. sure. Let me go get it.”
She regards him with confusion and curiosity, he can tell she’s not really buying his story.
“Or, if you aren’t in a rush, I was about to pop in a movie and pig out on some popcorn? Do you want to join me?”
This might be the first time he lets her see the smile she continues to put on his face.
“Fuck yeah, what are we watching?”
“Vernon is such a little bitch. Antagonizing fucking teenagers? What a loser."
“Right?,” (Y/N) agrees, taking a sip from her glass of rose before stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn into her mouth. “Bender needed someone to care, not just another adult yelling at him. "Such a loser. Hey, now that I think about it, you do give me John Bender vibes. All broody and mysterious.”
Roy just scoffs in response.
Her eyes fall onto his empty glass of wine resting on the little square table in front of the couch.
“You want a top-up?”
“No, I’m good. I should probably get going.”
He hates to admit it, it’s something he’ll take to the grave with him, but there’s something about rosé that gets to him. It makes him tipsy immediately. He doesn’t want to go home but the longer he stays the more he opens himself up to saying something stupid and fucking this up — whatever this is.
“Did you walk here?”
“Mmh.”
“Oh well I can’t in good conscience let you walk home, half a bottle of rosé in your system and dealing with all the emotions brought on by the breakfast club. Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive”
Throwing his own words back at him should be infuriating, annoying. It isn’t. It’s lovely. She’s lovely.
“You can stay if you want. My couch isn’t the biggest but I think you’ll fit just fine.”
The sincerity in her eyes hits him like a dart to the chest. It’s something so simple as offering him her couch for the night but it means everything for a man who has grown so awfully accustomed to loneliness.
“If I stay, will you make me breakfast?”
“Fuck no”
Laughter fills the tiny living room and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own.
“I might be up for a Starbucks run tomorrow morning before work though.”
“Sounds great. I love peppermint lattes, those are fucking delicious.”
She grants him another smile as she gathers their glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to the kitchen before returning with a fluffy pink blanket for him. He thinks that smile could’ve just about killed him, thinks he might just die right here on her couch and it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Well goodnight, then. Hope you don’t mind Yoda”
The dog is curled up on Roy’s chest like a little bagel. It’s gonna be annoying later, he’s sure but hell will freeze over before he disturbs the little pup.
“That’s fine.”
“He snores, just thought you should know.”
“Makes two of us then, hope he doesn’t mind.”
Another laugh. Another tiny heart attack.
She’s by the door, just about to turn off the light and plunge the room into darkness, when she hesitates for a moment.
“Hey Roy,”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry you guys lost today and I — I can see you struggling but I just wanted you to know that it was not your fault. I need you to know that.”
The entire way here, he tried to make himself rationalize that. Make himself understand that losing is part of the game and that he did his best. But knowing your best might not be good enough anymore is a hard fucking pill to swallow.
Hearing her say that it’s not his fault, it takes the weight off for a moment. Not all the way, never all the way. But a tiny little bit and that’s a whole lot already.
“Goodnight, (Y/N).”
“Night, Roy.”
He falls asleep with the taste of rosé on his tongue, the snoring of a little dog in his ears, and the sight of her on his mind, all sleepy eyes and messy hair. She never looked better.
It looks good on you & I like your laugh
He’s positively buzzing with euphoria. They won, something no one thought was possible. They won and he scored the winning goal.
Spirits are high as the team and their friends have taken over the Karaoke place. Shots and drinks flow with no regard to the tab they’re raking up or the headache that awaits each of them tomorrow. None of that matters right now. Tonight is made for celebrating. Consequences don’t exist right here and now.
Rebecca burns the house down with her rendition of let it go and after a short intermission by Dani, singing a Spanish song that neither of them managed to join in with their non-existent knowledge of the language, the opening chords to another familiar song fill the room.
“Well, thanks for making us all look like amateurs, Rebecca,” (Y/N) says into the microphone as she takes her place on stage. Her words are laced with happiness and laughter and Roy thinks she must have him under some spell because he can’t manage to not smile when she’s around. It’s a bit ridiculous if he’s being honest.
“I will most definitely not be able to live up to that performance but I thought we could stay in the Disney bubble for a moment.”
Her eyes meet his across the room and when she winks at him it takes everything in him not to get up on stage and devour her. Fucking irritating.
“I know you all know this song so sing along if you feel like it. This one’s for you, John Bender.”
He knows it’s one of the cheesiest love songs ever, written for a movie about a cartoon lion. But sitting on the couch at the karaoke place surrounded by his team, having just scored a winning goal and listening to the girl that haunts his dreams sing straight to him and only him, he thinks Elton has a point. He can feel the love tonight. It’s in the smiles of his friends, and the voices coming together all chaotic and off-key singing along to the song. And there is love in her eyes, clear as day and undeniable.
“And can you feel the love tonight
How it's laid to rest?
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds
Believe the very best”
The night is coming to an end, everyone’s found their way to their respective rooms — or whoever’s room they felt like staying at. Roy’s pretty sure he saw Rebecca’s friend enter Ted’s room but that’s none of his fucking business, is it?
“Okay, you can’t laugh though!” (Y/N)’s voice calls out from the bathroom and drifts towards the main part of the room where Roy is perched on the chair by the window.
This isn’t his room and really he knows he shouldn’t be here. But being alone right now sounded like proper torture. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical night behind yet. Not like this. Not when she sang to him and he had nothing to give her in return. So when she invited him to her room to watch yet another John Hughes movie on Netflix, he couldn’t do anything but accept.
“Are you sleeping in one of those weird fluffy onesies?”
“No, god no.”
“Then I don’t know why I’d laugh at you.”
When she steps into the room, he can see why she’d think he’d laugh at her choice of sleepwear. The white shirt looks not so white anymore, there is a hole at the bottom and a mysterious red stain by the collar. It doesn’t make him laugh though. It makes him fucking hard. Because that’s his name on the back of it. That’s a 2014 world cup Roy Kent England Jersey.
“Fuck me.”
He doesn't mean to let it slip but alcohol and euphoria have made his lips go loose.
“I knoooow, it’s embarrassing. I meant to bring something else but it’s just so comfortable.”
“It looks good on you.”
It does. He thought the green dress was it. Then he thought she looked absolutely adorable, all sleepy and natural. But this? This is the look that pushes him over the edge. This is everything.
“Yeah?” she asks and twirls around the room, not unlike Phoebe whenever Roy gifts her yet another new princess dress. He’s just such a sucker, can never say no when she asks him for something. “You just wait and see, I’ll steal your job soon enough.”
That makes him erupt into laughter yet again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed quite as much lately as when he is with her.
“I’ve seen you attempt to play before. I’m not worried.”
“I like your laugh,” she says, all warm eyes and wistful smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Something takes over, an invisible force pulling him to his feet and making him walk up to her. She’s leaning against the wall as he places one hand on her hip, the other on the wall next to her head. This shouldn’t be happening, he knows this. It’s dumb to believe that whatever tension there is between them can lead to anything. That’s just not in the cards for him no matter how much he wishes for it.
Girls like her don’t fall for boys like him. They never did, they never will.
“Roy Kent, you won today.”
Winning the game is the last thing on his mind right now. How could he ever think about winning right this moment when her hand is softly resting on his cheek and her nose gently nuzzling against his and the —
A knock on the door cuts through the moment making Roy let go and take a step back.
“Fucks sake.”
In his defense, Sam looks apologetic as he stands in front of the door, signature smile on his face. Good-natured and lovable. If this was any other moment Roy wouldn’t have been able to be mad at him. But this is that moment and he is a little pissed right now.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb, I was just wondering if you had another phone charger. I can’t find mine and I know you always bring extra so — “
“Uh, yeah let me go get it real quick.” (Y/N) says and turns back towards the room.
Roy’s eyes connect with hers for a split second and it’s like a bucket of ice straight over his head. They both know whatever magical spell they had been under, it’s broken and gone and all that’s left now is a big old pile of what-ifs.
“It’s getting late, I should leave. Goodnight, (Y/N). Night, Sam.”
“We’ll reschedule, yeah?”
Tiny smile on his lips he nods his head in agreement.
He gets a soft “goodnight” in return and though he hates to admit it, the touch of her hand against his cheek lingers there all the way to his room and even further into his dreams.
Call me when you get home & We’ll figure it out
Rain pounds against the roof and windows like tiny bullets. A rainstorm has Richmond tight in its clutches so cruel and unforgiving the team can’t even train right now.
And yet for some reason Roy still finds himself in the workout room, trying to push himself to do just 5 more minutes on the treadmill. Just 5 more.
Actually, it’s not entirely true. He knows why he’s here. Part of him hopes that if he just pushes himself enough, he can overcome the pain in his leg and all the issues it causes. That if he just tries harder, he can go back to being the talented overachiever he used to be.
But it hurts. A sharp stabbing pain rushes through his knee forcing him to step off the treadmill. He hates this. In fact, it’s his worst fucking nightmare. Football is all he’s ever been good at, he can’t lose that. It’s his entire life.
If he’s not Roy the footballer, who is he? Some bloke named Roy with a dead career and no one to come home to? Now doesn’t that sound delightful?
"Roy?"
“Jesus, fuck!”
There she goes again giving him a heart attack, only this time it’s not because she’s being cute or anything.
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The smile on her face falls as she catches sight of him holding onto his knee. He can almost see the thoughts running through her head. She knows about his knee. If anyone knows how bad it is, it’s her. She told him not to overdo it. Said that would only make it worse.
He knows she has pity on him and he hates it. It’s irritating coming from everyone. Irritating and misplaced. Why would they pity him? It’s his own damn fault for not being good enough anymore.
But coming from her? That’s even worse. No one wants a guy that’s getting too old to do his job properly. That’s falling apart and breaking.
— Not that he wants her or anything. Oh, Roy, who are you trying to fool here? Of course, he wants her.
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”
She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, in that bratty way that drives him crazy.
“I said I’m fine, (Y/N).”
“I hear what you’re saying,” she says and comes to stand next to him, crossing her arms in defiance. “but I can also see the way you’re holding your knee and that face you’re making. You’re in pain, love.”
Love. He doesn’t hate how it sounds when she calls him that. Irritating for sure but also — sweet.
“I’ll be fine! What are you even doing here?”
He hasn’t seen a lot of her ever since the night in Liverpool and while part of him was quite glad about it because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up whatever had or had not happened between them, another part of him had missed her smile desperately.
“I work here.”
“You’re a fucking smartass, aren’t you.”
“I try.”
Fuck, even when she’s being deliberately difficult she manages to pull a smirk from him.
“I had some paperwork to do but by the time I arrived here, the storm was so bad that now I have to wait for it to stop before I can drive home. I hate driving when it rains.”
“Oh you should,” Roy returns, nodding his head in agreement “You’re a horrible driver in the best of weather.”
She responds with a scandalized gasp and a hand placed on her heart in mock upset “I am not a horrible driver! Take that back.”
“It took you 18 minutes to park your car the other day. I know because I saw it, we all saw it. Boys took the time and had bets going. Jamie won 20 quid.”
“Wha — okay I’ll have to have a word with the guys, you’re ridiculous. But don’t think you can change the topic on me, Mister. Is your knee getting worse?”
Yes, and he fucking hates it. Can’t even say the words out loud because that feels like admitting defeat. And that’s a terrifying thing to do.
Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to say anything. A look is all it takes and she nods her head in understanding.
“That’s okay, Roy. We’ll figure something out.”
We will figure something out. We as in him and her. Since pretty much the beginning of his professional career, Roy had admirers. People who would latch onto everything he did or said and hold him to abnormally high standards he would never be able to reach. They adored him but they also didn’t know him. She knows him even when he tries so hard to keep her at arm's length. She knows him and is still in his corner, still has his back. The only people who ever did that were his family.
It’s an unusual feeling but he really really likes it. Even if it’s a little terrifying.
“What if — “ he takes a deep breath, trying to form the words that weigh so heavy on his heart “What if I can’t go back to how it used to be? What if this is the end for me?”
“Do you want me to be honest or nice?”
“Lay it on me then.”
“Things might not get back to how they used to be and there’s not really much you can do about it other than learn to accept it and then figure out a new place for yourself.”
“Football is all I have.”
“That’s not true but even if it was there is so much more about it than just the players.”
She’s right but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
“…and with that smile of yours, you can always go into modeling. I’m sure they’re always looking for new faces in the toothpaste commercial business.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“See! There’s that smile I was talking about.”
“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes.”
She is. He adores it.
“Oh, but you like it — right?”
“What?”
“You do — like it? Like me?”
It’s the first time he’s seen her act insecure. She’s always so bubbly and happy and smiling, he hates that he put any doubt in her mind that he does anything but cherish her.
“You irritate me, woman. Drive me up the fucking wall, every day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No! Don’t say sorry. I love it. I think you’re a fucking knockout. Best thing since sliced bread.”
He does, he truly does and it feels nice to say it out loud for once. To admit it to her and to himself. It feels nice when she comes closer and when she rests her arms around his neck and it feels fucking phenomenal when her nose brushes past his and he can almost feel her lips on his.
Almost.
That’s until her phone beeps and she pulls away altogether.
“Ah shit, I gotta go.”
“Fuck sake. The universe hates me.”
“The universe doesn’t hate you, Roy Kent. We just have bad timing. ”
He’s not convinced.
“What about the storm?”
“I think the rain stopped, listen.”
Roy hears nothing. Where raindrops were drumming against the roof and windows just minutes ago, there is silence. He’s never wished for a rainstorm to persist more than he does at that moment.
“Well, call me when you get home at least. Roads will still be wet.”
“Aw, Roy, are you worried about me?”
His lips say no, but his eyes and his smile tell a different story.
You can stay & Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?
This is it. This is the end. He’s seen this one coming for a while now but he tried so hard. He trained and pushed and it was all for nothing. They’re losing and his career as an active footballer is over for good.
The door to the locker room opens slowly, almost cautiously and he’s just about to yell and whoever dares to disturb him, when his head snaps up and he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here? Game is still going, you’re the fucking Physio.”
“Good thing there’s more than one of us. I have to make sure all my players are okay.”
I’m not okay. That’s what he wants to say. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. He’s not okay. He’s not sure he ever will be.
“Get out, (Y/N).”
She can’t see him like this. Defeated. Broken. Old.
Instead of listening to him, she sits down beside him and holds an ice pack to his injured knee.
“As a physio, I need to tell you that what you did was really stupid.”
He knows it was. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take and if nothing else, he kept Jamie from scoring and the fans appreciated it. That was all that mattered at that moment.
“But as a friend and Richmond fan, I think it was brilliant. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.”
Silence settles over them and (Y/N) is just about to get back up when he grabs onto her arm and pulls her back down. “You can stay.”
“Okay.”
And for a long while they just sit. No words, no expectations. Just them.
Softly, almost like a whisper, he feels her touch against his hand, sliding her fingers between his.
“Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?”
It’s not okay. It’s phenomenal. It’s everything he could’ve wished for in that moment but never would’ve had the nerve to ask. It’s a promise that he isn’t alone in this. There is someone there holding his hand through the darkest of times.
A green light guiding him to safe shores.
“Don’t you fucking dare let go.”
Stay there, I’m coming to get you & I can't wait for tomorrow
Turns out, retiring from a successful football career does not mean you suddenly have a lot of free time. In fact, Roy doesn’t think he’s ever been this busy doing shit he doesn’t like.
Everyone wants an interview, a statement, a “what happens next”. It’s a lot of paperwork and contracts and shit he doesn’t care about. The point is, he’s fucking busy. So busy he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in quite a few days. Nothing has really changed since their moment in the locker room but somehow everything feels different.
It’s exactly 4:12 am when his phone rings. He almost doesn’t want to answer but calls at 4am usually mean bad news and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to his sister or Phoebe or (Y/N) or even (and he will deny this if you ask him about it) Jamie just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer his phone.
“Hello?”
“Royoooo.”
Oh. Oh!
A smirk pulls at his lips.
“(Y/N)?”
“Sorry —” she says and stops for a giggle “Sorry to wake you. I just — I was out with the girls and I didn’t plan on drinking but I did. They had a buy one get one free deal. It would be stupid to say no, right?”
“Right.”
"So, yeah."
“Go on. Didn’t just call me to tell me about the drinks, did you.”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to talk to you while I wait for my Uber. I miss you.”
“Do you?”
“So much!” her words are slow and slightly slurred. “Every fucking day. Like — god, I just wanna see your stupid handsome face.”
“It’s handsome, innit?”
“You have no idea! I just want to kiss you, so badly.”
Kiss him. She wants to kiss him. Sure, it almost happened twice but it’s still different hearing her outright say it. But then again, she’s drunk and by the time she wakes up tomorrow, she probably won’t remember half of what she’s saying right now.
“Where are you?”
“It’s that weird little bar around the corner from Sam’s restaurant. The one with the green door.”
“Go on and cancel that Uber.”
“Then how am I going to get home?”
“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”
Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let the woman he’s absolutely head over heels for wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.
“Okay,” she agrees, a giggle slipping past her lips “Thank you. Can’t wait to see you.”
And though Roy had other plans for his weekend than picking up a drunk girl at 4 in the morning, he also can’t wait to see her.
“…and like it was mostly sugar, right? So I thought why not have another one. Turns out it was mostly vodka.”
“Who could’ve guessed.”
She’s cuddled up on his couch in one of his shirts looking into his eyes and retelling her night in vivid detail. Her story is slurred and a bit all over the place, blame it on her tipsy brain. It takes her forever to get to the point and when she does, the point doesn’t even make all that much sense. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to her ramble forever if it meant he got to spend time with her wearing his shirt sitting on his couch — looking into his eyes.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
“I know,” she shrugs then scoots closer to him and wraps her arms around his “but you’re here so it’s only half as bad really.”
“If I’m feeling generous I’ll even make you breakfast.”
“You really are the dream, Roy Kent.”
She’s clawing at his chest, prying open his ribcage and burying herself where his heart used to be. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“You have to stop saying shit like that. People are gonna think you’re in love with me or something.”
She pulls away slightly and looks up at him with those big eyes of hers before resting one hand on his cheek.
“Roy, I am. I thought you knew.”
He had a hunch, of course. Fostered a spark of hope in his heart that there could be something between them after all. But once you grow accustomed to loneliness it’s a little hard to let yourself believe.
“Do I need to show you to believe me?”
She pulls his face closer to hers and for a millisecond he wants to let go, but when he smells the alcohol on her breath he pulls back. This isn’t right.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“You’re off your tits. I’m not kissing you like this. Our first kiss is not going to be some inebriated tongue-wagging. You hear me? I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, that kiss is gonna be special. I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”
She bites her lips to suppress the smile from taking over.
“So if I were to ask again tomorrow, you’d say yes?”
“Mh.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
At that she snuggles further into his arms and rests her head against his shoulder, a content smile on her face as she closes her eyes.
“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
He doesn’t admit it, but neither can he.
I think you're beautiful & I’ll meet you halfway
“Roy?”
Her voice echoes through his house as the eggs sizzle on the stove.
“Why is there a small child looking at me?”
“Phoebe, stop staring at her you little creep!”
“She’s so pretty.”
She has a point.
10 minutes later the girls join him in the kitchen, walking in hand in hand and big smiles on their faces. Seeing them get along makes his heart grow approximately 12 sizes. That being said, the two of them teaming up against him sounds like trouble to him. Good trouble though. Trouble he loves to deal with.
“Good morning, Roy.”
“Morning. Pheebs, go sit down, breakfast is almost ready.”
“Okay, Uncle Roy.”
Once she’s out of the immediate earshot he turns back towards (Y/N). Though she tried her best to conceal it, yesterday's makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is a downright mess. She’s wearing his shirt though, standing barefoot in his kitchen after bonding with his niece.
Sometimes life is fucking sweet.
“Don’t look at me like that, I know I look like a mess.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“You’re delusional.”
“That’s not what you said last night. Think you called me the fucking dream if I recall correctly. Said you were in love with me.”
(Y/N) leans against the kitchen island, her hands flat against the countertop and her eyes trained on Roy.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
Roy mirrors her position, arms resting on the kitchen island across from her. God, she really is so beautiful.
“Remember what you said?”
“Do you?”
“You promised me something, Roy.”
Roy Kent doesn’t make promises lightly. He thinks there’s hardly anything quite as heartbreaking and awful as breaking a promise. He prides himself in keeping all the ones he’s made.
It’s only right to keep this one too.
“Phoebe,” he calls out to the little girl without moving his eyes away from (Y/N) for even a second “Blindfold!”
The 6-year-old slaps her tiny hands over her eyes obeying her uncle's orders with no hesitation and no questions asked. He’s proud of her. Silly little idiot.
Leaning across the counter, his lips almost reach (Y/N)’s. She’s so close. So close.
Only —
“Fuck, I can’t reach. My knee.”
There’s so much love in her eyes as she regards him. It almost knocks him out.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you halfway,” She says and gets up on her tiptoes.
Across the counter their lips meet. There are no fireworks or butterflies or an angel choir singing. But there is her tasting of toothpaste and smelling his deodorant. Her and the feeling of belonging. Of comfort and domesticity and love. He loves this woman, undeniably and irrevocably.
It’s a great kiss. Fucking mindblowing. There is no need for rom-com-induced fairytale fantasies when you have the real thing and it is so much better than any story could ever be.
“Hey Roy,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air.
“Hmm?”
“The eggs are burning.”
“Fuck!”
“You owe me a pound, Uncle Roy!”
Irritating! Both of them.
They’re his whole entire heart.
I love you & I love you
“I love you.”
It’s a normal fucking Tuesday when she says it for the first time. Really says it. Using those exact words. There’s nothing special about that day but with those words, she puts magic into it. The way she puts magic into his life every single day.
“Fuck you!”
“Sorry, what?”
She’s laughing. She’s always laughing and smiling that goddamn smile that makes him go all soft inside. Beautiful, lovely, knockout that she is.
“I said fuck you. I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all fucking week and here you go and say it first. You’re infuriating.”
Softly she rolls over so she’s resting on his chest, fingers softly tracing patterns into his skin.
“You’ve said it a million times before, Roy.”
“I love you, (Y/N).”
Can’t hurt to say it again.
“I know. I knew. I always knew. From the moment you gave me your jacket.”
Of course, she knew. She took one look at him and it was like she got a view straight into his soul. Straight into his heart with all the vices and virtues, all his triumphs and defeats. All the good and the bad.
A/N: i think this might be my favourite chapter of all.
Word count: 7.8k
Chapter Ten
Within seconds, a waitress was quickly sweeping up the broken glass. Roy glanced around the seating area, and picked up the first empty chair he could find. The gentleman sat on the other side of the table hesitantly stood and turned towards him. “That seat is taken–”
“It’s mine now,” Roy said bluntly. Lucas didn’t hear a thing, as he busied himself making space for more drinks. You raised your brows at Roy, as he sat and scooted closer to your table, like you were silently telling him off. “Found one,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap, pleased with himself.
You couldn’t believe his behaviour. Roy never went out of his way like this, unless it was for something that he knew was right. Your degree, the article, all of that had been because he knew it was best, but this? Gatecrashing your date– after shoving just an ounce of attention your way in three months– was overstepping. He knew it, too, but couldn’t stop the way his eyes flicked between you and Lucas with the question that he desperately wanted answered–
Are you together?
Lucas shuffled next to you, and realised you no longer had a drink. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said kindly. You turned to him, trying to eject Roy from your atmosphere. You smiled at him, and gently reached out to grab his hand softly. Lucas smiled down at you, before he glanced at Roy. “And for you, Roy?”
“A beer,” Roy said, and you shot daggers at him. “Please.” He read your face with ease. You hated that he could do that.
“You got it!” Lucas exclaimed, before he rushed off to order.
You leant forward immediately, adopting the same energy that your mother did when you were young and causing a ruckus in public. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you whispered at him, sweetly, honey-toned, despite feeling the absolute fucking opposite.
“What– a mate can’t join you and your boyfriend for a drink?” Roy said, but there was guilt etched all over his face.
“He is not my boyfriend,” you snapped. “And you are not my mate, unless you think your silence over the past three months means fuck all. Is that really the only reason you decided to crash my date, Roy?” You put him on the spot. Residual feelings were adamant, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking back to you between his legs, holding him close, all of it.
Hurt flashed across Roy’s stoic face. He clenched his jaw, and shrugged. Your noses were inches from each other, both overcome by your own version of anger and sadness. He shrugged again, from lack of what to fucking do. You couldn’t stand it.
“Stop fucking shrugging, Roy, you’re a grown man! Grown men don’t shrug, they take accountability and reply to people’s text messages.” You lowered your voice to a hiss when you mentioned him airing you.
“What would you know about being a grown man?” he hit back with.
You raised your brows in competition. “I definitely have more balls than you’ve ever fucking had.”
Roy leaned forward abruptly, seriously. “I’ve been around balls my entire life and I assure you, you don’t have more than I do.” You rolled your eyes at him in annoyance, astounded that within minutes you were already bickering like children. Roy brought out a side of you that you kept hidden. The one that still acted stupid, and childlike, and competitive. “I was busy,” Roy said, coming back to the subject at hand.
“Oh, yeah? Doing what?” you asked, seething.
“Coaching,” he said, and you were taken aback.
Your face squished in confusion. “Coaching who?”
“Richmond Primary School under 9 girls,” Roy said strongly.
Curiosity was thrown out the window at his response. You tensed every muscle in your body, before you looked him face on. “That is not coaching!” you whispered harshly, trying not to cause a scene and disrupt everyone’s Friday night drinks.
“Yes, it fucking is! Those little girls need some tough love, or they’ll grow up to become pricks like Jamie fucking Tartt,” Roy growled when Jamie’s name fell from his lips.
As much as you were angry, ready to punch the guy, as you looked into his eyes you were struck with the inescapable pain and hurt that you’d felt for the past few months. Seeing his face again was a shock, and you were annoyed that you still noticed small things about him. He’d grown his hair out, and his beard was bushier. He looked subtly leaner, due to the lack of training, and he’d probably lost part of his muscle mass after his retirement.
You leaned back, crossing your arms. Roy’s face softened slightly as you did, replaced with the immense craving to stay close to you. He’d been an arse, fully, but he didn’t know how to make it better. Not after he’d just made things worse by butting in on your date.
“How…” he started, but faltered at the first hurdle. You watched him struggle, and some of your anger dissipated as he did. “How have you been?” Roy got out eventually.
Your heart lurched. You sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but you were cut off.
Lucas dropped the drinks on the table enthusiastically. “Beer for you,” he said, reaching across and placing a pint in front of Roy. “Wine for the lady.” He placed a glass in front of you, and you forced yourself to come back to reality. As Lucas sat down, you ignored the sudden awkwardness of him draping his arm on the back of your chair, or crossing his legs in your direction.
As much as you had no reason to be, you suddenly felt sick that you were sitting opposite Roy, next to the man that you’d been holding hands with, kissing in the dark, calling to tell him about your day. Everything was backwards; you were supposed to be doing that all with Roy, not with Lucas weren’t you? He was still an effective stranger, just someone that you’d met less than a fucking month ago.
Everything was fucked. God, everything was fucked.
You endured the incredibly awkward small talk. Lucas was lapping it up, so overly excited that he was talking to Roy fucking Kent. He was almost adorable, but also widely frustrating, due to his lack of realising that you and Roy were definitely not on good terms. You tried and failed on many occasions to shut down the conversation, to say something that got Roy out of your hair, but as the ordeal continued, you found yourself wanting to do so with Lucas.
Could you pretend an emergency was happening, just so you could pick up your bag and run around the corner to get away? Could you somehow text Roy beneath the table, and get him to shut down this entire operation?
With each thought came another wave of guilt. Lucas was a good man, and it wasn’t his fault that you were innately cringing at the entire situation. That was all due to Roy. If he hadn’t come along, you’d probably be in your flat, being railed by the gorgeous man that sat next to you.
“Did you finish?” Roy’s voice hit you from across the table, and your heart dropped. For one horrible moment, you assumed Roy had read your thoughts.
You stuttered. “U-uh, what?”
“Your novel,” Roy said, and you breathed a sigh of awkward relief.
“Oh, uh– no. Not yet,” you said, before realisation hit you. “You remembered?”
Roy gulped down some of his beer, looking at you softly. “‘Course. That’s why you chose to suffer at Richmond in the first place, wasn’t it? All for your book.”
“Suffer?” Lucas chimed in. “But, you loved it at Richmond.”
“Yes, I do,” you explained. “I just wasn’t thrilled about it in my first few weeks, but I fell in love with it all after that.”
“Yeah, well we weren’t thrilled about you in the first few weeks, either,” Roy said, sucking in a breath after, as if he was due to continue speaking, but chose not to.
Lucas caught on, dumbly choosing to intercept. “But, then you all fell in love with her, right?” he said, with a smile on his face and a sheer lack of understanding basic social cues and expressions. You fought the urge to grimace.
Roy’s eye twitched, before he inhaled deeply. “Yep,” he said plainly, before unceremoniously downing his beer. You looked at your hands in your lap at his reply, and your gut coiled. Roy shuffled in his chair, and stood slowly. “I should get going,” he said.
Quickly, surprisingly, you shot up. “No, don’t–” you said, before you wanted to swallow every word you’d ever said. “I mean– stay for one more?” You backtracked.
If Lucas was at all confused or offended, he didn’t show it. He sipped happily at his glass of wine, arm still draped on the top of your chair, like a burning hot poker that you wanted to douse in cold water.
Roy tucked his own chair under the table. “Another time,” he said, purposefully, and you wanted to yell at the sky.
That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do that– remind you of it all, the charity ball, the interview, all the inevitable other times that you would have if you stayed in contact. As much as you wanted to protest, to yell, to kick over a chair, you didn’t. You were a grown woman, and you had a feeling that Roy’s actions had finally stuck in his mind; he wanted to get out and forget about what he’d done as fast as possible.
So, you backed down, relaxing your muscles as you stood opposite him. “Another time,” you repeated him.
It felt like something final was about to happen, like this would truly be the last time you saw Roy. If the past three months had shown you anything, it was that Roy was capable of cutting himself off from everyone, with no intention to start things up after an indefinite amount of time. You had this awful feeling that, from this interaction, he would leave and absolutely never contact you again. Just from feeling embarrassed, from wanting you to do better, whatever.
That wasn’t true, not ever. You would never be able to do better than the man in front of you, even if the prospect of becoming something had died alongside his career. You still wanted him in your life, even if nothing more came from it, even if all you did was sit with a beer and tell each other to fuck off in different variations; you wanted it.
Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and said his goodbyes. Lucas waved him off, before he looked up at you. “I was totally barking up the wrong tree. Roy’s a nice chap,” Lucas said, as you watched him walk off down the street.
“Yeah, he really is,” you said without thinking.
“So, did you want to grab a bite to eat?” Lucas suggested, as he gently laid a hand on your forearm. His fingers skimmed your bare skin, and on any other occasion you would have lapped up his touch.
“Yeah,” you said, not fully paying attention, as your eyes stayed glued forward. Roy took a sharp left, and disappeared from view. You could have vomited. “No, actually,” you said abruptly. You turned to Lucas, and sat down. You smiled at him sullenly, and tried to communicate just how sorry you were. “I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re lovely, really really, lovely. Perfect even,” you said, chuckling inappropriately.
Lucas swallowed awkwardly. “Are you– are you–?”
“Yes. I am,” you said. “I might regret it later in life, but then that’s on me, not on you.”
Lucas looked positively confused. He was brilliant, safe, everything that you’d ever want from someone stable and long lasting, but that was just it–
He wasn’t Roy Kent, was he?
As Roy rounded the corner from you, he clamped his eyes shut. His shoulders shrugged right up to his ears with embarrassment, as he cringed to oblivion. Had he really fucking done that? Butt in for a drink while you were on a date? With a nice guy, even. He had no right to feel mad or pissed off, yet he still did. Seeing you for the first time in months next to a random guy who was holding you, touching you, close to you, whatever the fuck else– it had boiled his blood.
Roy should have been the one doing that, not him. But, now he’d probably fucked it for good. If you’d been angry at him before, you were most certainly seething now. He’d seen you fighting to get him away, to change the subject onto them going off and enjoying their evening, but he’d fought against you every second he could.
Roy wouldn’t be surprised if you never spoke to him ever again, but he knew innately that he wouldn’t give you any chance to. He’d hide himself away, he’d cut you off, and maybe– if he was lucky– a few years down the line you’d bump into each other again. Maybe you’d be married, maybe you’d have children. It was probably for the best.
You ran down the road, almost stumbling a few times as you fought to ignore the obviously stupid way you looked. It would’ve been comical, seeing you sprinting down the street to catch up with Roy Kent of all people. Onlookers either thought you were mad, or a huge football fan. You took a sharp left, turning down a residential street as you fought to catch him. His jacket was still in view, strolling just a bit further down from you.
“Roy!” you yelled. He didn’t pay you any mind. “Roy fucking Kent!” you screamed, using all of your energy to shout at him.
He stopped abruptly, and turned around when he heard you. You slowed to a jog, until you’d fully caught up with him. You placed your hand in the middle of his chest as you doubled over, breathing heavily from your impromptu run.
Roy frowned at you. “What the fuck are you–?”
You smacked him once, quickly, right in his sternum. “I am so fucking mad at you!” you breathed out, trying not to cry. You smacked him again. “Three months!”
Roy quickly grabbed you, curling his fingers around your wrist. “I know,” he said, swallowing painfully to stop his throat from closing.
“You owe me, Roy. Massively. Infinitely,” you whittled on, ignoring the growing glassiness of your eyes. “I won’t put up with this again, I swear. Am I clear?”
Roy nodded. “Fucking crystal,” he said, but he was smiling.
You smacked him again with your other hand, just for good luck, and Roy grabbed your other wrist. Your heart rate slowed finally, as you let yourself relax in his grasp. You were so mad, so angry, but you wouldn’t have been able to fucking stand it if you’d just let him walk away, even after all this time. Evidently, Roy had some things going on that he felt didn’t concern anyone but himself, and you knew exactly how that all felt.
He peered down at you with those fucking eyes. “You– fuck.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaningfully, overwhelmed that you’d binned off that perfect guy just to smack him and tell him you were mad.
“You should be,” you said, but even you had a small smile plastered on your lips. “Your arsehole status has really shot up, you know.”
“Are you surprised?” he asked.
“No,” you admitted. “You’re a prick, Roy, truly.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He squeezed your wrists affectionately, before letting you go.
You peered up at him. You were ready to forgive him, but you wouldn’t let it be that easy. Instead, you tugged upon his shirt once. “Come on,” you urged. “You owe me a drink, two drinks, and dinner.” You started off down the road.
Roy smiled to himself, thankful that you couldn’t see. “Anything else?”
“Three drinks!” you exclaimed.
He followed you down the road obediently, but the truth was– you were absolutely right. You did have more balls than him– more guts– and you always would. The truth was, you would rather tell Roy to fuck off a thousand times, than say I love you to anyone else. Even platonically, even anything else other than romantic, that would absolutely be the case.
Things fell back into place like nothing had ever fucking changed, and a month later you found yourself at a very needed catch-up dinner with Rebecca and Keeley. You’d been working non-stop for the past few weeks, missing a few of Richmond’s games of the season, including– the incident.
“I think I saw his soul leave his body,” Keeley said, remembering. “Poor Dani.”
“Poor Earl,” Rebecca said, and you huffed inappropriately.
“I’m sort of glad I wasn’t there. If I’d seen that in person I genuinely think I would have vomited,” you said, grimacing at the image of a football hitting Earl and instantly killing that poor greyhound.
“He’s pretty shaken up, Ted mentioned,” Keeley said. Rebecca took a sip of her wine, and hummed in agreement, before leaning forward and shooting you with her incredibly rich, incredibly beautiful, gossip smile.
“Leslie tells me he’s hired a sports therapist for the entire season,” Rebecca started. “Apparently she doesn’t eat sugar.”
All three of you grimaced in unison. You felt a shiver travel through your entire body, and Keeley looked positively terrified. You took one look at both of the ladies before you, and let out a deep breath.
“She sounds fucking insane,” you said, referring to the therapist. Rebecca and Keeley nodded immediately. “Let’s make a pact– if any of us ever start talking shit about wanting to cut out sugar from our lives, we give that person a big fucking slap around the face, agreed?”
“Agreed,” Keeley said seriously.
“Absolutely,” Rebecca added, picking up her glass, and prompting you and Keeley to do the same. The three of you clinked them together, all gulping down your wine afterwards and bursting into giggles.
“Enough about dead dogs and sports therapists– what the hell have you been up to?” Keeley questioned, shooting you a mischievous look that only translated into one thing; did you get railed?
You put down your glass and shot them both a guilty look. You hadn’t told them about anything over the past month, due to work and due to… everything else. If anything, it was probably best that you had them in a setting like this to finally reveal all. You tapped on your half empty wine glass, stalling.
Rebecca raised her brows at you in understanding. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
“Something major,” Keeley joined in. “Something that isn’t just a shag.”
“No shag was involved, actually,” you said, knowing you just had to pull off the bandaid. You sat up straight and went for it. “I broke things off with Lucas,” you announced.
Rebecca and Keeley both gasped. “Not the gorgeous one!” Rebecca exclaimed.
“Without getting a shag first?” Keeley asked.
You nodded. “Without getting a shag first, yes.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Rebecca said, as the two of them looked at you like you were utterly insane. In a way, you were. Who would pass up an opportunity to shag a pretty man who doubled up as being lovely? It was a fucking no brainer.
“Well, a… situation occurred.” You shot them both a wide-eyed look. “Roy.”
The two ladies in front of you burst into varying levels of screaming. Rebecca was clutching onto Keeley’s bicep and squealing like a seagull. Keeley banged her hands on the table rhythmically, as if she was urging you to say more. You sucked in a deep breath and raised your hands defensively, trying to calm them both down as much as possible. You’d alerted other people in the restaurant to look your way, just as you had at the bar the month before.
“Oi!” you yelled. “Will you guys calm the fuck down?”
“I fucking knew something was up,” Keeley said, pointing at you sternly. “I felt it in my tits.”
“Tell us!” Rebecca crumbled.
“Okay– fucking hell,” you said, chuckling. “He gatecrashed my third date with Lucas–”
“Before the shag,” Keeley commented, trying to create a cohesive reconstruction in her head.
“Yes,” you continued. “We were having drinks at the bar, the one around the corner, in the sunshine, and… well, Roy was just out for a fucking walk. It was odd.”
“It was fate,” Rebecca corrected.
You frowned at her. “No,” you growled. “But, it was a weird coincidence. Anyway– I tried to get up and avoid him, but I knocked over my fucking glass, it smashed, and of course, he fucking saw me. What’s worse, though, is he then just sat down, and joined Lucas and I for a drink.”
“Oh, that bastard,” Rebecca said, but she was smiling.
“I sort of love it,” Keeley admitted, hunching her shoulders up playfully.
“No, me too,” Rebecca immediately agreed, waving around her wine glass like an accessory. “That’s sort of… hot.”
“It’s totally hot,” Keeley said, before she leaned towards you. You were trying to keep a straight face as their theories got even more batshit. “After three months of Roy ignoring you, he sees you on a date with a random guy and decides that’s when he’s finally going to reconnect. He was jealous.”
You scoffed into your wine glass. The sides fogged up. “Don’t say stupid shit, Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered. Rebecca joined Keeley in leaning forward.
“She’s absolutely right! He was totally fucking jealous, darling. There’s no other way around it,” Rebecca backed up Keeley.
You placed your glass on the table strongly, and sighed. “Guys… this is Roy we’re talking about. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else in a larger sense, doesn’t care what’s said about him, or what people think, either. He is physically incapable of being jealous, especially when it comes to me.”
“You’re doing that thing again,” Keeley said.
“What thing?”
“Being dumb and in denial.”
You squished your face at her playfully, and Rebecca was already chuckling. “Ouch. Jeez, tell me how you really feel, Keeley.”
“I’m being serious,” she continued, and her seriousness somehow rubbed off on you and Rebecca. You swallowed back your laughter as Keeley peered at you from across the table. You suddenly felt extremely exposed. “You do this thing where you assume people don’t care about you, you know? You did it when you left the club, and weren’t expecting the guys– or us– to miss you. You do it with your workmates at your new job, just assuming they won’t invite you out, or anything–”
“I get it, Keeley,” you cut over her. You suddenly didn’t feel very well.
“I’m not finished,” she said softly, and you swallowed the want to hit back at her. It was always hard when people who truly knew you, explained to you your flaws. As much as she was right, you didn’t want to believe it. “You do it with Roy the most, babes. Even after everything he’s done for you, and the way you feel about him, too, you assume he doesn’t care about you.”
You hated how much she was right. “I– I don’t think he doesn’t care–”
Keeley quickly reached over the table and grabbed your hand. She held it softly. “Roy fucking Kent took it upon himself to crash your date and stop you from sleeping with that gorgeous man, because he got jealous when he saw you with someone else– someone that wasn’t him.” Keeley laid it out for you bluntly, but kindly. Both her and Rebecca only ever had great intentions for you. “He cares about you. Part of the reason he’s been ignoring you is probably from how shit he feels after retirement, and how he doesn’t want someone like you to see him at his lowest. It all makes sense, babes.”
Rebecca followed suit, reaching over the table to grab your other hand. You squeezed both their palms, thankfully. “I think Roy has a crush on you, darling,” Rebecca said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “And maybe you still have that little crush on him, too, hm?”
You rolled your eyes at them, trying to chomp down Keeley’s hard to swallow pills. She was right, and so was Rebecca, but admitting it was a whole other ball game. You didn’t want to admit that you liked someone like Roy, your complete and utter opposite, and someone who you would never be able to comprehend having feelings for you back.
That wasn’t on him, it was on you.
You sighed deeply, trying to ground yourself. “Maybe I do,” you said. It was a start. “And, maybe Roy was jealous, but we’ll never know unless he says it outright– and I’m never going to ask him.”
“Why not?” Keeley asked.
You frowned at them both. “Next to you both, he’s probably the closest friend I have.” The words chuckled from your mouth, but you meant it all. Every single word. “I know it sounds sad that one of my best friends is Roy Kent, but it’s the truth. If I spill everything to him, and he doesn’t feel the same way, this will all end.” Your lip wobbled suddenly, your frown turned into a smile. “So, he will never know. And I’m okay with that.”
That night, after a few more glasses of wine with Keeley and Rebecca, you found yourself levelling up to an entirely new realm of sad. You opened your laptop, and found yourself typing in something that only children or severely messed up people would Google– how do you stop liking someone romantically?
When the first page popped up as WikiHow, you realised what you were doing. With a scared whimper, you slammed your laptop shut and ran your fingers through your hair. It was official; you were insane. This was a whole new low for you, but you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. After twenty-eight years you’d finally snapped. You found yourself imagining it– if Roy ever knew you were truly like this, then there was no way in hell he’d ever have feelings back for you. Roy was odd in his own ways, but you definitely took the cake and ate it. All of it.
You switched on the TV, and found yourself flicking to Sky Sports out of habit. It was a good way to pass the time, and it allowed you to keep up with the Championship and AFC Richmond, even if you weren’t able to attend every match anymore. Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara discussed the most recent match– Earl’s sad demise.
On top of that abrupt dog murder, it’s absolutely unheard of for a team to tie seven consecutive games. I have a feeling that Richmond haven’t even clocked in yet, Chris!
Totally agreed, Jeff. It’s a shame to see them underperforming after they were so close to levelling with Man City, their final game of last season. Seems relegation has grabbed them all by the throats.
Speaking on Man City though, Chris, have you heard about the recent revelations for number nine, Jamie Tartt?
Last I heard, he was living it up in the villa on Love Conquers All.
That’s all gone to the wind it seems, too, Chris. Tartt was voted out of the villa just today, aired over on ITV. What do you reckon will come next for the star player? He certainly made a dent to Richmond when he was recalled earlier last season.
I don’t know, Jeff. Seems to me like Jamie Tartt has messed around one time too many for Man City to take him seriously. We’ll just have to see…
Right you are, Chris. Right you are.
“God, this is fucking dull sometimes,” you muttered, flicking the channel as soon as Jamie’s name had been dropped. You liked commentator shows, but you didn’t half find them fucking boring sometimes. You wished someone could spice things up a little, and say it all how it was, instead of clutching at political answers.
You thought to yourself then– how great would it be if you had your own personal Roy to commentate every game for you? He was blunt and to the point, but so inherently hilarious that you knew you’d take it all in.
Just as a laugh, you texted Roy out of the blue. You were drunk, and reeling, and mending your relationship with him, so one text couldn’t hurt.
Here’s an idea for you– you become a Sky Sports pundit.
It took him only a few minutes to reply.
Fuck off.
You laughed to yourself, before you kept typing.
I genuinely think you’d be good at it, you know. Serious.
Roy contemplated his response. He had an inbox filled with requests from the press, from outlets, from everyone– including Sky Sports, more recently. Did you happen to have access to his emails, or were you just making a very conveniently timed suggestion?
The Richmond Primary School under 9 girls still need me.
You knew it was a joke, but you also couldn’t help but notice he didn’t immediately knock down your idea. You treaded forwards.
Maybe so, but the rest of the world needs you too, Roy.
Roy sat in his living room, alone. He thought of you, just down the street in your apartment. It was late, and he knew you’d got dinner with Keeley and Rebecca. You were probably drunk and channel surfing. It made him smile to himself. He was glad this was happening. This reconnection, all because of him being a fucking twat and you choosing to take him back. He didn’t deserve it, but now that he had this back, he wasn’t going to stop trying to make it up to you.
This pundit gig. The cameras, the acting, the press– all of it grated on Roy so hard that it made him physically angry. But, from what he’d been told, not just by you, he’d probably make a pretty decent addition. Since his retirement, he’d hidden himself away from everyone. Maybe it was time to pack that all in, to go forward into a new step of his career, despite the game being out of the equation for him now.
Maybe. Just maybe.
As your week whittled on, in the aftermath of dinner, you found yourself getting cravings to be back at Richmond. Whether it was for football, or just to see the guys, you didn’t care. Your weekends had been booked up far too often– keeping you away from the Dogtrack for far too long– so when you randomly had a half day on a Friday, you knew exactly how to fill it.
Showing up unannounced was not the kind of person you were. You were rarely spontaneous, and always on time– or early– but you had the advantage of knowing that everyone at Nelson Road simply wouldn’t care if you showed up out of the blue. That was exactly what you did, practically running to the stadium as soon as you got off the tube from the city.
You burst through the doors of the car park, following the familiar path to the lower levels of the Dogtrack. You passed your old office, and stopped in your tracks to take a look. It had been taken over by Keeley for her PR position for the boys. Around the cinder block room were washes of pinks and oranges, alongside fluffy pillows and her signature leopard statue. Anyone who knew Keeley knew that this was exactly her style, overdramatic and grossly colourful, but warm as soon as you entered. You could smell her perfume.
As you continued down the corridor, the scent of Keeley’s office was drowned out by another– feet. Feet, sweaty men, and unwashed kit hit you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you’d been noseblind before, because you never remembered it being this pungent. Nevertheless, you entered the locker room and felt a wave of nostalgia from it all.
The familiar reds and blues, the numbers above the players' cubbies, all the like. The only thing different– Roy’s name and number was gone. No longer was 6, Kent up opposite the door. It was instead replaced by another, as a few more players had been signed onto Richmond after the relegation. It was sad to see all traces of him removed, apart from his lifesize mural by the manager’s office that still scared the life out of you. But, despite all the change, above Ted’s office was something you knew would never leave– the bright yellow believe poster.
You smiled at it sadly, feeling so far away from this world than before. Just being back in the locker room made you realise it had already been four months since you’d left the club. Time flew by, but your heart stayed in the exact same place.
“Oi!” a voice boomed from the hallway. Whoever it was had seen you through the gym window, and your heart raced as the pitter patter of shoes sped down the corridor towards the door. “This area is off limits to fans–” Nate stopped as soon as he entered the locker room, realising it was you. His once furrowed brow and angry expression had turned into the softest of smiles.
“Hey, Coach.” You smiled at him, your shock turned into warmth immediately.
“God– hello!” he exclaimed quickly, before the two of you embraced. Nate’s awkwardness from last season had all but disappeared with you. You wondered if it was because of his new coach status at the club; maybe he felt more powerful, so his confidence was easier to shine through.
You pulled away first, looking back up to the poster above the door. “This place never gets old, does it?”
Nate copied you, and looked up. “Not one bit,” he said. “We’ve all missed you around here, though. Sam, Isaac and Colin don’t shut up about you.” He said it sweetly, but you felt a tinge of jealousy cut through his words. Like he was holding himself back, or not saying how he truly felt. It was just Nate, though. It probably wasn’t a big deal.
You huffed through your nose affectionately. “I miss them, too.” You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, really. I miss everything about this fucking place,” you said, glancing around the room. Nostalgia seeped through the walls like honey. It was impossible not to feel the gravity that this place held for you, even more so after it had been a while.
“They could use the boost after Earl,” Nate said, before he quickly gestured to the door. “Come on.”
You followed Nate out the locker room and down the hall, before you headed down the tunnel to the pitch. You were buzzing with excitement, not just for seeing them all but, to surprise them to oblivion. As you approached the pitch, you sped up to a jog and overtook Nate. You emerged outside the stadium, immediately hitting eyes with Colin.
His little face lit up in shock, before he quickly whacked Isaac in the chest. Before you could reach them, or even let out a yell in their direction, Sam stood in front of Ted abruptly.
“You don’t know anything!” Sam boomed, taking everyone– especially Ted– by surprise.
Ted tried to diffuse the situation. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out. What’s going on, Sam?”
“You–” he started, but he choked on his words when he met your eye. He froze, and looked at you in sheer desperation. You’d never seen Sam so upset or full of rage; it was positively unheard of.
Before Ted could even intervene, Sam started pacing it towards you at the tunnel. He shot you a pleading look when he passed, not stopping to say hello or greet you. Instead, he whisked past you and made your hairs stand on edge. As the team looked at him leave, utterly gobsmacked, you looked back towards the pitch and caught eyes with Ted.
Ted’s frown turned to something softer when he spotted you. He turned and stepped forward once, but you could read the lines of his face like a book.
“I’ve got him,” you announced, before swivelling and heading straight back inside. You followed Sam down the tunnel, rushing to keep up with him as he stampeded into the lower levels. “Sam!” you yelled, but he still didn’t stop.
You sped up to a run. You’d been running a lot lately, for varying reasons– all, weirdly enough, involving fucking footballers. Sam rounded the corner into the corridor, but you bound after him as fast as you could. You reached out and grabbed him by the arm, tugging him back to you. “Hey! What’s wrong–?”
Sam cut you off by flinging his arms around you. You held him close, and felt his chest crumble beneath you. His breaths were shaky and stagnant, as concern washed through all your limbs.
“Oh, Sam,” you let out sadly. You squeezed him tightly, held him as if you’d die if he let go.
“He can’t come back,” Sam said shakily, smally. You had no idea what he was talking about– who he was talking about– but this situation was obviously affecting him. He let out a long, stuttering breath when he pulled away, but you kept your hands plastered on his shoulders. One of your hands skimmed down and your fingers wrapped around his palm.
“What’s going on?” you asked softly. “Who can’t come back?”
Sam’s eyes were glassy and upset, so far away from the usual smiles he shared with the world. “I saw Coach Lasso with Jamie Tartt last night, in the pub. I just–” He placed his hand over his chest, and pointed right at his clavicle. “I just have this feeling, in here, that he is going to let Jamie back on the team.”
You remembered last week, when you’d tuned in to Sky Sports and heard news of Jamie. He was back in the UK after the reality show, and hadn’t been taken back by Man City. If Sam had seen Jamie and Ted together, then there was no doubt about it– he was probably asking to be let back on the team at AFC Richmond. Ted was a kind man, he gave people chances, but when it came to Jamie Tartt…
He’d made half of the Richmond team miserable. His ego, his rudeness, his behaviour, all of it. He’d brought team morale down terribly, and only when he was recalled did things really start getting into motion. You remembered how torn up Ted had been at news of Jamie’s departure, but you secretly thought it had been a silent blessing at the time.
“I think I can speak for Ted here when I say this, but I don’t think he’d do something that rash without letting you, and the rest of the team, know all about it, Sam,” you said, smiling at him gently. You squeezed his hand. “But, I totally understand why this has got you so low,” you acknowledged. “Jamie was… how do I say it nicely?”
“An asshole,” Sam said. “What is it that Roy used to call him? A prick?”
“A prick, yes.” You nodded. “And a twat.”
“Twat! That was it,” Sam smiled a little. You copied him. “I don’t want him to ruin all of our progress as a team. I know this season has not been great, but… all of us have been. We are finding our footing after the relegation. I do not want him to change all of that.”
“Tell Ted,” you urged him. “You know he’ll listen to you.”
Sam nodded at you, thankful. “It is good to see your face,” he said. You wanted to cry.
“Yours, too.” You smiled so hard that it hurt. This was home, and it was good to be back, if only for an evening.
After your abrupt evening at the club, Ted and Beard invited you for a drink later on in the month. After a few more tied matches, you knew they’d be dying for a pint just as much as you were. Your job was… dwindling. The workload was intense, and the novelty of something new and exciting was fast wearing off. You pushed through, but after going back to the club, your heart was not in the right place. It only cemented how much you missed it all.
“It got resolved?” you asked Ted, sipping on your beer as the three of you shared a packet of crisps.
“Oh, yeah, it sure is. Seeing Jamie was a proper blast from the past, and Sam was right to be upset, but what you said was absolutely right– I would never bring back a player like him without letting the guys know first. That’s just not how I roll,” Ted explained.
“And other than that, how’s it all going?” Beard shrugged his shoulders in response, gulping back half his beer. That was enough to tell you what was up. You grimaced. “Not good?”
“Isaac isn’t doing too hot, if you must know,” Ted said, sighing. “I don’t know how to give him a boost, you know? Even Dr Sharon hasn’t managed to make a dent, and well– she’s pretty lethal.”
You scoffed. “Not liking a therapist is probably the most Ted thing you’ve ever done.”
“Well, hey, now,” Ted objected. “I just think, why the heck would you pay someone else to do something that your friends can do for free?”
“Oh, please– can you really imagine me trying to talk about deep shit with someone like Roy? He’s my friend.” You raised your brows at Ted in question, and he glanced over to Beard for an answer. All Beard did was shake his head silently. You pointed at him triumphantly. “See? I rest my fucking case.”
Ted waved away your response and changed the subject. “Speaking of Roy, what’s he up to nowadays?”
You tapped your glass, amused. “Coaching.”
“Coaching?” Ted exclaimed, gobsmacked.
“Nine year old girls.”
“Nine year old g– oh, nine year old girls.” His initial awe quickly turned to realisation, and Ted’s voice lowered monotonously. “Hm. Well. That’s a start, in a way.”
You stared at him silently. “No it’s not, Ted.”
“No, no it’s not, yeah,” Ted quickly agreed with you. The three of you sipped on your beers in unison. It was simply nice to have the company, more than anything else. It made you still feel part of their world, part of Richmond.
You’d heard trickles from Roy over the past few weeks, after your drunk texting. He was always fast when he replied now, always around to send you back an emoji or tell you to fuck off affectionately. Offhandedly, he’d asked you to get hot chocolate with him and his niece, Phoebe, at some point. Your heart had swelled to three times the size, and you’d replied saying yes, alongside a very well placed :) smiley face.
To your surprise, Roy had replied with the exact same thing. Although, he’d typed it in such an unnerving way that it had made you laugh.
>: 0)
Is that supposed to be your nose?
No, it’s my open mouth telling you to fuck off and my very manly chin underneath.
Of course. My mistake.
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, sighing. “I reckon he would make a good pundit, don’t you think?”
“Oh, sure!” Ted said enthusiastically. “What are your TV laws when it comes to cussing, though?”
“Uhh, it’s probably not customary to swear on a Sky Sports commentary show.”
Ted grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath. “Might not be for him.”
“Or… it might be,” Beard chimed in suddenly. You glanced at him, and saw his eyes plastered onto the TV screen above your heads in the pub. Beard pointed at it slowly. “Are you both seeing that too, or have I accidentally ingested mushrooms again?” he whispered.
You followed his gaze to the screen, and your breath got caught in the back of your throat. Roy was sat next to Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara on Soccer Saturday. Black suit donned, stern expression on his jaw, with a newly trimmed beard and fresh haircut. He was on TV. He was a fucking pundit. You could hardly believe it.
“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, standing up abruptly to get a better look.
The three of you were glued to the telly as the show kicked off. Jeff took the wheel.
And now, the newest addition to Soccer Saturday, footballing legend Roy Kent. Great to have you here, Roy.
You watched in awe as Roy growled in response. He looked so rigid, a lot more rigid than he did normally. You found yourself laughing, utterly astounded.
Now, onto Chelsea’s last game, Chris. What did you think?
I thought they played well, Jeff, especially after their rocky start to this season. They still have a long way to go, though. What about you, Roy?
You held your breath as Chris and Jeff turned to Roy. He cleared his throat.
I thought they were shit.
You let out a cackle that you didn’t even know you were capable of making.
Ah, apologies for the fruity language. But, really, Roy. Did they play that terribly?
Yeah, they were shit. Chelsea have been playing worse than the under nine girls that I used to coach, and that’s a fact.
I think that’s mean, Roy. They’ve done a lot better than earlier this season, surely?
I guess, but they’re still performing like a bunch of circus clowns at a rodeo. Chelsea have been shit for the past few years, and with the way they’re going, they’re gonna stay shit for the rest of the season.
Laughter broke out in Mae’s pub. You glanced around the room, eyes lit up like the sun. You spotted the three locals, all young men, who spent most of their time at the bar. “Roy Kent, you fucking legend!” the smallest one exclaimed.
You could already imagine the outburst online. Gifs, Tweets, whatever else. This was exactly what you felt was missing from a show like Soccer Saturday– the bluntness, the honesty. You turned back to the screen, and smiled dazzlingly. You blocked out the rest of the room, utterly focused on Roy. He looked amazing, and your heart lurched just thinking about how much of a step this was for him.
Ted raised his brows at Beard secretly, bringing his beer to his lips. “Just friends, huh?” he muttered. Beard raised his brows in response, and the two of them drank together, as the happiness you felt drowned the entirety of Richmond.
it was simple, it was sweetness, it was good to know
Roy Kent × Fem!Reader
word count : 15.1k a fucking whopper I started writing and couldn’t stop this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written in my life
summary : the 5 times Phoebe got dropped off at your house and the 5 times Roy realised he was in love with you.
content warning : tooth rotting fluff with the whole Kent family line, a little angst if you squint really really hard, allusions to smut towards the end but non actually written, me calling Roy’s sister Molly but I can’t remember where I first saw it, no use of yn.
a/n : if you want to see a spin off based on any part of this please dot because writing this has broke my writers block!!!! I’d love to write some more Roy <;33
1. the first time
It had taken Roy about 15 seconds to decide he was going to drop Phoebe off with you.
When Molly had shown up on his doorstep at 5am, with an asleep Phoebe in her arms, citing she'd been called in for a surgery, he mentally rearranged his whole day to accommodate for his favourite girl. It wasn't until lunchtime rolled around that he remembered an important meeting with Ted and Beard that he, unfortunately, couldn't get out of. So, while brainstorming who on earth he could leave Phoebe with, his mind quickly settled on you.
You were sensible and probably good with kids considering he could remember a couple of mentions of a niece of your own, and he knew - given it was the weekend - that you'd probably be free to look after her. And, not to Roy's surprise, you'd quickly said yes when he called to ask if that was okay.
While it had only been 20 minutes since Roy called, he was already at your doorstep, Phoebe's hand held tightly in his as they waited for you to answer the door.
"Is she pretty?" Phoebe asked, eyes unmoving from the unfamiliar front door as she spoke to her uncle Roy.
Roy scoffed at the question, unsure where it had come from and why his niece couldn't have asked this in the car. If she'd asked in the car he would've given an enthusiastic yes, a smile creeping on his lips as he thought about you, and how you always looked pretty - even if you were in a Richmond pullover and sulking in your office - especially then, actually. "Why does it matter?"
Before Phoebe could answer him, your front door swung open, you behind it with a wide smile. No sooner then it had opened, you'd crouched down to Phoebe's level, giving her a small wave and a bright smile. "Hi Phoebe! I hope you don't mind that you've got to spend the day with me instead of your uncle Roy."
"I don't mind at all," Phoebe shrugged, the straps of her backpack moving greatly with the movement of her much smaller shoulders. "I see my uncle roy all the time."
The laugh that bubbled past your lips made Roy's heart skip a beat, and for a moment he forgot why he was even standing on your doorstep.
As you stood up straight, you gently took Phoebes hand in your own, pulling her closer to you and your home and giving Roy the opportunity to head off for his meeting. "We should let your uncle Roy get going then, shouldn't we?"
"Thanks again for doing this, I owe you one." Maybe I could take you to dinner as thanks? Roy wanted to add, but wasn't brave enough to do so. If he wasn't so head over heels for you, maybe it's be easier to do something about it.
"Don't worry about it," you brushed him off, gently pushing him off of your doorstep and back in the direction of his car, knowing he had places to be. "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me."
"Bye uncle Roy!" Phoebe shouted, giving him one last wave before running into your house, you quickly following after her to make sure she didn't injure herself exploring the new territory.
Thankfully, she made a b-line for your couch, climbing onto it and emptying the contents of her backpack out on the seat next to her. She pulled a colouring book into her lap and grabbed a fist full of pens, quickly pulling off the caps of her favourite colours and getting to work on her masterpiece.
"Have you had any lunch yet, Phoebe?"
"No, uncle Roy was about to make me lunch when he called you."
While you knew Roy was rushing to his meeting, you didn't realise he'd seemed to forget about it completely.
Phoebes lack of lunch had you searching through all your cupboards for something suitable to feed a 7 year old, and when you couldn't find anything you'd have wanted to eat at 7, your turned to her with a smile. "How do you feel about a trip to Tesco? You can pick out whatever you want for lunch?"
"Perfect!" Phoebe cheered, pushing her pens to the side as quickly as she'd picked them up, running back to your front door to put her shoes and coat on. As soon as she was dressed, you opened up the front door, grabbing your car keys from the dish by the door and directing her in the direction of your car as she ran ahead of you in her excitement.
"Phoebe, you don't need a booster seat do you?" While you had your own niece, she was still young enough to be in a carrier everywhere she went, so you weren't entirely sure what the protocol was for 7 year olds.
"I don't have one in my uncle Roy's car." That was good enough for you.
Phoebe spent the whole car ride to the shops chatting your ear off, bringing you up to speed on everything that was happening at school and football and how many times she'd been red carded this season alone. In many ways, she was like a miniature version of Roy, so it was easy to love being in her presence.
As you arrived at Tesco, you made Phoebe promise she'd stay close to you at all times, not wanting to lose her as soon as Roy had entrusted her in to your care - that wouldn't be good for anyone involved. Phoebe was quick to pull you by the hand in the direction of the frozen aisle, clearly set on something in particular for her lunch.
She broke free from your hold as you reached the end of the aisle, heading straight in the direction of the frozen chicken nuggets and pulling as hard as she could to open the door. Once she'd managed to pry the door open, she climbed inside of the freezer, attempting to reach one of the higher up shelves in search of what she wanted.
"Phoebe, sweetheart, let me help you." As you stood behind Phoebe, you put your hands under her arms, picking her up and bringing her to your height so that she could grab whatever she'd been looking for. "Turkey Dinosaurs? Good choice."
"The only correct choice, bruv." Isaac was right behind you, Colin on his left and Will on his right.
"Oh, boys, hi!" Phoebe leaned in closer towards you as the sudden appearance of the three men. While she'd exhumed confidence from the moment you'd met her a few hours ago, she seemed to shy away slightly at the sight of the three footballers. "What're you doing here?"
"Day off, innit." Isaac, never a man of many words, was quick to answer your question, though had one waiting for you in return. "Who's this?"
Phoebe's grip around your neck increased slightly again as Isaac pointed directly at her. You shifted her in your arms so that she'd face the three a bit better, knowing non of them posed any threat to her. "This is Phoebe. Phoebe this is Colin, Isaac and Will; say hi."
Now that she'd been introduced to them, a wide smile curled onto Phoebes face, her toothy grin making an appearance that had Colin and Isaac smiling right back.
"I didn't know you were a mum." Will spluttered out, staring at you and Phoebe with a rather surprised look on his face.
"Oh, I'm not," you were quick to reassure, though immediately regretted it as you had no clue how to explain how this child they'd never seen before had come into your care. You knew Roy well enough to know he loved his privacy more then anything, so you decided the best course of action was to keep it. "She's my niece."
"Cool." Isaac nodded, prompting the others to nod on silent acceptance of the knowledge they'd just gained. "Can you pass me a bag of the turkey dinosaurs, Phoebe?"
As soon as Isaac got his bag of turkey dinosaurs, he, Colin and Will were quick to leave, waving a goodbye to the two of you and getting on with the own shop. Once they'd left the aisle, you let out a loud sigh, pent up tension from the sudden reunion seeping out of your body. Phoebe dropped the turkey dinosaurs into the basket you'd picked up, wiggling out of your grasp and taking your hand instead.
"Why did you tell them I was your niece?" Phoebe guided you further down the frozen aisle as she questioned your actions, walking a few paces in front of you, your connect hands dangling between the two of you.
"Your uncle Roy is a very private person," you started, unsure exactly of what was the right thing to tell a 7 year old on such a matter. "I didn't want to tell them you were Roy's niece in case they decided that meant something more"
"Something more?" Phoebe wandered out loud, stopping in front of the ice cream section and pulling the door open. "Like if they though that meant you were dating my uncle Roy."
Jesus Christ, 7 year olds were so much smarter and observant then you'd thought. "Yeah, something like that."
"And why aren't you dating?" You didn't know what to say to that, instead opting to pick Phoebe up once more so that she could reach the specific tub of ice cream she was searching for. "My mum says uncle Roy should date someone nice and you're nice."
"Well I'm glad you think I'm nice, pheeb's." You ruffled the blondes hair as you placed her back on the ground, allowing her to place the ice cream in the basket before grabbing her hand once more. "How about we grab a pizza too? Just incase you're here for tea?"
Phoebe loved the idea, sprinting down to the end of the aisle in search of the pizzas with a wide smile on her face.
The rest of your day with Phoebe had flown by, you'd come home and eaten your lunch of turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles, done some colouring in, played knights and dragons, eaten your ice cream, and watched a movie. As the first spy kids had come to an end, something you'd put on at phoebes request all though you were heavily invested in it the whole time, you put the pizza she'd picked out in the oven.
"Phoebe," you shouted from the kitchen as you made your way back into the living room. "It's getting kind of late, sweetheart, do you have any pjs in your bag?"
"No," she instantly replied, licking her spoon clean of ice cream even though it only really added to the rim of vanilla that had formed around her mouth. "I don't pack pjs in my bag because I have some in my room at uncle Roy's house."
If you'd have had the common sense to ask earlier, you might've picked some up while the two of you were in Tesco, but you hadn't, and now you had to make do with what you had. "You want to get in some of my pjs pheeb's? I'll get into pjs too and then we can be all comfy while we eat our pizza and watch spy kids 2."
"I won't fit in your pjs." Phoebe countered, but got off the couch nonetheless, placing her empty bowl on your coffee table and joining you by the kitchen door. Lacing her fingers through your own she allowed you to guide her in the direction of your room.
She dove straight for the bed when you opened the door, similarly to how she'd made a b-line for your sofa earlier in the day when she'd arrived, but was quick to hop right back off of it when you opened your wardrobe doors. You stood quietly behind her as she picked out one of your T-shirts to act as a night dress.
"This one!" She proclaimed, quick to swap her current outfit for your top before sprinting out of your bedroom. Before you could ask what on earth she was doing, the oven started to beep. "Pizza's ready!"
You picked up the pile of clothes Phoebe had left behind, throwing it by her shoes at the door so that you wouldn't forget to pack them up whenever Roy came to collect her. Then you went back to the kitchen, clicking the timer off to stop the loud beeping and pulling the pizza out of the oven. Phoebe stood behind you doing some kind of 'pizza dance' as she'd called it as you cut it into 8 slices, grabbing one big plate to place it onto.
"Race you back to the sofa." Phoebe didn't need to be told twice, running for the sofa and throwing herself into the mess of blankets, pillows and felt tip pens. As soon as the two of you were comfortably settled, you put spy kids 2 on, the pair of you tucking into your dinner without a thought spared as to where Roy was or just how late it was really getting.
Though you didn't remember falling asleep, a knocking at your front door had you waking up. Sometime between pizza and now, Phoebe had crawled into your lap, and instead of waking her to go to the door, you scooped her into your arms, resting her on your hip as you stumbled sleepily from your sofa to your front door.
When you opened the door, Roy looked like he'd been prepped with an apology, something about how he'd never meant to come back so late and how he really owed you one now but his words befell him at the sight of you and Phoebe on the other side of the door.
It was a sight to behold, especially to a lovesick Roy. Your hair was all tousled and you still looked half asleep, Phoebe was fast asleep in your arms and in what he guessed was one of your shirts. "Roy," you crooned, opening the door even wider. "Come in, I just need to pack up Phoebe's stuff."
Roy shuffled into your living room, his hands still tucked stiffly in his pockets as you began to pace around the room packing phoebes things while she was still in your arms. It was a level of domesticity Roy hadn't been prepared to see when he came to pick up his niece, and it sent his head whirling.
It was almost too easy to imagine you in this position with him, and a child of your own in your arms instead. He shook the thought from his head, bending down to pick up phoebe's day clothes and shoes from beside the door as you put all her felt tips back into her bag, along with her colouring book - save the first drawing she'd done which she'd torn out, demanding you keep it to remember your day together.
When you were certain you'd collected everything from the couch that had come in her bag, and put it back where it belonged, you turned to face Roy with a sleepy smile. "How was your coaches meeting?"
A smile curled on Roy's lips, something rare that almost surprised you to see. "Good. Long. But we got shit done so I can't really complain; although it would've been nice if it could've wrapped up before fucking midnight."
"Oh my god, is it that late?" You passed Phoebe's backpack to Roy, watching fondly as he slid one strap over his shoulder like clockwork. The thought couldn't help but slip into your mind that it was a sight you'd like to see more often.
"What did you two get up to today?" Roy asked, pulling Phoebes coat from the hanger by the door and slinging it over the crook in his elbow.
"Well, we went and got some lunch, and did some colouring, and played knights and dragons and watched spy kids 1 and 2. She kept me nice and busy, don't you worry."
Roy reached out for phoebe, taking her slowly and gently from your hold in his best attempt to keep her asleep as he took her home. "Not too busy I hope."
"No just the right amount." You bit back a laugh, cautious to not wake the sleeping child now that she was safely in her uncles arms. Pushing a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail back behind her ear, you thought back fondly on the day you'd shared and how easily It was to get on with Phoebe. "She's a great kid."
"Yeah, she really is." Finally, Roy was back on your doorstep, Phoebe in his arms and the pitch black of night behind him. "Thanks again, I really owe you one."
"It's no issue, really, I had a great time." You closed your door too, you leaning against the edge of the it being the only thing keeping it open. "Always happy to do it again, if you need me."
A million different responses crossed Roy's mind, some just inappropriate and some really fucking corny, so he settled on the easiest one to say. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight." You responded with a small wave, creeping back into the darkness of your house without another word.
As Roy made the short walk down from your front door to his car, he tried to control the erratic beating of his heart less it wake Phoebe up. Though you'd offered to take Phoebe in again if he ever needed it, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to take you up on the offer, not when the domestic scene of you with his niece made his feelings for you even more intense.
—————————————————————————
2. the time when Roy had too many appointments
Though Roy had sworn he wouldn't drop Phoebe off with you again for the sake of his own feelings, he was calling you up to ask if you could look after her again less then a week later. Molly had been called into work again last minute, and it just so happened to be on the day when Roy decided to get all his check ups out of the way in one fell swoop.
You'd assured him through the phone that it was okay, and that you'd absolutely love to hang out with her again, however, when you'd asked how soon he'd be dropping her off the line went quiet.
"That's the thing," Roy started, a hesitance to his tone that told you he was reconsidering this whole request and on the verge of rescheduling his 5pm dentist appointment. "You'd need to pick her up from school. I can pick her up from 7pm, at the latest, so you'd just need to pick her up from school and give her some tea. I hope that's not too big-"
You didn't let Roy finish his sentence. "It's no problem Roy, really. Send me the address and I'll be there at 3pm?"
"Pick ups at 3:10, but that's perfect, thank you." You couldn't even see him and you could feel the smile that was pulling at his lips on the other side of the phone. "I really fucking mean that too, thank you."
"It's no problem Roy, really, I'll see you later."
You had an hour before you needed to pick Phoebe up, so you made a run for Tesco, picking up a jar of pasta sauce incase she didn't want the half a bag of turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles that were still in your freezer, a bag of popcorn incase she didn't want ice cream again, and a set of kids size 8 pjs.
Though Roy said he'd be back for her by 7pm, you doubted she'd want to stay in her school uniform, and it'd be better to get a size 8 and it be too big then pick up a size 7 and it be too small.
On a second thought, you grabbed a second pair of the plain pjs, and some tiny slippers, knowing it wouldn't harm anyone to keep a spare pair of comfy clothes and shoes for her incase she came by again at the last minute. While you were in the kids clothing section, you picked up a pair of jeans and a pack of plain T-shirts, wanting to be prepared incase she were to ever show up in her pyjamas instead of her day clothes. Deciding you'd got everything you needed, you sped through the checkouts and got in your car, not wanting to be late to pick up Phoebe from school.
Luckily, you arrived with 5 minutes to spare, lingering around the gate with the other parents that had come to pick up there kids. Only then did it dawn on you that you may have needed some kind of note to prove you weren't kidnapping Phoebe and as you pulled out your phone to text Roy in a frenzy, you'd discovered he'd already sent you a message.
Teacher knows you're coming, I got Molly to send a message. might ask you to sign some shit confirming you picked her up though.
Even though Roy wasn't here, you felt ten times calmer, moving through the gate as it opened and towards the classroom door furthest from it, as Roy had told you to go to. A loud bell rung and suddenly kids came sprinting out from all directions, some running straight to and out of the main gate and others nervously looking around for whoever was picking them up.
You watched as a head of blonde hair in two neat plaits lingered in the classroom door, eyes scanning the playground for a familiar face, her mouth dropping open in a gasp as she made eye contact with you. With a cry of your name, Phoebe came running from the classroom, a bright smile on her face at your sudden appearance outside her classroom. "What are you doing here?"
"Your uncle Roy has got the dentist, so we're going to go back to mine for tea - if that's okay pheeb's?"
"That's perfect! Lets go home." Phoebe tried to pull you out of the playground and back to your car, but you pulled her back to stand in front of you.
"One minute sweetheart, got to make sure your teacher knows I'm not kidnapping you." Phoebe lead you right back to the classroom door, calling on her teacher, Ms Bowen, as she dragged you into the room. "Hi, Ms Bowen, I'm here to pick Phoebe up; I think Molly told you I was coming?"
"Ah yes, Mrs Kent, it's a pleasure to meet you." Mrs Kent Mrs Kent Mrs Kent. Molly, Roy's sister, had told Phoebe's teacher that you were Mrs Kent. It took everything in you not to absolutely spiral with the new piece of information.
"Yeah, lovely to meet you," You tried to avoid Ms Bowen's gaze, it having an edge to it that suggested you weren't entirely welcome here. "Roy said I might have to sign something, so you know I'm not fucking kidnapping her or anything." As soon as the words slipped from your mouth you were apologising for them. "I'm so sorry that just slipped out."
"Well, at least I can be sure you're Mrs Kent. You and Phoebe are free to go." You barely had time to say goodbye to Ms Bowen before Phoebe was dragging you towards your car, impatiently pulling at the handle in an attempt to get in quicker and spend even more time with you. If you weren't so caught up in the fact you'd just been called Mrs Kent, then maybe you'd find her excitement even more endearing.
"So, how was school, pheeb's?"
The car ride back home was filled with another update from Phoebe on what you'd missed in the 4 days you hadn't seen each other and the 3 days of school she'd had since the weekend. Since it was a slightly longer drive back home then from Tesco, you'd even got to introduce Phoebe to some of your favourite songs.
As you pulled onto your street, Phoebe was already buzzing in her seat, desperate it seemed to get inside. Letting her make a run for the door as you got out of the car, knowing she couldn't get in without your key, you made your way around to the boot, pulling out your bag of goodies. "Got you some stuff to change into pheeb's," pulling out both the pyjamas and the normal clothes, you handed them to her, keeping the slippers in the bag still. "Go get changed and bring me your uniform when your done, yeah? I'll pop it in the wash for your mum and we can put on a movie or something until tea time."
Phoebe was sprinting off in the direction of your bedroom to change within seconds of you finishing speaking. In the two times you'd had the pleasure of meeting Phoebe she always seemed to be rushing and running about, but that was what kids were like, you guessed; even if she was the calmest child ever - and she was pretty calm compared to some of those other kids you'd seen in the playground today - you reckon you'd think she was all over the place, especially compared to yourself.
When Phoebe came back out in the plaid, pink pyjama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, she declared she wasn't hungry yet and wanted to watch spy kids 3; telling you it was basically mandatory for you finished the movie series now you'd watched the first 2. You were happy to oblige of course, Phoebe cuddling into your side as you took a seat next to her on the sofa.
Half an hour into the movie, you whispered the question of what to have for dinner to Phoebe and she perked up at the mention of pasta, allowing you to bail on the second half of the film in order to make it. It didn't take long of course, but you were wary of the fact Roy was picking her up sooner rather then later this time around.
Roy. Roy. Even thinking of the handsome coach you worked with had your thoughts spiralling. Once you'd managed to crack your way through his hard exterior, you'd found one of the most thoughtful and caring people you've ever met, and if you didn't like him already, that side of him had you falling head over heels. The Roy that brought you coffee in the mornings when he stopped to get his own, the Roy that would buy you lunch without asking if you wanted any but would kick up a fuss if anyone else tried to get him to add to that order, the Roy that left sticky note reminders on the door of your office because he knew you'd forget something, the Roy that trusted you so much he was willing to leave his niece with you on multiple occasions. Your brain had been so consumed by Roy that you'd made him up a plate of pasta, and instead of putting it back into the pot, settled with covering it in tinfoil and giving it him to take home. However, before you could call Phoebe in to ask if she wanted cheese on top of her pasta, there was a knock at your door.
In an instant, you pulled the tinfoil back off of the extra plate of pasta, and opened the bag of grated cheese, then rushed to the door, opening wide to find Roy on the other side. "You're just in time for dinner." Without thinking, or so much as a hello, how are you, or how was the dentist, you grabbed Roy's hand, pulling him inside your house and into your kitchen. "Pheeb's dinner!"
"Uncle Roy!" Phoebe shouted, running into the brunettes arms, him bending down to pick her up. As soon as she was perched in his hold, she was quick to recount the days events like she had with you a couple of hours earlier, only pausing to answer your question of 'cheese?' and taking a fistful to sprinkle on her plate whilst finishing her recap of the day.
It was only then did Roy notice that you'd already played three bowls of pasta up, even though you shouldn't have been expecting him soon enough to eat with the two of you. Carefully he put Phoebe down, handing her her bowl of pasta and urging her to get back to the sofa and eat, promising that the two of you were right behind her.
"You made me up a plate?" Roy asked, part confused and part in complete adoration. The simplicity of it; such a small action meant so much to the retired footballer. Even in his absence you'd thought of him, made extra food for him, plated it up perfectly in time with his arrival. If he allowed his thoughts to wander, he would've revelled in the warmth of the action, in how loved it made him feel - as though normalcy was something completely within his grasps. As if it was something he could easily have with you.
"Yeah, of course I did. Can't have my favourite coach going hungry, can I?" You squeezed at his hand when you called him your favourite coach, and only god knows what would've happened if Phoebe hadn't called your name from the room over. Roy was certain he would've made a move; told you exactly the kind of effect you had on him, or squeezed your hand back, or even kissed you. Though he wasn't entirely sure, he knew he wouldn't have let the moment slip through his fingers so easily.
Although, when he walked into the living room, palate of pasta in hand, he received something better then anything that could've happened in your kitchen. You and Phoebe were curled up together on the couch, her little legs thrown over your lap and a pillow on her lap for her to balance her pasta on. Phoebe's head rested against your shoulder as she ate and you turned to see where Roy was, a smile curling on your face as you saw him in your kitchen doorway, pasta in hand.
You craved the domestic scene that was now playing out before you, like something straight out of a dream.
Phoebe's favourite place on your sofa had quickly become the corner, meaning the only space available was next to you. Roy, for once in his life, took full advantage of the opportunity, sitting as close to you as he could claim was suitable and allowing himself to really enjoy the moment.
Even when dinner was long finished, the three of you were curled up together. Spy Kids 4 had been put on in order to appease Phoebe's demands that you finish the series and Roy's arm moving to the back of your couch cushions, and in turn over your shoulders, meant he'd slowly moved closer to you. The two of you spent the movie talking in quiet whispers, you filling him in on any context needed from the first three movies and him telling you about his day full of appointments. The pair of you would've happily stayed there, on your couch, cuddled up together, forever, but Phoebe's gentle snores told you it was best for them to get going.
"She's already in pjs, so you don't have to worry about that and - oh!" You left Roy in your doorway, an asleep Phoebe in his arms in a mirror image of 4 nights before. "I washed her uniform so Molly wouldn't have to."
Roy's heart was bursting at the seams at the evening you'd shared, and now this? While it may not seem like much to most people, to Roy it was everything. Not only had you offered to look after his niece on multiple occasions at the last minute, you'd gone out of your way to buy her pyjamas that fit just because she was coming by, and you'd washed her uniform to take a weight off of her mum's shoulders - who you'd yet to even meet. It's like you were trying to make him fall ridiculously in love with you.
Love.
That wasn't a word Roy was supposed to use; at least not when you were only friends. But how could he not fall in love with you? He was sure that anyone who spent more then 10 seconds in a room with you fell in love with you; how could they not? You were so easy to love; selfless and caring in a way he'd never seen before, someone truly one of a kind.
"Seriously, thank you." Roy's face entirely softened as he spoke, tension seeping out from his features to a degree you'd never seen before. "I don't think you know exactly how much this means to me and Molly."
"Oh please Roy, It's nothing-"
Roy cut you off, his hand coming to rest on your arm, his thumb running up and down your forearm. "No. It's a fucking lot - and it means a fucking lot. Just accept the thank you, yeah?"
A bashful smile creeped onto your lips, your head ducking as you suddenly became very aware of the fact Roy was looking at you and touching you. "Okay, yeah, you're welcome."
"Perfect." Once again, you got a glimpse at the dazzling smile that Roy kept reserved for only the most important people in his life, the look of it alone making your knees weak. They only got weaker as Roy leaned in closer to you, placing a chaste yet scratchy kiss to your cheek. "Goodnight."
In a daze, you murmured a 'goodnight' back, this time waiting until he'd driven off before going back inside; and even then, you stood behind your door, processing exactly what had just happened and why you hadn't returned the sweet gesture.
Roy Kent and his adorable niece were going to be the death of you.
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3. the time you were meant to be going on a date
So far, in the three hours you'd been getting ready, you'd done your eye liner, wiped one side off, redone it, wiped the other side off and redone that, at least 200 times. You just couldn't get it to look right. And when you'd expressed to Keeley that maybe this was a sign from above you shouldn't be going on this date, she'd insisted, yet again, that you had to go because she was your perfect match.
Though you'd never met the girl, Keeley was determined to set you up with her, claiming from the very second she'd walked into KJPR asking about a job, she knew she was the one for you.
Part of you thought she just wanted to help you get over Roy, especially since this was the 9th blind date she'd set you up on since you'd confided in her about your feelings for the ruggedly handsome coach. Each one she'd claimed was your soulmate and each one, so far, had turned out to be a complete and utter douche bag. Despite her failure to actually find someone compatible for you, you greatly appreciated her enthusiasm and effort.
A knock on your door had you screeching down your phone at Keeley that you weren't ready for this, but one last twirl in front of the camera, and a 'you look hot as fuck babe' from the matchmaker herself, had you ready to face your date.
To your surprise, however, when you opened the door you were met with Roy, Molly and Phoebe, all in pyjamas and Phoebe's little hands curled into tight fists that twisted into the fabric of her uncles T-shirt. It took you a second to process the scene before you before you could offer a rather confused, "Hello?"
Though this wouldn't be the first time Roy had shown up with Phoebe on your doorstep, it was the first time he'd ever shown up unannounced and with his sister in tow. "This is a bad time, isn't it." Roy's sister, who you'd come to recognise as Molly, whispered, her gaze flickering across your knee length, fitted, red dress. "You look stunning though."
"Oh my god, thank you." With the silence finally broken, it was like your brain had brought the rest of your body up to speed, offending a hand out for Molly to shake. "Molly, right? It's great to finally meet you."
"Great to meet you too, I've heard great things." General pleasantries we're exchanged between the two of you, though it wasn't as awkward as it usually was when you were meeting new people, instead it was like bumping into someone you hadn't seen in a few years but genuinely missed.
In the noise of your small talk, Phoebe took the opportunity to whisper three little words into her uncles ear. "She's so pretty."
Roy's cheeks burned as his niece said everything he couldn't, and so easily too. It was obvious you were dressed up for a date in that long, burgundy dress that hugged you just right, and he was struggling to take his eyes off of you.
"So what brings you to my doorstep at 6pm on a Monday?" You asked, hesitant to ask at all incase you touched a sore spot. Molly had never shown up with Roy when he dropped Phoebe off, which told you this was potentially more serious then his other last minute drop offs - especially when he'd never shown up unannounced before. "Not that I'm upset that you're here or anything, just a bit confused."
"Clearly, you're on your way out, so we won't bother you, we just-"
You didn't let Molly explain, pulling out your phone, and sending to a quick message to your date and to Keeley, explaining some family stuff had come up last minute and offering to go out some other time. "My evening just freed up, actually." You offered Molly a genuine smile, taking Phoebe from Roy's hold and into your own. "Why don't you go and get into your pjs Hun, and then we'll pick out a movie?"
"Do you still have my ice cream?" Phoebe asked, tilting her head to look at you better. Now she was closer, you noticed her eyes were rubbed red, almost like she'd been crying.
"Of course I do sweetheart, and I've still got turkey dinosaurs if you've not eaten dinner yet."
A sniffly 'yes please' left phoebes lips before she got down from your hold, running into the direction of your bedroom without so much as a goodbye to her mum or her uncle Roy. When Phoebe was out of earshot, you closed the door a little, talking in hushed tones. "Is everything okay? What's going on?" And with a second thought, you added. "You don't have to tell me, I didn't mean to pry."
"Phoebes dad showed up." Molly simply stated, folding her arms across her chest protectively. "He knows he's not allowed around her, and we didn't know where else to take her while we dealt with him." Your heart ached for the little girl. In the short time you'd got to know Phoebe, you'd quickly come to absolutely love her to pieces - and you couldn't understand how anyone wold want to hurt her. Phoebe was a complete and utter ray of sunshine and, considering she was only 7 years old, was one of the kindest and smartest people you'd ever met. "You didn't have to take her, if we'd have known you had plans we wouldn't have just fucking shown up."
Molly sharply dug her elbow into Roy's side as she spoke, clearly signalling that she'd thought that Roy had had the decency to ask you if you would watch Phoebe before they showed up in your doorstep. A laugh bubbled past your lips at how offended Roy got by his sisters words, a comeback never leaving his lips as you interrupted him with a smile. "It's fine, really, I love hanging out with Phoebe. Besides, I wasn't really looking forward to this date anyway."
Now that caught Roy's attention. "Why not? You look fucking great, you'd have probably had a great time too."
Rather selfishly, Roy was incredibly thankful that they'd show up unannounced, he didn't want you to go on a date, and it seemed as if you didn't either. "Keeley keeps pushing me to go on these blind dates, it's not really my thing, but she keeps insisting she's found my soulmate, so I keep going on them to appease her." You leaned in closer to the two incase Phoebe heard your next words, though considering she was related to Roy, you knew she'd heard worse. "All of them have been fucking pricks so far though."
"Good thing we showed up then, yeah."
"Yeah."
Molly looked between the two of you with a smile bit back between her teeth, trying her hardest not to give anything away as she watched the two of you. "Well, we better get going, deal with this so we can take her off your hands as soon as."
Taking Phoebe's back pack from Molly's outstretched hands, you slung it over your shoulder. "Oh don't worry about rushing back, she's more then welcome to stay the night here. Do you need me to drop her off at school in the morning?"
"Oh no, she's all finished for summer now, so you don't have to worry about that." Molly's gaze lingered on you for a while, then she pulled you into a tight hug, cradling you in such a way you felt like a kid again. "Thank you so much for this. I really mean that."
Tears threatened to pool in your eyes at the genuine thankfulness to her words. Roy had told you before that he and Molly greatly appreciated you looking after Phoebe every now and then, but this felt so different to that - it made you understand why he'd told you to just accept the thank you.
"Yeah, of course, like I keep telling Roy, anytime you need me, I'm here."
"Oh, wait." Before Roy and Molly could head back to his car, he handed you a carrier bag that he'd been holding at his side since he appeared on your doorstep. "Your tshirt, and those pyjamas. I wasn't sure if you had anymore, and kept meaning to return them to you anyway."
"Ah, thank you!" Though you never said anything when Phoebe raided your closest, she'd picked your favourite sleep shirt, and you were glad to have it back. "I got another pair of pyjamas for her in my wardrobe anyway, or she could've just used another one of my shirts; she would've been fine either way. But, thank you Roy, I appreciate it."
"Yeah, no worries, washed them for you and everything so, they're all good to go." Molly shouted a goodbye to Phoebe who had made herself comfortable in her spot on your couch, and then said one to you, thanking you again for your help. You said one last goodbye to both her and Roy, waiting on your doorstep to wave them off before going back inside to tend to Phoebe.
Once Roy had driven out of your street and had started on the journey back to his sisters place, she turned to him with a shit-eating grin on her face. Molly had been waiting years to be able to tease Roy about someone he liked, and while he'd had plenty of flings over the years, nothing was ever serious enough, and non of them were ever nice enough, that Molly felt like she could get a rise out of Roy by teasing him. This time though, she knew it was different.
"She's incredible." Molly started, keeping her gaze intently on her brother, though his remained firmly on the road. "She cancelled her date to look after Phoebe, already had a change of clothes and food for her, and she's fucking hot." Molly let out an overly loud sigh as Roy ignored her words. "So tell me why on earth you haven't made a move on her yet? Because if you don't, I certainly will."
"Fuck off." Roy grunted, his grip on the wheel tightening at his sisters words. "She's obviously not interested in me like that if she was going on a date with a fucking stranger." Now that he'd started talking on the matter, Roy was worried he'd never stop. He'd not yet had the opportunity to talk about his feelings for you, the matter being as simple as he wasn't sure who he could tell. He even went as far as considering calling a diamond dogs meeting to get the weight off of his chest, but luckily, or rather unluckily for Roy, his sister had beaten the diamond dogs to it. "I wouldn't want to ruin what we already have anyway. She's so... good, with, like, everything. She's so kind, and she cares so much about everyone else; did I tell you she made me dinner when I asked her to pick Phoebe up when I had the dentist? And Phoebe! She's so good with Phoebe and I just- fuck!"
"That hard to get the words out, huh?" Molly teased, poking her brother sharply in the arm. "You must really like her." Before Roy could interrupt with what Molly knew would be another iteration of 'fuck off,' she added. "She likes you too, y'know."
"I'm sorry," Roy gasped, eyes tearing away from the road for only a second to stare at his sister incredulously. "Did you forget she was about to go for dinner with someone who isn't me?"
"Yeah I know that stupid," Molly scoffed, folding her arms back across her chest as she sunk into the seat of her brothers car. "But I did see the way she was looking at you - the way you were looking at each other - and I'm telling you, she likes you."
"Shut the fuck up." And that was that. Molly didn't need to tease Roy any further because she knew she'd hit a sore spot. Roy really liked you, and not that it mattered but Molly really liked you too - and Phoebe absolutely loved you - but Roy was still too scared to ask you out. That was punishment enough.
Phoebe hadn't seemed phased by the departure of her mum and uncle, and a part of you was thankful for that. Though you didn't really know anything about Phoebe's dad, apart from what you'd learnt in the past 10 minutes, you were surprised to see she'd bounced back pretty quickly.
"So pheeb's, you want dinner now, or in a little bit?" Throwing yourself next to the blonde on the sofa, she was quick to cuddle into your side, wrapping both her arms around your bigger one.
"Can we have dinner now, please." She whispered into the warm skin of your arm, her fingers scratching at the fabric of your dress.
"Of course we can sweetheart." You squeezed her in for a tight hug, before standing from the couch, quickly putting on the oven and pulling the turkey dinosaurs and potato waffles out of the freezer. You lingered in the doorway as you waited for Phoebe's dinner to cook, watching as she searched for a movie to put on while the two of you ate. She seemed so much more relaxed then when you first opened the door, and you hoped it's stay that way now she was here and safe. At the beeping of the oven, your turned away from her, plating the two of you some dinner and quickly returning to the sofa.
With a pile of dinner plates and ice cream bowls on your coffee table, and a movie minutes from ending, you turned to face Phoebe with a soft smile. Brushing back the hair that had fallen into her face, you gently woke the girl, telling her that it was time for bed now. Too sleepy to fully wake up, you picked Phoebe up, opting to carry her to your guest room instead. However, when you'd tucked her in and tried to leave, she'd gripped tightly onto your hand.
"Can you stay with me?" If her quiet and sleepy state didn't have you agreeing, the knowledge she was in an unfamiliar environment would've. Even though Phoebe had been in your house plenty of times now, she'd never stayed the night before, and it was easy to understand how that might freak her out - especially on top of the night she'd had.
"Yeah. Come on then." Instead of sleeping in the guest room, you picked Phoebe right back up, carrying her to your room and putting her down on the left side of your bed. Finally having the opportunity, you sat down at your desk, pulling out a packet of makeup wipes, and wiping off the eyeliner you'd worked so hard to get right. Even though your date never got to see it, Roy did, which was even better as far as you were concerned.
Just as you'd finished brushing your teeth, in fresh pyjamas, and making a mental note to buy a toothbrush for Phoebe next time you went to Tesco, you heard a shrill cry of 'mum.' Running back into your bedroom you found Phoebe wide awake with tears in her eyes, looking around in an urgent search for the woman she'd just cried out for.
"Hey, Pheeb's," you soothed, flicking the bedroom light back on before you approached her, not wanting to freak her out more. When she recognised your face past the haze of sleep, she was quick to reach out for you and you were quick to cross the room to meet her, pulling her into a hug and rubbing soothing circles into her back. "We're at my house remember, your mum and uncle Roy had to do some stuff so you're having a sleep over with me, okay?"
It took a good half an hour for Phoebe to fully calm down, but once she had, she was out cold again. This time, you lay in bed beside her, keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulders to make sure she knew she was safe. Before you went to sleep yourself, however, you sent Roy a text, leaving out the details of phoebes nightmare and just keeping him updated on things.
Phoebe's out cold so don't worry about picking her up until morning. Breakfast is at 8. There will be a plate for you and Molly whenever you get here xxx
You didn't wait see if he replied, and didn't worry yourself over if three x's at the end was too many, setting an alarm for 7am and putting your phone into do not disturb.
Thankfully, you beat Phoebe and your alarm to waking up, giving you a head start on making breakfast. If you knew anything, it was that kids loved sweet stuff, and given Phoebe's affinity for ice cream, you knew waffles were exactly what she needed this morning. Ted had given you a waffle machine as part of your present in last years Secret Santa and promised you you'd find a use for it eventually, and you were slightly surprised to find out he'd been right.
You got right to work on the batter recipe that came with the machine, letting Phoebe sleep in until the point you were ready to cook them. Though she'd been reluctant to wake up at first, at the mention of waffles and ice cream for breakfast, she sprang out of bed, hesitating in your hallway as she heard a knock at the door.
"You wait here while I get it, yeah pheeb's?" Phoebe nodded silently, creeping down the rest of the hallway so that she'd be able to hear who was at the door without being seen. Although you were 90% sure it was Roy and Molly on the other side of the door, you didn't want to risk anything.
Looking through your peep hole, your suspicions were proved right. "Good morning Roy, Molly." Phoebe came sprinting round the corner at the mention of her mums name, running right into her arms as you opened the door wider for her. "Waffles and Ice cream for breakfast, think we all deserve it, yeah?"
Molly mouthed a thank you at you as Phoebe directed her towards your couch, Roy allowing you to close your front door then following you to the kitchen.
The image of you, still sleepy and in your pyjamas, hair mused and making breakfast for him and the rest of his family, made his heart twist and his stomach churn. In some cruel twist of fate, everything he wanted was right in front of him but it wasn't that which he could call his.
"I know it's non of my business," you started, placing two scoops of mix into the two waffle shaped holes in the machine Ted had bought you then closing it, flipping it over, and scooping up another spoonful of mixture ready for when these ones were done. "But, is everything okay? Are Phoebe and Molly okay now?"
Why did you have to care about his family so much? Moments like this made Roy think you knew of his feelings for you, and that you were doing every thing you could to push him to tell you. Surely you had to care for him, at the least, not everyone would do what you did for him, and definitely not with the same level of enthusiasm and genuine happiness to do it.
"Yeah, everything's okay." Roy kept it short, knowing that ultimately, it wasn't his story to share. "Are you okay? I know we kind of ruined your plans last night."
"How many times am I going to have to tell you that I didn't even want to go?" The laugh that bubbled past your lips had a smile forming on Roy's face. He loved how easy it was between the two of you here. Sure, you made him smile and laugh at Nelson road all the time, but at Nelson road he felt like he had to be Roy Kent: here, he could just be Roy, Phoebe's uncle. And you really liked Roy, Phoebe's uncle. "Besides, I had a better evening with Phoebe, and the 10 minutes I spent with you and Molly, then I would've had on the date anyway."
"How can you be so sure of that?" Roy's voice was even deeper then usual, not that you'd ever thought that was possible, from tiredness, and you'd only just noticed that he was still in his pyjamas, much like yourself. "That you wouldn't have enjoyed yourself?"
Roy leant over you, not noticing how blood rushed to your cheeks as he took the first two waffles out of the machine for you, allowing you to get the second lot started without hurting your fingers from picking up the fresh waffles. "My hearts not in it, you know?" You turned to press your back against the counter top, now chest to chest with Roy in the closest proximity you'd ever been. Neither of you made an effort to move. "The whole dating just to date isn't for me, I don't think. And if I'm going to date to, um, to marry someone, I'd much rather it be someone I know, someone who knows me."
You were worried you'd been a little too on the nose in your explanation, but Roy didn't seem to mind. He leant forward slightly so that he could rest his palms against your countertop, caging you in between his muscular arms. "Is that right?" You nodded silently, allowing your gaze to flicker down to his lips now that he was inches away from you. There was no way you were reading too much into things this time. "And, would that someone, would they have to be anyone in particular?"
"Yeah, yeah they would." You answered breathlessly, tilting your head back up so that your gaze would meet Roy's but instead brushing your nose softly against his.
Roy was finally going to do it.
A cry of your name and the padding of footsteps had Roy stepping away from you, Phoebe running into the kitchen with Molly hot on her tail. "Are the waffles ready?"
"You came at the perfect time!" You answered, brushing the moment off of you, and turning back to the slightly cooled waffles, sliding them down the counter towards Phoebe and Molly along with the ice cream scoop. As they plated up their waffles, you took yours and Roy's out of the machine, putting them onto plates and giving them time to cool before you added your ice cream on top. You watched intently as Molly and Phoebe plated up their food, your fingers drilling against the countertop in wait.
The second they'd left the kitchen and headed back to the living room, you turned to face Roy, leaving him no time to think as you grabbed the front of his shirt and pressed your lips to his. It was hot and messy, the two of you fighting to condense several months worth of building tension into one moment. At even the slightest of noises from outside the kitchen, you pulled away, turning your back to Roy immediately and scooping some ice cream onto your cooked waffle.
"Want ice cream on yours?" You asked Roy, turning to face him. His cheeks burned red and breathes heaved from his chest as though he'd just run a mile, his hair was a little more tousled then it had been when he first walked into your house and his lips were red and wet.
"Fuck the ice cream."
Roy grabbed you by your waist, twisting his fingers into the fabric of your sleep shirt to keep you close to him as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. Roy's free hand moved up to caress your cheek, his other hand snaking around to rest on your lower back, pulling you even more into him. Moving one hand up to his hair, you kept the other on his shirt, keeping him close to you. While you'd imagined Roy to be a smooth kisser, you'd never imagined the day would come where he would actually be kissing you.
At a call of both your names from Phoebe, you broke apart once more, passing Roy his ice-cream-less waffle and pushing him out of your kitchen, taking full advantage of the fact that if he sat down first, you'd have no choice to to sit basically on top of him. You were sure he wouldn't mind.
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4. the time when Molly dropped Phoebe off instead
"And that's why the two of you need to get married."
Roy had been actively avoiding you since your kiss in the kitchen two weeks ago. And this was the 4th time in two weeks that Molly had asked if Phoebe could come over; two of them due to the fact both her and Roy were busy, and the other two being due to the fact Phoebe needed to have 'girl talk' with you. So far, girl talk had consisted of Phoebe listing reasons as to why you and Roy were perfect for each other.
"We're not going to get married, Pheeb's."
"But why not?" Phoebe dramatically collapsed into your sofa cushions, ignoring the fact her over the top tumble had knocked over one of your piles of folded washing in favour of going back to questioning you. "He talks about you all the time. And I see the way you look at him when he drops me off and picks me up."
"But he hasn't picked you up or dropped you off in two weeks sweetheart," you were back in the uncomfortable scenario of exposing something to a 7 year old, and you were trying your hardest not to let your confused feelings towards Roy interfere with what you wanted to say. "So, I don't think he wants to see me anymore. And that okay! But it also means we're not going to get married."
"But why not?"
"Phoebe." Your sterner tone had Phoebe sitting up right, her legs dangling over the edge of the sofa. Putting down the freshly washed t-shirt, you knelt down in front of Phoebe, taking her hands in your own and squeezing gently. "It's not that simple, sweetheart," pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear, she met your eyes. "I wish it was, but it is isn't. Me and your uncle Roy aren't going to get married, Pheeb's, but I'm sure he's going to find someone amazing someday, and you're going to love them."
"But I don't want him to find someone else amazing." Phoebe sulked, tears brimming at her eyes as she thought about a future without you and Roy together. While she was definitely thinking of the worst possible outcomes, the potential it could come true alone was enough to send her to tears. "I want him to find you! I don't want my uncle Roy to marry someone else because then I'll have to hang out with them and not you and- and- and-"
"C'mere." You pulled Phoebe fully into your arms, adjusting yourself so that you were both sat comfortably on your couch. "When your uncle Roy finds someone he loves, and he wants them to be a part of your life, I'll still be here. And you can always come and hang out with me, whenever you want. That isn't going to change Phoebe. I care about you a lot, okay?"
Phoebe couldn't find the words to express what she was thinking. She wanted to scream that you were the person her uncle Roy wanted be a part of her life, that you were the one he loved. Even though she was only 7 years old, she was certain that she knew what love was: and love was the way you and her uncle Roy had sat together, eating waffles for breakfast and talking with her mum, love was the way you and her uncle Roy talked about your day in a whisper over spy kids 4 because you wanted her to enjoy the movie still, love was the way it took her uncle Roy exactly 15 seconds to decide he wanted you to look after her on that Saturday 2 months ago. But she didn't know how to say all that in a way she could get you to understand. She'd tried everything and you still wouldn't digest the crumb of Roy's love that she was trying to explain to you, so she settled on the saying the best thing she could.
"Promise?"
"On my life." You ruffled her blonde hair, causing a smile to pull at her lips. You went back to folding your washing and Phoebe went back to watching her movie, like the two of you always did.
The peaceful moment was unfortunately interrupted by a loud and quick succession of knocks at your door. You put down the shirt you'd been folding and even Phoebe paused her show to come and see who was at the door.
"Jamie? Hi, what- what are you doing here?" Phoebe seemed to have some idea, walking past you to grab Jamie by the hand and pull him to sit on your sofa.
"I invited him." You had too many questions to counter that statement, mainly how she'd contacted Jamie and why he didn't bat an eye at being invited to your house by a 7 year old. "We need to discuss uncle's day."
Phoebe had told you about uncle's day - a day to celebrate her love for her uncle Roy - but you weren't entirely sure where you and Jamie fit into that puzzle. "Why do you need me and Jamie to discuss uncle's day, Hun. I don't think your uncle Roy would want either of us to celebrate uncles day with him."
"Of course he would!" Phoebe cried, pulling out her notebook and one of her felt tip pens, flicking to a blank page in her notebook and writing 'uncles day' at the top neatly. "Jamie is his best friend and Uncle Roy loves you, of course you've got to be there!"
Before you could remind Phoebe that you'd just had a conversation about why that wasn't the case, Jamie turned to face you with a wicked smile. "I knew you and Roy had something going on."
"We don't."
"Is that why he's been all moody at training for the last two weeks?" At your silence, Jamie took it that he was correct, a gasp slipping past his lips. "Did you turn him down? Of course it's okay if you did, but why?"
"No. I didn't turn him down." Phoebe's ears pricked up at that, making you realise exactly how what you were saying sounded. "I can't turn him down if he never asked me anything."
"But something happened?" Jamie pushed, leaning his elbows on his knees, Phoebe sat in a scarily mirrored image of him beside him.
"Fuck off." You scoffed, a smile curling onto Phoebe's lips. In the weeks you'd spent hanging out with her, she'd filled you in on every inside joke she shared with her uncle Roy and everything that made him the best uncle ever. "You can bill your uncle Roy for that one Pheeb's." Phoebe flicked back to the front of her notebook, adding a line to a very long list of tally's that had accumulated there.
Jamie tightened his gaze on you, readjusting his headband so that it kept his hair out of his eyes better. If it weren't for the unwavering, and slightly creepy, nature of his gaze, you were sure you would've just kept it to yourself.
"I kissed him." You'd attempted to mouth the words at the striker, but he hadn't picked them up, instead mouthing them to himself over and over again until he loud out a loud gasp, repeating the words out loud. Phoebe let out a squeal, jumping up and down on your couch cushions in complete and utter joy. An hour ago you'd told her you and her uncle Roy would never get married and know you were admitting that you'd kissed - things were coming up Phoebe, she'd decided. "But, he hasn't spoken to me since."
"Yeah, but that's what Roy's like, you know?" Jamie extended an arm to you, encouraging you to crash down in between him and Phoebe on the couch. You took him up on the offer, curling into his side and letting Phoebe curl into yours. "He's like, super mean and cold on the outside and once he lets you get to know him, he's all... all soft. And I don't think he knows it's okay to be soft sometimes." You let your head fall against Jamie's shoulder, Phoebe nodding beside you at Jamie's words. "I think you've got to show him it's okay for him to be all soft. Cause he really does care about you, I just don't think he knows how to tell you that."
"That was," you didn't even have the words for it. Somehow, Jamie had crawled inside your brain and soothed the exact source of your worry. "That was very insightful Jamie, thank you."
"No worries, I'm proper smart when I want to be me. Plus, when you spend so much time around the guy, it's hard not to see past that façade he puts up." Jamie removed his arm from around your shoulders, rubbing his together and then loudly clapping. "So, uncles day-"
You, Phoebe and Jamie spent the rest of the after noon feasting on whatever snacks they could find in your cupboards and planning out every little detail about uncles days. The pair had convinced you to make an appearance even if you and Roy hadn't reconciled come uncles day; Phoebe wanted you there and that was enough for you. By the time 5pm had rolled around you'd offered to get started on dinner for the 3 of you, but Jamie said he'd best be heading out and Phoebe reminded you her mum was picking her up soon enough anyway.
"Pheeb's, go and get your bag your mums here." When you opened the door, however, you were surprised to find Roy on the other side of it, his hands shoved into his pockets and half facing away from you. "Oh Roy, hi, I didn't know you were picking Phoebe up."
"Me either," he grunted, staring intently at the floor as he let out a long sigh. Finally, he looked at you, shifting nervously under your gaze. He's practiced what he wanted to say at least 200 times on the way over; he knew Molly asking him to come pick Phoebe up was her pushing him to talk to you. All he wanted was to talk to you. But he was too scared of fucking things up and loosing you entirely that he'd resigned to the fact that he would just have to avoid you for the rest of his life. For once, Roy needed to just do it, to tell you how he felt and throw sensibility to the wind. If you liked him, and that kiss wasn't a heat of the moment thing, then great; if you wanted nothing to do with him? He'd figure it out. All he had to do now was-
"Jamie? What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Jesus, Roy, hello to you too." Jamie scoffed, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes then folding his arms across his chest. "I was just dropping off something for Keeley. Don't get all jealous on me old man, I'm not here to steal your missus." Jamie then turned to you, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively now his back was turned to Roy. He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek before running down your driveway, presumably to escape the clutches of a pissed of Roy. "See you later love, you too Phoebe!"
"Bye Jamie!" Phoebe shouted, waving enthusiastically at her new friend then turning to her uncle Roy with a frown. "You owe me £1, uncle Roy."
"Bill me." He took Phoebe by the hand, taking her backpack in his other and walked away from your doorstep without so much as another word to you. Phoebe yelled a goodbye before she get in Roy's car but Roy continued to ignore you, even as you waited on your doorstep to wave them one last goodbye.
Roy spent the whole drive back to molly's and the rest of the evening absolutely kicking himself. Part of him wished he'd just come out and said it while he had you alone on your doorstep, but the worse part of him - the part that didn't believe he was worthy of you - told him Jamie being there was a sign it wasn't the right moment. And maybe, he thought, the right moment would never come.
Jamie was right. You were going to have to be the one to show Roy it was okay to be soft; especially with you.
—————————————————————————
5. the time where Roy told you how he felt
Phoebe had kicked up a fuss when she found out she was going to have to spend the night at her uncle Roy's, which was a massive surprise to everyone involved. It was well known that Phoebe loved spending time with her uncle Roy, and no matter what Molly or Roy said to her, they couldn't get a confession out of her as to why she didn't want to sleep at her uncle Roy's tonight.
When Molly had dropped her off, for the first time in years, Phoebe cried at the though of her mum going to work, and that told Roy enough that he was in for an eventful night.
He'd tried absolutely everything. He'd offered pizza, turkey dinosaurs, spaghetti, ice cream, popcorn and every favourite food she'd ever had in an attempt to wipe that frown off of her face, but nothing had worked. He'd even willingly been the princess in princess and dragons, put on a fucking tiara and tutu and she still didn't budge from her place on his couch. When bed time finally rolled around, he'd spent 6 hours in silence with Phoebe, a frown etched onto her poor, little face that all he wanted to do was turn into a smile.
The first sound he got out of Phoebe all day was a loud and shrill cry of your name at 4am. Roy ran for the first time in months from his bedroom to hers, terrified as to what could have his niece crying out for you in the early house of the morning. When he arrived on the scene, he was met with Phoebe sat upright in her bed, tears spilling down her cheeks and her hair sticking up in every direction. Her tiny fingers were death gripping a teddy bear that Roy had bought her when she was a baby and when she saw Roy in her doorway, her sobs only got louder.
Roy was quick to cross the length of the room, scooping his niece into his arms and holding her tightly against him, whispering soothing words into the crown of her head and running his fingers up and down her arm. Usually, this method would have Phoebe back asleep within half an hour, but as the clock pushed closer to 5am then 4am, he knew things were different this time. With each sob came a long pause, filled with shaking of shoulders and sniffles galore, and the occasional whimper of your name. Whatever had upset her, clearly wasn't going to be fixed with the usual uncle Roy remedy, and so Roy picked Phoebe up, slipping on his slippers and walking out his front door with his car keys in hand.
While the drive to your house had never been quick, it felt even longer then usual today. Phoebe spent the whole drive over still sniffling, and even though her tears had stopped flowing, the ache it caused in Roy's heart made it feel like they'd never stopped. In his whole life, he'd only seen phoebe this inconsolable a handful of times, and even then, she'd always been responsive to his attempts to find out what was wrong. The fact she kept calling out your name amidst her tears made his heart ache all the more.
It was no secret that since he first dropped phoebe off at your house all those weeks ago, the two of you had become practically attached at the hip. He loved phoebe, and as much as he tried to deny it, he loved you, and he loved that two of the most important women in his life loved each other, but he didn't think he was ever going to be brave enough to let you in in the way the he wanted to. Phoebe had happily voiced her opinions on the matter the last time he'd picked her up from your house, happily proclaiming that the two of you needed to get married yesterday and live happily ever after with 2 dogs and a family trip to Disney world. Roy had told her the two of you weren't going to get married and Phoebe had scoffed, saying that you'd said the exact same thing and she didn't understand why when you loved each other.
If he wasn't so distracted by how distraught Phoebe seemed, he'd have maybe taken the time to consider this was some wicked scheme she'd concocted.
When he pulled up outside your house, like he expected for 5am, all your lights were off, but with a still teary-eyed phoebe in his arms, he didn't think twice about knocking on your door with enough vigour you'd think his life depended on it. As far as Roy was concerned, it did.
Once he saw your hallway light flicker on, he let out a sigh of relief, a weight being lifted from his shoulders as you approached the door. The soft glow of the hallway light far behind you made you look more like the Angel Roy thought you were, your hands wiping at your eyes as you tried to wake up. Before you could ask what was going on, or why Roy and Phoebe were on your doorstep so early on this summers morning, Phoebe was throwing herself from Roy's arms with a cry of your name, blubbering into you shoulder the most words she'd said in the past 12 hours. "I had a nightmare."
In that moment as Roy watched you take his niece into your arms and comfort her more in 10 seconds then he had seemed to be able to do in an hour, he knew Phoebe was right that day in the car.
He was in love with you, and he was pretty sure you were in love with him too.
Roy closed your front door behind him, following behind you as you carried phoebe towards your bedroom. He couldn't hear what you were saying to her, but he could see how easily she relaxed in your hold - it made him relax knowing that whatever had plagued her nightmares was being calmed, even if it wasn't by him.
As you finally entered your bedroom, your bedsheets tousled from when you'd got up to answer the door minutes ago, Phoebe had dropped back to sleep in your arms. You weren't entirely sure if it was your words that had sent her back to sleep or if she'd tired herself out from crying so much, but you didn't dwell on it, tucking her into your bed and pressing a kiss to her head. Turning around, you found Roy leaning against your doorframe, the tight, grey shirt not leaving much to the imagination as to what was underneath it. Taking him by the hand, you pulled him back down your hallway and into your kitchen, leaving him in the doorway, you clicked the kettle on and pulled two large mugs out of your cupboard.
"Can't believe you got her talking." Roy whispered, suddenly very conscious of the fact it was 5:30 in the morning and you were no where near awake as he was. "I couldn't get a word out of her, except your fucking name."
You nodded as he spoke, putting a tea bag into each before and then, when the kettle had whistled and clicked, filling them 3/4 full of hot water. "So, she didn't tell you what her nightmare was about?"
"Wasn't even entirely sure it was just a nightmare until I heard her say it here."
"She thinks you're not going to let her see me anymore if you marry someone else." You'd both heard tearful stories from Phoebe about how scared she was that you two weren't talking anymore, but you'd never realised just how much it was affecting her. "I've talked to her about it before, you know, promised her I'd always be apart of her life even when you found someone you were going to marry, but I didn't think it was stressing her out this bad."
Roy didn't take a sip of his coffee when you passed it to him, instead looking at you confused while you took a long sip of yours. "What makes you think I'm going to marry someone else?"
"Well, you know what I mean Roy." You took another long sip of coffee, waking up more and more with each drink. "We're not going to get married, and I don't want phoebe thinking that you're not allowed to live your life and keep me in it."
"Why are we not getting married?" Roy's question had you stuttering and stumbling to try and make a sensible and coherent answer. It was one thing for him to show up at the crack of dawn and speak to you for the first time in weeks. It was another for him to now be suggesting he wanted to marry you. "I'm not sure if you realised, but I don't just go around introducing Phoebe and Molly to everyone... and I don't go around kissing just anyone either."
"Well, that's rich," you scoffed, using both hands to bring the warmth of your coffee closer to your face. "I'm not sure if you realised, but a normal person doesn't kiss someone like that, and then go no contact with them for nearly a month."
"Kiss someone like that, huh." Roy placed his untouched coffee down on your kitchen counter and took two steps closer to you, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he was now right in front of you. Though when you thought on it, he always had been. "And what exactly does that mean." Roy let his thumbs run over the exposed skin between your T-shirt and your pyjama shorts, the gentle motion sending tingles down your spine and causing you to arch yourself slightly into him. The smirk that formed on his face told you things were playing out how he wanted.
"You know," you whispered, letting Roy take your coffee cup from your hands and place it beside you on the counter. "Like," he gently cradled your hands in his larger ones, moving them to rest on his shoulders becket letting his fall back to your hips. "Like you want to be with them, like you-"
Roy cut your words off by pressing his lips to yours, using the momentum of his movement to tilt your head back, allowing him to get a better angle as he pushed his tongue past your lips. Quickly, you pushed him off of you, not giving him the chance to get a word in edge ways before you began to speak. "You can't keep kissing me like that, or at all actually, if you don't want this, us, whatever we are, to become something. Because I want it to become something." Jamie's words echoed though your head. Maybe you had to be the one to show Roy that it was okay to be soft sometimes, to let people in.
"I love how kind you are beneath all the gruff and cold exterior you try to put up. I love how fiercely you love Molly and Phoebe. I love how you leave little sticky notes on my office door so I don't forget to do things. I love how you bring me coffee in the mornings when you get your own. I love that you buy me lunch and get all grumpy when someone else tries to add on to the order." Sweeping your thumb across the middle of his brown, you brushed away the tension that had clearly been building there since the moment you'd pushed away from his kiss. "I love how your face gets all scrunched up when your confused and how you have the most wonderful smile I've ever seen but only let the people you love get a glimpse at it. I- I love you, Roy, but I can't handle you liking me one minute and ignoring me the next. I need you to open up to me about what's going on inside you head."
Roy pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving one hand up to cradle your face. If his heart wasn't already so full of you, it would've been now. Even though he'd known he was in love with you before this conversation in your kitchen, it had really consolidated to him why he was in love with you. You loved Roy Kent, Phoebe's uncle, lunch buyer and wonderful smiler.
"I've never been told I have a wonderful smile before." He pressed another kiss though this time it was to your temple, and the another to the end of your brow. "That's probably because you're right, I only show it to the people I love." Another kiss was pressed just below your eye, the scratchiness of his beard against your cheeks eliciting a giggle from you. "And I really fucking love you."
Roy leaned in for another, proper, kiss, though you dodged it allowing it to land on your cheek instead. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"
Roy let out a loud groan, your head thrown back in laughter at the image before you. He shook his head at you though the wide and bright smile you loved never left his face. "I'm sorry I ignored you for 3 and a half weeks because I was a grumpy sod who couldn't talk about his feelings like a fucking grown up."
You hummed happily, nudging your nose against his, a smile now curled onto your own lips. "Yeah, that'll do just nice." Standing on the tips of your toes, you wrapped both your arms around his neck, pulling the two of you together. "Now, C'mere."
Roy happily complied, pressing his lips firmly to your own in a mess of groans and tongue, only pulling apart when you couldn't contain your smile any longer. Even then, he pressed a series of quick kisses to your lips moving them up across your cheek, along the tip of your ear and then down the side of your neck. You tilted your head to rest against his left shoulder, giving him better access to the right side of your neck, but before things could escalate any further, you gently pushed him away from you. "Phoebe is a room away."
"You've got a guest bedroom though, right?" Roy purred, resuming his attack on your neck, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin sending shivers down your spine.
"She'll be up in an hour or so." You tried to deter Roy further although you didn't particularly have your heart in it, wanting more then anything to continue what you'd started now that the pair of you had everything out in the open.
"I can do a lot in half that time." He countered, his grip on you tightening a fraction and the kisses he was pressing against your neck now having scrapes of teeth to them.
Grabbing Roy by the chin, you turned him to face you, pressing a soft and slow kiss to his lips. "Please, with what I've got in mind, it's going to take at least twice the time we have." You revelled in the look of pleasant surprise that crossed Roy's features, pressing another kiss to his lips. Now that that was something you could do whenever you wanted, you weren't sure you were ever going to stop; he was just so kissable. "Want to help me make breakfast?"
"Where do you need me?"
You and Roy danced seamlessly around each other as you prepared breakfast for the two of you and Phoebe, sneaking kisses between exchanges of ingredients or just because you could. When things were nearly ready and it was just past 7am, you went to wake Phoebe up, careful not to startle her after the long night she'd had. Since you hadn't discussed with Roy anything about you telling Phoebe, you didn't mention it, letting her sandwich herself between the two of you as you ate breakfast together over reruns of adventure time.
Part of you couldn't believe that everything had pretty much worked out how you wanted it. Sure, it wasn't a nice feeling when Roy left you in the dark after sweeping you off your feet, but ultimately, the two of you were together, and with Phoebe snuggled between the two of you on your couch, you had a glimpse of the domestic life you'd dreamed of.
Roy was thinking something similar, looking at you and phoebe beside him. Something so simple as eating breakfast together had him dreaming of a future, that a few months ago, he never would've thought would be within his grasp. He could already picture a scene like this but with you slightly older, and still as beautiful as ever, two kids snuggled between you and a dog or 3 curled up at his feet. He hoped one day the image would be as real as the one before him right now.
"Shit, what time is it?"
"8am."
"We need to get going soon." Both you and Phoebe turned to Roy in confusion, heads similarly tilted in a way that had him fawning over the both of you. "Your mum is picking you up at 9am and you need to be dressed and ready to go, Pheeb's."
"Tell Molly to pick her up from here," you said, taking Phoebe's empty plate and stacking it on top of your own. Placing them both down on the coffee table, you turned to Phoebe with a soft smile. "There T-shirts, jeans and some shoes in my wardrobe, next to where I keep your pj's, yeah? And you know where your tooth brush is, don't you?" Phoebe nodded her head, still chewing her food, but with a kissed pressed to her temple, she was sprinting off in the direction your bedroom.
"You have day clothes here for phoebe? As well as pyjamas?" Roy whispered, a bright smile forming on his face for the millionth time this morning. This was a sight you were never going to get sick of.
"Yeah. I picked the day clothes up when you asked me to pick her up from school the first time, and then after you and Molly took her home after she slept over, I figured it couldn't hurt to also get a tooth brush and some other stuff. Just incase she ever needed them."
You'd never seen so much love and adoration in one persons eyes. "I fucking love you, did you know?"
Before you could respond, the padding of feet all the way down your hallway and across your living room filled your ears. "So you are getting Married?"
a/n : if you made it this far hello!! thank you for reading my first ted lasso fic, feel free to leave feedback and/or send in a request to my inbox!! much love <33 mwah
summary: after paying Leonard a visit in his quarters the unexpected happens. you're put into a twenty-four-hour quarantine and well... there's only one bed ⟶ {leonard "bones" mccoy x f!reader}
warnings: quarantine (not covid related but just in case), swearing
requested by @karasong !!! thank you so much, I hope you enjoy :)
🌿: "you are worthy of yourself :)"
find more of my work here // masterlist !!!
ONESHOT. ⇾ 4103 WORDS
For the first time in weeks, yours and Leonard’s schedules had aligned. He’d come from a particular uneventful six-hour shift while you’d just spent the last hour and a half trying to scrap some sort of alien saliva off a turbo lift. You could’ve easily conked out moments after your shower but you were determined to spend some much needed time with one of the only people on the starship that didn’t try to make small talk about the gravitational mass of Jupiter’s moons. Leonard had rolled his eyes when he found you already sitting at the table in his quarters when he got there.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he grumbled.
“Oh boo,” you said, waving away his ‘greeting’, “you know you’re happy to see me.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” You might have once taken offence to the lack of humour in his voice but years of knowing him told you it was all just friendly banter.
He walked past you to the counter nearby and put down his PADD and personal med-kit. You swivelled on your chair to look at him. “You and I haven’t had a chance to sit down in ages, what’s new Doctor McCoy?” you asked, “Anything exciting going on?”
“Eh,” he shrugged, “Y’know how it is. Someone gets a cold, then there are twenty of them snivelling and sniffing in my office. Normal broken bits n pieces. Couple o’ concussions, few dislocated shoulders.”
“Boring. I heard the Captain brought a new STI on board from that last planet we visited, you gotta tell me if that’s true?”
He reached into his cupboards for two glasses, propping them up on the counter one by one as he searched for a drink. “Why? You ‘fraid you got it from him?” He looked up at you for a moment with a raised brow.
You laughed. “Not in a million years. He’s not my type anyway.”
“Oh yeah,” Leonard said, popping the lid out of the scotch he’d found. He refrained from looking at you as he spoke. “Why, what is your type?”
Oh, c’mon, you stupid man. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone important I suppose.”
He chuckled at that, his deep throaty chuckle. “Captain not important enough for you, sweetheart.” You ran your finger along the edge of the table.
“Course not, I only settle for Admirals,” you said, sticking your nose up.
“Right, right,” he said as he brought your two glasses over, sliding into the seat across from you. You wriggled back around so you were facing him again as he took a sip, sighing as he did so.
“Judge me all you want but last I heard you were flirting with alien princesses. Who’s got high standards now, huh?”
“God, don’t tell me Jim’s been spreading that one,” he groaned. You smiled at him.
“Oh, you bet your ass he has. I do wonder what you said that made her turn blue,” you teased as he put his head in his hands.
“Jim asked me to flatter her, said it was customary, all I said was she looked nice nuthin’ more.”
“Oh ho ho, really? I heard she got a “positively stunning and majestic” as well as a bit of “most beautiful being you’d ever seen”,” you said, poking him in the arm. A tinge of red flashed into his ears as he waved you off him.
The grumpy old doctor was one of your closest friends on board the Enterprise and off it. Being in his company like this was always so easy. Even in those moments where you caught yourself staring a little too long at his jawline or his toned arms. You’d admitted to yourself (and Uhura) long ago that you’d noticed his attractiveness but it felt wrong to even consider that you thought of him more than just being pretty. He really was a brilliant friend and you didn’t want that to change. Plus all friends had a flirty side to their banter, right?
“What’s it like for you at the moment?” Leonard asked, “Down in engineering.”
“Tiring,” you sighed, “I almost prefer it when something big needs doing. All the basic maintenance has me running all over the ship. Did you know that there are four thousand, two hundred and ninety-four coolant pipes that run off the main compartment? I scanned a hundred and thirty-seven of them before I found the one I needed to fix.”
“Damn.” That pretty much summed it up in your opinion.
“God, I can’t wait for shore leave next month. Haven’t had enough sleep since the last one.”
Leonard frowned. “The hell are you doin’ sitting around here then? You should be asleep right about now.”
“If I did that then I wouldn’t be able to see my favourite blue shirt, would I?”
“Your favourite, huh? What’d Pointy Ears do to piss you off now?”
Now you were frowning. “Spock?” you laughed in disbelief, “Why would Spock be my favourite?”
“Ain’t the two of you buddies?”
“Yeah, but I like you way more.” It honestly startled you that Leonard didn’t know that. “Everyone knows that, even Spock.”
“Well then,” he said, lifting his glass up again, “Good for me.”
“What did you think you were to me?” you asked, almost offended that you hadn’t expressed how much you cared properly.
“I dunno,” he said, taking a swig of scotch before looking up at you, “Guess not anyone worth missing sleep for.”
“Seriously?” Maybe you were taking this a bit personally but you felt like you’d failed. He wasn’t your best, best friend but he was definitely way up there; way above almost everyone else on this ship.
“Yeah, ain’t a big deal,” he said brushing it off, “Pleasant surprise in fact.”
You were gonna open your mouth to say something else but your attention was drawn elsewhere when the door to Leonard’s quarters began to flash with a red light and the Captain’s voice suddenly burst over the intercom.
“Apologies for the interruption people, but I must inform you that the Medbay level and the two above and below it are now in a twenty-four-hour quarantine,” Kirk sighed before continuing and you could just imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke, “Ensign Nurzik believed someone had caught a deadly and highly contagious Hirogen virus which has now been identified as what I’m gonna call the Common Cold.”
You dropped your head into your hands. Godammit.
“Unfortunately there is no way to undo the quarantine as maintenance on that system is currently being completed. All individuals currently quarantined in their quarters or other rooms on the levels previously identified will need to report to the bridge as soon as this message is done so we can make sure your work is completed while you’re unavailable. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Please feel free to contact HR for assistance while you’re confined to your quarters. Kirk out.”
With a click, you were in silence. The door continued to flash red and for a moment you just sat there in shock.
“When we get outta here imma smack that idiot that hit the quarantine button,” Leonard said. You laughed weakly in agreement.
You couldn’t believe it. You were stuck in here for the next twenty-four hours. A whole day. You had things to do, a nap to take, a monitor to hit with a wrench till it turned on again. This had really thrown a big fat metaphorical spanner in the works.
“Jesus Christ, a common cold,” he continued, “How thick d’ya have to be?
“Ugh,” you groaned, “This is fucking rich.”
“You didn’t by any chance bring a pack of cards with ya?” he asked. You shook your head.
Of course, your luck was this bad. Not only were you stuck but since you’d invaded his quarters, you were stuck with Leonard. Sure, he might be one of the few people you’d pick to be stranded on a deserted island with but he hadn’t exactly had any say in you sharing his - less than spacious - quarters for the next day.
“Ya hungry?” he said as he got up, making his way over to the replicator.
“Not particularly but I could go for some chocolate cake.”
He snorted at that. For a man with award-winning complaining skills, he was far less grumbly than he should be.
“Comin’ right up.”
Less than a minute later, he was sliding a plate towards you as he put his own down as well. Grabbing the fork placed beside the slice of cake you chuckled to yourself as you noticed what he had. “Victoria sponge, why am I not surprised?”
“‘Cos you know I got good taste, that’s why,” he said, shoving a forkful into his mouth.
“Very true.” Digging into your own cake you nodded in agreement. “Very true indeed.” His lips twisted into a slight smile.
The cake was good. So good that you finished long before Leonard who was savouring every bite. You’d licked your fork clean and were looking at your empty plate in defeat.
“Self-restraint. That’s what you need,” Leonard said. He still had just under half of his slice left.
“Whatever,” you grumbled, “Just because you eat tiny-ass bites.” He didn’t bother replying, just smiled as he ate.
The familiar sound of a communicator beeping made you look up. Leonard tapped the device on his chest. “McCoy.”
“Hey Bones,” Kirk’s voice said through the device, “Are you in your quarters right now, cause you haven’t reported to the bridge yet and Nurse Chapel tells me you’re not in Med.”
“Shit,” Leonard muttered. You’d both completely forgotten to let anyone know that you were out of action. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry ‘bout that, Jim. Completely slipped my mind.”
“Well, we got that all sorted out, I’ll leave you to your day of isolation.”
Leonard was about to reply when you smacked the table lightly and pointed at yourself.
“Oh yeah, wait, uh. Y/N is in here too. Might as well save her from making another call.”
“Is she now?” Funny how perfectly you could imagine the captain’s expression just by his words. “‘Completely slipped my mind’? Really Bones? Sure you weren’t just preoccupied?”
You raised your eyebrows at the man across from you who was clearly avoiding your eyes. “Hilarious, Jim, really. Anything I can do for you, or will that be all?” he asked dryly.
“I mean, I would be very interested to know what Y/N’s doing there, unless of course-”
“Bye Jim.” He closed the call hurriedly. “You’d think they’d have chosen less of a dickhead to captain this place.”
“Hmm,” you agreed, “Dickhead maybe, but I would be very interested to know what he was talking about, or rather why?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” he replied without a shred of humour, “You’re just as bad as him, y’know that?”
“I’m honoured you think so highly of me.”
Rolling his eyes hard, he got up from the table and headed in the direction of the bathroom door.
“Whatcha doing?” you asked, slightly miffed by his sudden movement.
“Having a shower. Might as well not stew in this uniform if we’re stuck in here.”
“Oh, okay.” You could help but felt a flushed. Leonard McCoy was comfortable having a shower with you alone in his quarters. It wasn’t anything at all, in fact, you figured most anyone else on the ship would be comfortable in the same situation but it was different. Everything was different with him.
The sound of the shower came through the wall after a moment. He’d gotten undressed real fast, you thought before you caught yourself. Not that it mattered, it was fine, why were you thinking about that?
Slumped forward in your chair you fantasised about that nap you’d been planning on. Oh, to crawl into your own bed and snuggle into the covers and fall asleep. A cosy cocoon of bliss. If you could teleport that’s where you’d be. Head falling down onto your folded forearms you groaned aloud before whispering a soft profanity. For the first time, you felt confident describing yourself as vexed.
“Hey.”
You shot up - and awake you quickly realised - at the hand on your back and the soft greeting. Sleep had really snuck up on you there.
Leonard stood beside you looking down at you with an amused smile. His dark hair was still damp and his towel was around his neck. He’d traded his uniform for simple pyjamas as well. They looked nice.
“Sorry, I guess I was just-” you started, quickly interrupted by a jaw-splitting yawn.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said, “But I gotta say a table ain’t the best place to go to sleep.” You hummed at that, feeling a dull ache in your shoulders and neck. “I already changed the sheets so why don’t you go get some shut-eye in an actual bed, huh?”
“What about you then? Where are you gonna sleep?” you asked. You knew Leonard well enough to know despite his near-constant complaining he’d be happy to give up his comfort for someone else - except maybe not Kirk but that was out of spite.
“The floor’s not that bad,” he said with a laugh though you knew he wasn’t joking.
“You seriously think I’m gonna let you sleep on the floor after I came in here uninvited? I didn’t think you were that thick, Dr McCoy,” you said, folding your arms.
“I ain’t tired.”
“Well, I am and as I just proved this table isn’t that bad so you take your bed and I’ll stay where I am, thank you very much.”
He shook his head. “Can’t let you do that. We both know how hard you’ve been working, you deserve a decent sleep.”
“Guess we’re stuck at a standstill,” you said, putting your hands up.
“Well then, guess we should be mature adults about this.”
“Absolutely,” you agreed, “Paper scissors rock?”
The look he gave you reminded you of a disapproving teacher you’d had at the Academy. “It’s called sharing,” he said, not entertaining your idea for a moment, “I trust you enough not to steal the covers.”
“Oh.”
“Unless that’s gonna make you uncomfortable.” He didn’t seem to have considered that possibility till then.
“Not at all.” Uh oh, that was too quick.
“I’m taking the right side of the bed an’ you can borrow a sleep shirt if you need,” he told you before heading through to his bedroom. It didn’t feel right to go after him instantly so you sat there for a bit, heart beating faster.
The shirt you were wearing was clean but it wasn't fit for sleeping you knew that. Not breathable enough and the fabric was kinda scratchy if you were honest. However, the thought of borrowing one of Leonard’s shirts gave you a different breathing issue. He said you could borrow it. He said it was fine. It’s just a shirt.
When you walked into his room, Leonard was standing in front of his mirror, pulling a comb through his hair. A single pale blue shirt sat folded on the left corner of the bed.
“Thank you,” you said softly, reaching for it, “Mind if I use the bathroom?”
“Go ahead,” he said, not sparing you a glance, “Use whatever. ‘Cept my toothbrush obviously.” If your stomach wasn’t a whirlpool of nerves you’d have shot back something about ‘your plans being ruined’ but instead, you were willing yourself to chill out.
Once the door to the ensuite had slid shut you shook out the shirt. Just a shirt, just a shirt, you repeated to yourself again and again. Belief was a powerful thing and if you could just persuade yourself that he was your friend being friendly everything would be okay.
Stripping your own to fall on the floor you pulled the sleep shirt on. No matter how rudely anxious you were, you had to admit that this shirt was a hundred times better than yours. The fabric was so soft and in itself made you ready to pass out. It didn’t take you much longer to finish up after using the toilet and quickly swishing around a mouthful of water. You felt a little bad for not brushing twice a day but these were dire times after all.
Leonard was already in bed when you emerged, a book in his hands as he leaned against the headboard, the covers up by his hips, his pillow to the side of him. “Alright with you if I read for a bit,” he asked, looking up at you.
“Nope, go ahead. I’m probably gonna be out as soon as I get comfy,” you said. Trying to be as natural as possible you lifted up the covers on your side and climbed in. There was about half a metre between the two of you, thank the heavens. Still, you couldn’t stop being horribly aware that if you reached out right now you would be able to touch him.
Part of you was tempted to. Was tempted to cross that line, I mean who knows when another opportunity would arise and you’d already had Spock calculate that there was a 52.7 per cent chance he liked you like that. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t risk the other 47.3 per cent chance of losing your friend. And so you’d lie there, back to him, in his shirt and his sheets letting sleep take you away.
You had been right though. You went to sleep almost straight away, something Leonard was both impressed and disappointed by. He didn’t spend much time reading once you were out. Too busy casting you a cautious glance every couple of seconds just to make sure you were still there.
Something about having you asleep next to him made him ache. Your rhythmic breathing was disturbingly calming and he couldn’t stop himself from realising that this was the first time he’d slept next to a woman in years. God, he mentally cursed himself for that train of thought. You were Starfleet, you were prepared to do the necessary no matter if you were comfortable or not, but this was different. You looked at ease wrapped in his sheets less than arm’s reach away. He figured there had to be a certain amount of trust for you to look so peaceful.
You were one of the few people he really clicked with and he certainly hoped you felt similarly. The two of you really hadn’t had a chance to spend time together for a while and it might not have gone as planned, but he was still glad you’d come over. He wouldn’t admit it but was almost a little grateful for the quarantine. It may be a big ol’ inconvenience for you but he enjoyed didn’t mind this arrangement. That made him feel guilty for not hating it.
But then it was the shirt. Ever so slightly too big, with extra material at the shoulders, it made him hot around the collar so to speak. He felt a tiny bit smug seeing you wearing it.
Feeling worse and worse about where his thoughts were sneaking off too, he set his book down and wriggled down into the bed, careful not to disturb you. He was a bit relieved by the darkness that took over after he hit the switch nearby. You were of course asleep so none the wiser but the red tinge that had settled on his cheeks made him a little self-conscious.
“Night, sweetheart,” he breathed.
You were deliciously warm when you came to. Utterly encompassed by the covers and Leonard.
Oh. Fuck.
The sudden realisation that you were holding onto the hand on the arm that was draped over your middle made you want to scream. Luckily the self-control you had was in full effect. His chest was pressed flush against your back, one of his ankles hooked around yours. Now you were warm.
Leonard McCoy was spooning you. Your Leonard McCoy. Tall, dark-haired, sarcastic, Doctor Hot-Ass, Leonard McCoy. This was the stuff of late-night wistful thinking. Oh, Lord, you were in deep.
Should you wait until he wakes up? No, no, that would be weird. But trying to pry yourself from his muscular arm seemed a little too challenging, not to mention the fact that you sorta didn’t want to leave. If you could stay like that you wouldn’t ever leave.
Then his arm curled around you a little tighter and you stopped breathing. He wiggled a bit and you were certain he was going to wake up. Hearing the tiny gasp he managed to stifle a moment later you realised he was. You waited a second before speaking.
“Are we both pretending to be asleep now?”
“Not anymore,” he said softly, “‘Morning.” The way he said it made it sound like he’d bitten off a sweetheart at the end.
“Good Morning,” you said, focusing on keeping your breathing steady.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” you said, “I uh…”
“Yeah?” he said, hanging onto every word.
“Nothing.” Liar.
“Okay.” Every second of silence felt like it was burning you up.
He hadn’t removed his arm yet which you figured was a plus but it also meant you weren’t sure if you could move your hand.
“This okay with you?” he sounded… nervous? That wasn’t a trait you’d ever considered him to possess and hearing it now, like that. Well, shit.
“Yeah.” Your voice felt small, smaller than ever before. “You?”
“You gonna smack me if I say something sarcastic?”
“Never,” you replied, with a small smile.
“Well, then, I gotta say it’s not the worst situation I ever been in.”
“That’s sweet of you,” you said.
“Anything for you sweetheart.”
You twisted to roll to face him, switching the hand you had on his arm to keep it in place. He was so close to you that you couldn’t help but inhale deeply. You decided that he looked well-rested and if everything fell apart at least you could be grateful for that.
“I ever tell you how pretty you are?” he asked, the harshness of his morning drawl made you feel a bit hot.
“Not that I recall, why?” you said, playing along.
“‘Cause you are fuckin’ stunning.”
“When did you become such a flirt, mmm, Doc?”
“When did you join the Enterprise?” he shot back, with a sly smirk.
“Smooth.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
“We just gonna stay here?” you asked, starting to draw little circles on the back of his hand.
“Why you got somewhere to be?”
“Not for the next-” You lifted your head slightly to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table behind him. “-Thirteen hours.”
“Given I ain’t got nowhere to be I’m just fine staying here,” he said.
“Okay.”
The suddenness of it hadn’t really hit you yet, the only thing that was in the forefront of your mind was-
“What do we do now?”
He frowned. “Didn’t we just agree to stay here?
“I mean after the next thirteen hours are over. Is this getting left here or..?” You didn’t dare finish that thought for fear of jinxing it.
“I mean… we should probably figure out what it would actually mean but if it’s alright with you, I’m perfectly okay with it hanging around.” His eyes were gorgeous so up close like this.
“I really like you, Leonard,” you confessed. He smiled.
“Thought you only went for admirals?”
You smacked his arm lightly. “Shut up.”
“I really like you too if it’s any consolation. And this, being next to you, ain’t half bad,” he said, playing with the fabric of your shirt.
“Don’t tell Jim,” you said, “At least not for a week or something.”
“That smarmy bastard? Wasn’t planning on it,” he reassured you, “I ain’t looking forward to his gleeful ‘I told you so’ smile.”
You laughed. You weren’t particularly fond of the Captain being proved right in most cases but this could very well be an exception.
“I tell you, we’ll be hearing about it in his best man speech,” he continued.
“Best man speech?” you teased, your heart beating fast at the fact he’d just said that. He also seemed to realise the gravity of it and his ears went brilliant red.
“I didn’t mean- like, y’know what I-” he spluttered out.
“It’s okay, Leonard. I don’t… I don’t mind.” Seeing the sincerity on your face had him calming instantly. He leaned forwards and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.
“I do really like you,” he said.
“I really like you too.”
⭑ ⟵ ★ ⟶ ⭑
a/n: not me just now realising i'm a simp for the "both are pining but are oblivious" trope, this shit is sO good hhhhh anyways - hope you enjoyed this! send me some feedback or a suggestion of what you wanna see from me either via my ask box or private messages :))
all of my silly little writings, in one place! please check here and my rules before you request anything ♡ warnings and word counts are included on the actual posts (unless they are for request events! then word counts are between me and god)
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
personal favorites ★
angst ☾
fluff ❀
heavy/possibly triggering topics ✦
smut ❣
based off of songs ♫
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
special event requests (includes writing for all characters, also individually organized by characters below)
╰┈➤ spotify wrapped writings
╰┈➤ twenty four hours of christmas
╰┈➤ 1k celebration
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
eddie munson
fics
╰┈➤ the shire is burning (ao3) (wattpad) - fake dating au with eddie and oc who is originally in love with steve harrington. only posted on ao3 and wattpad (not on here) ★ ☾ ❀ ✦
╰┈➤ twenty four hours (ao3) - in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together? (enemies to lovers, upside down does not exist) ★ ❣
one-shots/blurbs/imagines
╰┈➤ so scarlet (it was maroon) (ao3) (wattpad) - in which rockstar!eddie gets everything he wants, except you. based off of 'maroon' by taylor swift. (not posted on here because tumblr is a hater and kept deleting). ★ ☾ ❀ ❣ ♫
╰┈➤ as it was - blurb based off of the song by harry styles. ❀ ♫
╰┈➤ would've, could've, should've - mean!eddie based off of the song by taylor swift. ☾ ❣ ♫
╰┈➤ what if i love you x bad omens - based off the songs by gatlin and 5 seconds of summer ❀ ♫
╰┈➤ ode to a conversation stuck in your throat - one shot based off of the song by del water gap. cheating fic involving best friend!eddie and mentions of boyfriend!steve. ☾ ❣ ♫
╰┈➤ moodswings - based off of the song by 5 seconds of summer. ★ ❀ ✦ ♫
╰┈➤ the first saturday of december - the first saturday of every december, the munson men always make time for each other. (wayne and eddie decorating for the holidays) ❀ ✦
╰┈➤ ten more minutes - "ten minutes. give me ten minutes." in which eddie makes the two of you late for the gang's holiday party. ★ ❣
╰┈➤ good for one kiss - you and eddie continue with your regular christmas gifting tradition, except this year, something changes. (best friends to lovers) ★ ❀
╰┈➤ little bit - bestfriend!eddie blurb based on the song by lykke li. best friends to lovers? ♫ ❀ ★
╰┈➤ have faith in me - based on the song by a day to remember. hurt/comfort with post s4 eddie ✦ ♫
╰┈➤ house song - based on the song by searows. just a big metaphorical mess of angsty eddie letting himself love someone. ☾ ♫ ★
╰┈➤ "it wasn't supposed to go this way." - taking place in "the shire is burning"universe, willow knows what is about to happen. and she won't let eddie sacrifice himself for her, not this time. ☾ ✦
╰┈➤"that's a lot of blood" - alternative to ^ that ^ request. still in shire universe. willow realizes she's cursed by vecna. ☾
╰┈➤ work song - based on the song by hozier. post s4 eddie grapples with his newfound fear of death, and finds you. ♫ ☾ ★
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
steve harrington
fics
╰┈➤ none yet!
one-shots/blurbs/imagines
╰┈➤ nothing else i could do - based on song by ella jane. coworker!steve at scoops ahoy. ❀ ♫
╰┈➤ can i leave me too? - based on song by the greeting committee. ☾ ♫
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
robin buckley
fics
╰┈➤ none yet!
one-shots/blurbs/imagines
╰┈➤ either way, we're not alone - in which robin and jonathan have a conversation about belonging. [platonic robin x jonathan byers] ★ ✦
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
nancy wheeler
fics
╰┈➤ none yet!
one-shots/blurbs/imagines
╰┈➤ "who put that there?" - in which nancy resorts to desperate measures to get you under the mistletoe with her this year. (includes mentioned steddie) ❀
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:
this list will be updated as i receive more requests, or stumble upon more wonderful inspiration. ♡
summary: It was just a stupid bet. A way to prove Jason and his asshole friends wrong, to finally get under the blonde's skin. It was never supposed to end with Eddie falling in love, nor with him laying on your doorstep with bruised knees, begging for your forgiveness.
tags: Eddie x fem!reader, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, ice queen/social outcast reader, Hopper!reader (goddaughter), reader is 18+ (impli. twenties), fluff, humor, angst, happy ending tho ofc
Eddie's fingers - dry skin cracking by his knuckles, pink lines marred by green veins poking out of his skin - shakily held up the lit joint to his chapped lips, allowing him to inhale deeply and let out a slow drag of smoke. Much like his muted breaths, the white whisps of air curled upwards in lazy swirls before dissipating into the night air, providing a momentary release from the cold.
The freezing temperatures embraced Eddie just as quickly afterwards, making him grumble in discomfort, swearing under his breath for how long Jason and his group of friends were taking to finish the damn basketball game. The heat provided from his van was rather weak - the heater having blown a fuse a week ago which he had yet to fix - and his jean jacket did little to provide any additional warmth as he grasped the lapels of the jacket and pulled it closer towards his body.
God, where were those assholes?
As if fate had been listening to his internal monologue, Eddie soon heard the crunching of snow beneath several pairs of feet accompanied by the recognizable rowdy chatter between the basketball players. Leading the group as usual was Jason Carver - the blonde's signature smug expression replaced by one of annoyance - followed by his two best friends, a brunette and a redhead who were practical carbon copies of each other (muscular airheads with big egos and loud voices). Not that Eddie could really distinguish between the basketball players at Hawkins High. They all tended to come from the same pool of people.
Tall, fit, conventionally attractive, white males from cushy upper class backgrounds.
Unfortunately, that also meant jocks were one of his most profitable clients. Hence why Eddie had dragged his van and stash of goods half-way across town during winter break in the freezing cold. Having waited a staggering twenty minutes with nothing more than a jean jacket to keep him company, he was simply looking forward to finalizing the deal and to be able to drive back home to fall underneath the covers.
"You got the goods, freak?" Nate, the tall brunette, yelled out in advance, clapping his meaty hands together. Eddie had to actively suppress an eyeroll - no matter how many times he regularly dealt with them, they'd never even gone so far as to call him by his real name. Wordlessly kicking open the back of his van, he pulled off the green tarp overlaying the interior to reveal a hefty amount of weed, neatly packaged in plastic containers and paper bags.
"What'd you want?" the metalhead asked, voice monotone and face straight - completely immune to their presence at this point. The transaction was, after all, a regular routine at this point so as to make Eddie's reactions automatic and reflexive. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as he could.
The basketball player standing next to Nate, a slim redhead named Oliver, cut into the conversation whilst brushing falling snowflakes off of his varsity jacket with a frown.
"Give us everything, son of satan."
"Everything?" Eddie raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise. Jason only clicked his tongue at that, left hand coming up to swiftly comb through his hair - the blonde was on edge, that was as clear as daylight to see.
"Yeah, jackass, just give us what you got. I'm throwing a massive party and my parents are in California for another two weeks so I need all you got."
"That'll be $1,500." Eddie slowly said, eyeing the blonde up and down, expecting the man to pull out of the deal at any moment. Instead, the jock only let out an exasperated sigh, dropping his duffel bag to the floor before digging out a wad of cash.
"That's a shit ton of money you're blowing on weed, Carver." Oliver commented, slapping his friend's shoulder.
"Not enough money to impress (Y/n) though, apparently." Nate added from the side, causing both him and Oliver to crack up at the expense of a fuming Jason, the blonde's fists clenching tightly by his sides.
"Fuck off, would you?" the blonde shrugged his friend's arm off of his shoulders quickly, eyes burning with annoyance and betrayal. Eddie knew he wasn't supposed to be listening in on their conversation, his brown eyes still focused on the stack of notes in his hands as his fingers combed through each bill one by one. But his ears perked up at the mention of your name and he couldn't help but listen in closer as Jason's teammates laughed even harder at their leader's expression of fury.
"I'm telling you. Your daddy's money and status may get you everything you want, but not even you can win over the ice queen of Hawkins High." Nate drawled, with Oliver nodding eagerly behind him.
Jason only rolled his shoulders forward at that, unclenching his jaw with a frustrated sigh.
"Well how the fuck was I supposed to know that she was going to throw her drink on me and call me a 'blonde bimbo in ugly basketball shorts' just cause I asked her out?"
The chuckle that escaped from Eddie's lips was dangerous, but he couldn't help but let out a short laugh at the recollection of your comment, subjecting himself immediately to the harsh gazes of the three jocks. Jason in particular looked offended at that, cracking his knuckles and flashing the metalhead a stinging glare.
"You think that's funny, Munson?"
Counting up to the last thousand - damn, Jason really had handed him $1,500 on the dot - Eddie looked up at Jason with a sly smile, shaking his head lightly side to side.
"Meh, just a little. Doesn't matter though. You got the cash, I got the weed." he replied before stepping to the side, signaling for Nate and Oliver to begin shoving the packets of weed into their duffel bags. Whilst they did so, Jason slowly walked forward towards Eddie, an egotistical swagger to his steps.
"What? You think you can do better, freak?
"Asking girls out? Eh, maybe." Eddie decided to goad the blonde further, enjoying the delicious cruelty of being able to toy with the fragile ego of the star basketball player. Watching how Jason's neck strained at that comment, adam's apple bopping up and down.
Suddenly, the angry expression on Jason's face melted away into a wide grin, a new delightful idea seemingly having popped into his mind.
"Tell you what, freak. Let's wager a bet." Jason's tongue dragged across his lower lips slowly, his eyes were glinting with a certain kind of danger Eddie couldn't quite place. "You think you're such tough shit, that you're so much better than me - why don't you go after (Y/n)? If you can somehow get the infamous ice queen to say yes to a date, you win."
"And what exactly would I win?"
"I'll pay double the usual for all our dealings. Heard through the grapevine your shitty trailer home's overdue for a fix, no?"
Oliver and Nate cackled behind Jason at that comment, igniting fiery hatred in the metalhead's veins. Jaw feeling stiff, he forced himself to sit up straight, staring right back at the jocks.
"... That, and you leave me and my friends alone for the rest of the year."
"For that price, you'll have to have her say yes to prom too!" Oliver yelled out from the side, to which Jason nodded.
"Get her to say yes to dates and then prom, and then we'll say you win. I pay double, you can fix your shitty dump you call a house, and we'll stop bothering you and your band of freaks. Deal?"
It was no different to staring the devil in the face, devious and cruel smirk matched with voice dripping with venom as the blonde extended one hand forward. Eddie stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating his decisions: his uncle had tried to be sly about money problems but winter was only getting colder, and now that he had Dustin, Lucas and Mike in the group, he did want the bullying to stop against his group.
Swallowing his doubts, Eddie quickly shook Jason's hand, never once breaking eye contact.
"Deal."
-------------------------------------
First week back from winter break.
Eddie has been agonizing over how to even approach you. He's only spoken to you once before.
Actually, that may be an overstatement, he thinks, now looking back.
Eddie was being blocked from accessing his locker as a group of cheerleaders gossiped in the hallways, each of them blatantly ignoring Eddie's quiet pleas for them to move. When he coughed loudly and tried to wiggle through the crowd, the two head cheerleaders by the front shot him a nasty glare, the blonde one even going so far as to look him up and down and smirk.
"Thought I smelled trailer trash. Piss off, freak."
"I'm just trying to get to my locker, Joanne." he'd deadpanned - normally, he would've just walked away by now but he really needed to get to his fucking locker for that damn history textbook.
"Well we're too busy catching up about the rager Dianne went to last week in Idaho, so you can wait, okay?" the other head cheerleader, a petite raven haired girl named Sandra, snapped. That elicited a crowd of giggles to erupt amongst the group, and Eddie sighed again, running a hand down his face in exasperation.
"Look-"
"Didn't know this was the hangout spot for superficial barbies skipping their geometry classes." you sneered, coy smirk dancing on your glossy lips. The group of girls instantly froze at the sound of your voice, causing even the two head cheerleaders by Eddie to straighten up in fear.
"What'd you want, (L/n)?" Joanne stuttered out, the low pink flush in her cheeks clearly marking her embarrassment and fear. Eddie watched in awe as you simply stared the cheerleader down, dissecting the girl's layers with one glare and a low chuckle under your breath.
"For you and your fake friends to leave, obviously. What, too dumb to even figure that out?"
"Y-you can't make us leave! You have no authority to command so." Sandra blurted out, eyes darting away to the floor when you redirected your fiery gaze at her. Eddie had to admit, you were kind of terrifying - sharp eyes drawn forward, head held high, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack.
"Is that so?" you questioned, stepping one step closer to the crowd of cheerleaders, all of whom instinctively backed up against the wall. Pink tongue tracing your lower lips, you cocked your head to the side in feigned interest. "I guess you only ever listen to the authority of Joanne's boyfriend, huh, Sandra? When he's leaving hickies on your neck and blowing off dinners with Joanne for you?"
"You did what?!" Joanne screamed out in anger at her best friend, causing Sandra to begin running in the opposite direction. Sensing a battle brewing between their two leaders, the rest of the cheerleaders deserted the hallway, leaving you and Eddie alone in the aftermath. You rolled your eyes, shoving away the last cheerleader evacuating the scene before Eddie's left hand reached out to grab your wrist.
"W-wait." he stuttered out, hesitant. You looked down at his hand with a cold glare, before staring back up at him in annoyance.
"What."
"Thank you for standing up for me. I mean, no one's ever talked back to the popular kids for me before. It's really cool of you." he rambled, hands fidgeting by his neck, not being able to quite meet your gaze upon feeling chills run down his spine at your icy demeanor. Your only response to his comment was to aggressively shake off his hand, recoiling from his touch as if you'd been burnt.
"I wasn't doing any of that for you, Munson. They were in the way to my Chemistry class."
Turning on your heel, you disappeared into the foreground before Eddie could muster up a response.
The rumors were true, he realized. You were exceptionally beautiful - it was no wonder that you were rumored to be scouted by the cheerleaders by third period on your first day (had you not literally dumped an iced coffee over their leader when she'd approached you during lunch). Even when you were snarling at him, arms crossed in a defensive posture and chilling orbs glaring daggers into his eyes, he couldn't help but feel warmth rise to his cheeks from being able to gaze at your face up close.
But Eddie wasn't able to focus on your features much - the dip of your neck leading down to the valley of your breasts, your glossy lips and bright eyes, jaw and cheeks carved by the harsh sunlight - when you'd snapped at him and turned the other way.
Staring down at his now empty hands, he shrugged. You were indeed, an ice queen.
Cut to the present, Eddie's hiding behind the door of his own locker, peeking out at the hallway every few seconds to watch you shuffle through your own belongings. Headphones around your ears, Walkman tape bouncing alongside your side as you pull down a stack of books from the top shelf, your skirt rides up ever so slightly to bunch at your waist.
To any passing stranger, you may even look sweet at the moment - soft body hugged by the green fabric, knee high socks, lipstick cautiously being applied by the small mirror taped to your locker door.
But Eddie knows better. The whole school knows better, with the way everyone makes a point to avoid you. Cheerleaders stop walking and turn the other way, the jocks avoid your gaze and keep as long of a distance from you, and even the nerds and band geeks make sure to walk with their head down and mind their steps to not bump into you.
"What are you looking at?" Dustin suddenly jumps in, face few inches from Eddie, causing the older boy to straighten up in surprise and hit his head against the wall. Clutching his head where it's beginning to bruise, he makes it a point to glare at the curly haired freshman, who only flashes him an innocent smile.
"Ouch, what the hell, Henderson?" Eddie grumbles.
"You got that 'I'm lost in my thoughts' look on your face. And I was just curious as to what could be so interesting to have you staring off into space."
"It's nothing." Eddie quickly blurts out, practically slamming his locker shut and leaning against it with a faux grin, cool relaxed posture with his arms crossed. Dustin doesn't buy that, only frowning in disbelief, before leaning to the side to peek towards where Eddie was staring.
The only person really visible is you, thumbing through your notebooks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"Holy shit, were you... staring at (Y/n) (L/n)?" Dustin semi-shouts out of shock, forcing Eddie to practically grab the younger boy by the front of his t-shirt and yank him backwards, narrowly avoiding the curious look you throw behind your back upon hearing your name be shouted out.
"Keep your damn voice down, geez." Eddie swears, heart thrumming with anxiety. Dustin's face only quirks up in semi-annoyance, his left hand coming up to slap across the senior's chest.
"Why were you staring at her?"
"I was not staring at her." Eddie weakly responds. It's a total lie and they both know it, with Eddie unable to even look Dustin straight in the face.
"Listen, I know you're crazy and your whole thing is going against the grain - which I think is awesome, don't get me wrong. But getting involved with her? That's a death wish, man. She's fucking scary." Dustin shudders, shaking off faux chills as you slam your locker shut and shove past a group of cowering teens, not even sparing them a second glance.
Cursing internally, the metalhead swallows his comments and forces out a grin.
"Relax, man. I'm not getting involved with anyone."
----------------------------------
Eddie finally gets the courage to talk to you on a rainy Friday afternoon. The parking lot's deserted and the sky's a murky gray, harsh showers slapping against dulled windows fogged up from the cold.
Tucking his roleplaying notebook underneath his left arm, carefree smile on his face from the fantastic D&D session he's just had, he almost walks past where you're leaning against the wall without acknowledging that you're alone.
You're so good at that, Eddie realizes: blending into the background, simultaneously being so eye-catching and beautiful to catch his attention, whilst also exuding an uninviting aura that makes his brain immediately divert his gaze elsewhere.
Tapping your converse shoes against the cement floor, your head is drawn downwards with your eyes narrowly focused in on a hardcover book Eddie can't read the name of. The entire hallway's deserted and Eddie realizes that now's the best time - more than ever - to make his first move.
"Hey. (Y/n), right?" he starts out, waving for your attention and flashing you his most charming smile. It doesn't even leave a dent on your face: lips still in a straight line, your head not even picking up to stare at him.
"What do you want?" you drawl out, flipping a page with your thumb. He fumbles on what to say next, not used to having to speak to someone who won't even look at him - at the very least, he thinks, when jocks are jeering at him or cheerleaders are insulting him, they flash him a dirty glance.
"Tutoring." is the first thing that leaves his lips and that does the job of causing you to still and look up at him with your eyebrows raised, mocking grin on your face.
"Tutoring? You do know that I'm barely passing all my classes, right?" you spit out, unimpressed. Stranded, Eddie's hands fly up in mock surrender, voice edged with nerves as he forces out a laugh.
"Yeah uh, no, I meant like... I could tutor you."
You chuckle at that - a dry, bitter sound that makes him cringe - perfectly manicured fingers curling to point accusingly at his figure.
Licking his lips, Eddie takes in a deep breath, ready to try and persuade you again when the loud honking of a car cuts in. Looking over your shoulder, he can see the faint outline of a truck and a man sitting by the front of the driver's seat, shouting your name. He can't make out much about the man's features - the glass windows fogged up and obscured by the pouring rain - and you brush past Eddie with ease, shoulders colliding with his.
"Well that went well." Eddie sarcastically comments under his breath.
Maybe this bet isn't going to work out, he bitterly thinks, kicking a small pebble in his way.
Then it's Monday. And thank god for Ms. Rogers of his American History class - because she announces a new group project, and the pairings just so work out to pair you and him together. Eddie has to conceal the rush of joy and relief when he sees his name hastily scrawled next to yours on the whiteboard, keeping his face straight and outwardly disinterested when he sits down next to you.
"Hey there, partner." he jokes, sliding his chair closer to the table. Your gaze remains fixated on your nails, your only acknowledgment of his presence being the rolling of your eyes. "How's life?"
"Life is life, Munson." you spit, harsh gaze shifting a fraction to cast him a dirty glance. It makes him feel small, goosebumps rising across his skin from the way your lip snarls and your voice tightens.
"Right, well, now that we're project partners we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Do you wanna meet up after school to discuss the basics?" Eddie trails off slowly, cautiously trying to survey your reactions.
He's silently bracing for another cruel remark - or maybe a disinterested eyeroll, coupled with a middle finger to his face - but to his surprise, you huff out a quick sigh and unclench your jaw.
"Fine. The library at 3.30."
"Oh actually, I was wondering if we could do later because technically we're supposed to have a Hellfire campaign tonight-"
You hold one hand up to his face, forcing him to shut up, before throwing him an annoyed glance.
"Do I look like I care? Reschedule."
All other arguments die in his mouth when the teacher begins to talk, signaling for everyone in the class to fall silent and redirect their attention to the front of the classroom. Eddie shifts to look forward, but he can't help but quickly glance at you from the corner of his eyes.
You look agitated, teeth biting down on the end of a yellow pencil, grinding down onto hard wood. Shoulder tensed, body braced forward as you lean onto your propped up arms. Eddie realizes then that he's never seen you relaxed. Or seen you smile, or hell, be anything other than aggressive and tense.
The thoughts of the bet with Jason re-enter his mind, which he's quick to scrub away in an attempt to pay attention. Above all, he supposes, he'd like to at least pass this fucking class so he's not a fourth time repeat senior.
The end of the school day arrives in a flash, it seems, with him anxiously jumping up and down on the balls of his feet outside the library whilst waiting for you to appear. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he then feels a warm hand on his back, twisting around clumsily to see your non-amused expression staring back at him.
"Come on, Munson. I don't have all day."
The first half an hour is painfully awkward. Eddie keeps on throwing jokes - "if I have to read another passage about a dead white man, I think I'm going to die myself" - and thoughtful compliments - "that's a really good idea, (Y/n), thank god we were paired together or else I would've failed" - but you don't seem the least bit deterred. Sitting at least five inches away from him, shoulders hunched over as your gaze remains fixated on the stack of papers strewn over the table surface. There's a permanent frown on your face, pulling down and wrinkling your features, coupled with an unwavering silence.
Eddie wonders what it'd be like if you smiled instead.
"So what do you think? I reckon pretty much everyone's going to do the easy topics - the ratification of the constitution or the fight for independence. So maybe it'd be better if we did something different, like maybe how the two party system emerged?" Eddie suggests lightly, leaning back on his seat, flashing you a hopeful smile.
You don't even look up at him, shrugging your shoulders.
"Sure, whatever."
"If you think there's something else we could do, I'd love to hear it." He's practically begging you to speak at this point, considering he's been the one filling the silence in the room for the past half hour.
"Don't have any ideas."
"You sure?"
"YES! Jesus christ, Munson, are you deaf?" you snap, looking up at him angrily.
"Alright, god, I'm sorry that I'm trying to include you in OUR project." he retorts, feeling his patience run dry. "You know-" He lets out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I've been nothing but nice to you the past few weeks-"
"Why is that?" you press, voice suddenly quiet.
"W-what?"
His breath catches in his throat when you make full eye contact with him, yellow embers reflecting in your orbs from the light bulbs hanging overhead.
"I'm confused as to why you've been so nice to me lately, Munson. What's your end game?" you question, slamming your book shut. Eddie blinks at you silently like a fish out of water - what the hell is he supposed to say to that? It must look awfully odd from your point of view, he realizes, for you two to go from strangers to him trying to talk to you all the time.
But what's he supposed to say? "Jason Carver and I fought and we got into a bet that I could seduce you and bring you to prom because you're this notorious ice queen."
Yeah right.
Exhaling quickly, he just cocks his head to the side and feigns calmness.
"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better."
"Me, seriously?" you scoff, clearly not believing him.
"Yeah! Look, I... I know what it's like for people at this shitty high school to not take you seriously or to make you feel like a complete outcast. I figured you could use a friend! Because no offense, I have the Hellfire Club, but I've never seen you with anyone but yourself."
He's being pretty sincere with that statement, and it seems to come through as you raise your eyebrows slowly in response, unreadable expression on your face.
"You've been... watching me?"
"Not in a creepy way! Just consider it, like, one outcast looking out for another."
It's the slightest change, a reflex that lasts for less than a second, but he catches the end of your lips twitch ever so slightly to indicate a grin. It disappears just as quickly it appears, but he catches it nonetheless, and it makes hope blossom in his lower abdomen.
"... Alright." you surrender, gaze slightly softer, voice no longer aggressive and defensive. It's impossible for him to conceal his joy at that.
"Really?"
"Yeah, Munson. I suppose I could be a bit nicer to you. But-" you poke him on the side with a spare pencil. "No promises. No pushing me into anything. We're hardly acquaintances, let alone friends. But I suppose if we need to work together on this stupid project together, we might as well get along. Okay?"
Eddie nearly pulls a muscle with how fast he nods in affirmation.
"Okay."
---------------------------------------
Tuesdays and Thursday evenings are from then on reserved for after school meet ups to work on the project. You're still characteristically you - full of mean comments, sassy eyerolls, judgmental gazes and all. But he does notice that as time goes on, you're snarling at him less and loosening up ever so slightly.
He's yet to seen you smile, however, though he's gotten close a couple of times. Like when he slipped on a banana peel whilst walking out the library with you last week or when yesterday, he made a dumb joke about a horrendous illustration of Thomas Jefferson in the textbook.
On a windy February afternoon, you two end up staying a bit later than expected. Eddie leaning against the wall, sitting on the carpeted floor with his legs crossed as he pours through five heavy leather bound books, you're hunched over a shitty desk lamp and a cup of coffee as you highlight passages from a textbook. Neither of you have cared to check the clock or have registered the fact that it's been a full two hours since the librarians notified you two that they're heading out.
"I think my brain's melting." he complains, slipping down the wall slowly in a dramatic fashion. You shoot him an amused glance, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth.
"Tough luck, devil boy. We've still got a lot more to read."
Eddie groans, rubbing his eyes with his metal ring clad fingers.
"I know, but it feels like we've been reading boring books in this stuffy room FOREVER now!"
The two of you pause at that, it suddenly dawning on both of you that the rest of the library seems oddly... dark. And quiet.
"Shit. What time is it?" you ask aloud, standing up so quickly that you topple your chair over. The nearest clock - hanging behind a row of oak bookshelves - indicates that it's nearly six thirty pm.
Far, far, later than anyone would be at school.
It's a scramble to dog-ear pages, organize the books in their relevant places and to shove all your belongings in to your respective bags before racing down the hallway to the front doors, which of course, are locked.
"Well, I guess we're gonna die here." Eddie remarks, dropping his hands from the front doors with a sigh. You slap him across the shoulder at that, though this time the action's more playful, more tongue in cheek.
"Relax, Munson. All we need is a phone, do you think the front office's phones still work?"
"Yeah. I would know, because they made a call to my uncle this morning to complain that I came in an hour late to first period."
"Classic Eddie." you comment, to which he visibly stiffens and stares down at you with awe. "What?" you press, confused at why he's suddenly looking at you like that.
"You said my name. Not Munson, not devil boy, not an insult."
To his quiet surprise, you seem to get embarrassed at that, eyes dropping to the floor as you shift nervously on your feet.
"I mean, that's your name, right? But if you prefer I call you like Munson instead I ca-"
"No, no." he lets out a gentle laugh, and a thought passes by your head like a bullet train that you really like it. It's soft, it's melodic, it's sweet: taste of sweet potatoes coated in cloud sugar on your tongue. "I really like hearing you say my name. Say it more."
Your lips quirk up again, signaling a potential smile, but it's not fully realized. But your shoulders do drop in a more relaxed manner, and you flash him an ambivalent glance.
"Sure."
After using a spare hairpin in Eddie's pocket to pick the lock to the front office, you jump over the counter to slide over the surface and reach the phone behind the desk. Eddie makes a joke about how you'd make an excellent spy - to which you throw him a dirty glare and signal for him to shut up - before you make a phone call. To whom, he doesn't know. But it's clear that you care for this person, as your voice becomes lower and less agitated.
"Hey. Yeah, sorry for worrying you. I was staying late with my project partner for American History and then... we lost track of the time and now we're locked in. Do you think you could come over and get us?" you pause, Eddie supposes it's to allow the person on the other line to respond. "Alright. Sounds good. See you soon."
"Who'd you call?" he quizzes, curious as he helps you slide off the desk, allowing you to grasp at his shoulders to jump off securely. He chooses to ignore the way his skin tingles with electricity when your soft hands grip at his skin, heat wrapping around his upper body.
"My godfather. But it'll probably take another half an hour for him to arrive so we should probably camp out by the front doors till then."
There's a good five minutes of uninhibited silence after that as you two sit by the front entrance. You're sitting across from him leaning against the lockers: one leg straight, the other propped up by your chest as you rest your arms on your knee and twist your body to look out the window. Eddie's sitting a few inches away from you, legs crossed, toying with the rings on his fingers.
It's not a tense silence, but it is boring.
"I didn't know you had a godfather." Eddie decides to say, looking up at you cautiously. "That's cool."
"Cool, huh?" you quip, tearing your gaze away from the window. "Not many people think that. Most people think it's fucking weird that I live with my godfather instead of my biological parents."
"Well most people are assholes and idiots. Don't listen to them." he argues, lacing his fingers together.
"That's true." you agree, nodding ambivalently. "What about you? You and your uncle? You two live by the trailer park, right?"
Neither of you delve into too much personal information - the conversation's restrained to surface level things, before somehow melting into a heated discussion over music. It turns out that you're a huge music fan, front pocket of your bag overflowing with cassettes, notebooks crumpled by the weight of your walkman and headphones.
"Listen, I can appreciate a good Billy Joel song and all, but Black Sabbath is god." Eddie insists, uncrossing his legs and gesturing frantically with his hands.
"Oh, please, Eddie! You're just saying that because your exposure to Billy Joel has primarily been Uptown Girl. He has some serious deep cuts, like you can't tell me that you're able to listen to Vienna without getting emotional."
"Hey, you can get PLENTY emotional to Black Sabbath."
"Really?" you quip, poking him in the shoulder, forcing him to fall back down on his heels. You're fully smiling at this point, eyes light and wide, lips outstretched into an actual grin. He really likes this sight, he thinks. The light even seems to hit you differently when you smile - carving shadows down your jaw, glittering light kissing your hairline, halo around your hair.
"Really. Pinky promise." Eddie argues, poking his pinkie finger out at you. You stare down at him, fully amused, shaking your head sideways at his antics.
"I'm not gonna pinky promise you shit." you mock, crossing your arm.
"Aw, come on." he leans in teasingly, backing you up against the lockers. He doesn't realize it, but your breath hitches in your throat at the action, as it hits you that he's so close that you can count the individual freckles adorning his cheeks and smell the mixed scents of pine, fresh rain and weed emanating from his jacket.
You both break away from your respective positions at the sound of the front doors unlocking, with a very unimpressed look on Hopper's face as he links back the keys to his belt and raises his eyebrows at you.
"Are you sure it was the project that made you late and not being with your boyfriend?" he drawls, forefinger outstretched to gesture between the two of you. You stand up so quickly you practically stumble forward, stuttering your words - you're so mortified, you can't even look at Eddie.
"Jesus, dad, NO! He's just a friend."
"Friend, huh?" Eddie teases, elbowing you on the side, to which you elbow him back harder (making him groan out in slight pain). He watches as the police chief's blue eyes narrow in on his figure, dissecting him with a single glance, before returning to stare at you. It registers in his mind that Hopper's eyes soften when they land on you, a small grin appearing on his aged face.
"Alright then. Good to see you've made friends, (Y/n)." he comments. You roll your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
"Speaking of which, Eddie needs to get going. Right?" you rush out, practically shoving Eddie forward. Eddie nods awkwardly, shooting the older man a (what he hopes is) charming smile before winking at you.
"Right. Thank you, sir, for saving us. (Y/n), I'll see you next Tuesday for the final bits of the project?"
"Yeah, see you."
The moment you hop into the front seat of Hopper's truck, you can practically feel the intensity of the the rush of thoughts in your godfather's mind, his heavy gaze alternating between the road and your anxious figure shifting against the leather seats.
"So... this Eddie. Your friend, huh?" he starts out, quiet.
"Just drive, Hop, jesus." you say out loud, leaning your head against the window, rubbing your temples in a soothing manner as if to cure a headache.
"Not commenting on it, sweetheart. Just saying it's nice to see you open up and make friends."
"A friend, dad. One. Singular." you correct, to which he just waves off your comment with a blow through his lips.
"Still. Maybe this'll help you adjust a bit better. You have been adjusting alright, right?"
He pulls over into the driveway of his house, hands lingering over the steering wheel as he glances over at you worryingly. Hopper's always been a protective godfather, never intrusive but often keeping a close watch on you from the background. You don't blame him for worrying, considering the whiplash of a turn your life's taken in the past few months.
Leaving your parents in New York, packing two bags of clothes before hitchhiking across the country to come all the way down to Hawkins to live with your godfather. Your 'real' parents are practically dead to you, hence why you've chosen to call Hopper 'dad', and you consider El to be your real life little sister.
You figure you're already asking so much of him: to take you in as his non-biological daughter, to provide you a place to sleep and eat, to pay for your schooling as you catch up on two years of high school you took off in New York. All of this, combined, has led you to be less than transparent about how you've been adjusting at your new school.
In fact, Hopper wouldn't even know anything about how you don't really have friends if it hadn't been for Mike and his big mouth, and El's sweet concerns being expressed to Hopper.
"I'm doing okay, dad. Seriously." you assure him, patting down on his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.
When your bedroom door finally closes behind you that night, it dawns on you as you're staring up at the ceiling - you've made a friend.
For the first time in a while, you fall asleep filled with joy and giddiness.
------------------------------------------
"Do you wanna come see my band play tonight?"
Eddie asks you on the final day of your project, closing your locker door for you, peering up at you with his doe like eyes. Your mind's been swimming with anxious thoughts all day - you're afraid that the only thing keeping your friendship afloat with Eddie is the project, which is due to be turned in today, and you're not sure what's going to happen once it's done.
So it's actually kind of a relief to have him beg you to see his band perform tonight, relief that you can't help but spill out into a small grin reflected on your lips.
"Corroded Coffin's playing tonight?"
"Yeah! And it's gonna be radical. Some of my other friends are gonna be attending too, so you won't have to show up alone."
"Aren't minors not allowed in seedy bars?" you tease. "Your friends are like, all freshman boys."
"Hey, I have friends that aren't Henderson or the other kids! Seriously, Steve and Robin are cool adults in their twenties and they will be there too."
"I don't think imaginary friends count." you continuously tease, walking away from him, as he follows right behind you.
"They're NOT imaginary! I swear, they're real people with real jobs and hobbies." Eddie pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. It's adorable, really, and you can't help but chuckle at his sad expression.
"Alright, alright, I'm joking! Sure, sounds good. When and where is it?"
"The downtown bar by the bookstore off the 45. Door's open at 7, but realistically we won't be playing till like 8.30 so feel free to come by then. I'll tell Steve and Robin to wait for you outside. They're cool, I promise."
You can't help but bite your bottom lip at that, anxiety gnawing at your chest.
"Are you sure? I just... I don't know if I'll get along with your friends, that's all. I mean, it took us like forever to be friends ourselves." you comment dryly.
"Pfft, you'll get along with them super well, don't worry! You're cool, they're cool, that's all you need."
All protests die in your mouth when he smiles at you like that, so you sigh and surrender to his demands.
"Alright, fine."
The bar's packed and loud, you think, flashes of yellow and red light emitting from the dingy entrance as you cross the road towards the establishment. There's already a line of people outside but there's two people in particular who stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of black and edgy looks - a girl and a boy around your age, mid-playful argument.
The guy meets your gaze and then waves you over, soft smile on his lips. He's quite cute, you think - not your type, but there's an undeniable charm to him, wavy chestnut brown hair, soft features and slight muscle definition to his thighs and arms. The girl's grinning at you and she's also pretty, short brunette bob framing her lively face quite nicely.
They're also dressed more for the park than a metal concert, but you suppose you haven't done much better (throwing on just a t-shirt and jeans over a pair of sneakers).
"Hey! (Y/n), right?" Steve asks, as you nod in response, slightly intimidated at the presence of these new people.
You do vaguely remember Hopper mentioning a guy named Steve once over a phone call with Joyce, but other than that you don't know too much about him. But Steve seems really nice, welcoming you into the group instantly, gently pulling you towards the two of them and away from the rest of the hectic crowds.
"I'm Steve. Nice to meet you. And this is Robin, my best friend and eternal pain in the ass."
"Cap your ego, Harrington. Don't listen to him, besides, us girls have to stick together, right?" Robin quips, pulling you against her and winking at you. You can't help but giggle at that, what with the way Steve's face then scrunches up into a haughty frown.
It turns out that they're a delightful pair to be around. Robin's sarcastic, witty and funny, and her no-bullshit attitude and dry sense of humor pairs nicely with Steve's slightly egotistical, flirty and outgoing nature. And with a bit of alcohol dancing on the tip of your tongue, you find yourself loosening and completely comfortable by the time the band comes out to play.
The music is loud - so loud that it reverberates through your body, so loud that it feels like the whole building shakes with the booming of the speakers - but it's also delirious and addicting, jumping up and down in a sea of people to the ear-splitting music.
The three of you stay long past after the show's wrapped up, leaning against the counter of the open bar with dopey smiles on each of your faces.
"Holy shit, my dad's gonna be so mad that I'm this tipsy." you comment, leaning onto Robin's shoulders for support.
"Really?" she teases, amused.
"Seriously. And the fact that he's the police chief probably isn't going to do me much favours."
"Hopper's your father?" Steve asks, surprised. He remembers in the back of his mind Hopper mentioning that he's taken in another kid a while ago, but he hadn't pressed the older man for details.
"Godfather, actually, but he might as well be my dad. Considering I left my shitty biological parents in New York."
"To shitty parents." Robin announces, raising her glass of whiskey into the air. Steve and you clink your glasses with hers in agreement.
"To shitty parents."
"Looks like someone's had a lot of fun." Eddie comments from behind you the moment you down the shot, your head slow to catch up with his presence before it hits you all at once.
"Eddie!" you squeal out, dropping the glass onto the counter and spinning around to envelope him in a fierce hug. He's wholly unprepared to catch your embrace with the speed and force with which you wrap your arms around his waist, causing him to stumble backwards.
"You were amazing! Like seriously, your guitar solo was the best part of the whole night." you gush and Eddie's glad that the harsh lighting of the bar is able to mask the slight blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Aw, thanks. Did Steve and Robin treat you alright?" he asks, looking up at his friends.
"More than alright, we nearly stole your girl." Steve teases, to which Eddie only scowls, waving away his friend's suggestive teasing.
"Alright, Harrington, keep it in your pants."
Robin and Steve continue to smirk at Eddie, making exaggerated lovesick expressions and throwing kisses at the two of you, none of which you're catching because your head is still buried against Eddie's chest. Eddie has to subtly - but fiercely - tell his friends to cut it out, gesturing with his hands and throwing nasty glares their way.
"Fuck, I really need to sober up though." you mumble, straightening up, stumbling ever so slightly on your feet.
"Yeah, and I'm beat. Wanna split a cab, Buckley?"
"Sure do, Steve. See you two kids around." Robin slyly adds, quickly exiting right after Steve to leave you alone with Eddie. It's clear what they're trying to do, but Eddie can't really bring it to himself to care when you tug at his sleeves, still tipsy and tired.
"Can we drive out somewhere cold and empty? If I go home now, Hopper's gonna be real mad about my alcohol consumption. Even if I'm over 18, that man is... protective."
Eddie chuckles, nodding, brushing away a stray strand of hair from your eyes.
"Alright then. Guess we're driving to the park."
On the way out to his car, his left hand resting on your back as he guides you into the front seat, Eddie meets Jason's eyes from across the road. The jock is leaning against his car, nursing a beer bottle in his right hand, whilst his group of friends rustle and joke around with each other by the gas tanks.
An unshakable feeling of disgust rises up in Eddie's throat, heart clenching at the way the blonde's eyes shift down at you, then on to Eddie's hand on your back, and how then a semi-impressed grin spreads on Jason's lips. The blonde ever so slightly nods at Eddie, as if confirming their bet, before returning to his conversation with his friends.
"Eddie?" you call out his name, breaking him out of his trance. "Everything alright?"
He's being paranoid, he tells himself. He hasn't even done anything yet, if anything, he's nowhere near "winning" the bet - you're just friends, that's all this is, leading you back to the car and helping you sober up by a park.
"Yeah. All good." Eddie forces out, faux grin and all. There's an odd bitter taste filling his lungs, but he breathes out slowly, reminding himself that he's not doing anything bad.
He's just a friend, taking another friend, to the park.
Sitting on the swing set, his fingers trail down the linked metal chains, small smile on his face as you childishly swing back at forth with your legs kicking out in front of you. It's your way of sobering up, you insist, and he can't complain - it's clearly making you very happy, the smile on your face permanent. It's a nice sight, a rare sight, one that he's keeping tucked in to the crevices of his mind for later.
"Be careful." Eddie chastises, watching you soar higher and higher towards the night sky. "I don't want you to break a bone or something. Think Hopper would be even more if you break a bone than if you show up a bit drunk."
Slowing down your movements, you scoff, but there's still a lazy smile on your face indicating that you're not really mad.
"I hate it when you're right." you mumble, drawing a loud laugh from Eddie's lips, head thrown back and all.
"I'm always right, (L/n)." he challenges, knocking his swing into yours.
"Sure, Munson. Except the times you're not. Which is almost every time."
"Almost."
Silence settles over the two of you again, the creaking of metal as you both lazily swing back and forth being the only sounds in the night, pale moon marking the shift into midnight. Eddie's fiddling with his rings absentmindedly, not really sure what to say or why he suddenly feels nervous sitting next to you, until you pick your head back up and speak.
"Thanks."
"For what?" he's confused and surprised.
"For inviting me. For letting me meet Steve and Robin, you're right, they're really cool. And like, I don't know. Thanks for being my friend, I guess." you look down immediately after finishing your sentence, hot embarrassment coursing through your veins, Eddie's soft stare too much to bare all at once on top of your heartfelt confession. The confession that tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, guilt pouring over him in waves.
"Yeah, so-"
"It's just crazy to me, you know?" you interrupt. "That you'd want to be friends with me. That anyone would want to be friends with me. I know I was a bitch when we first spoke. And uh, maybe I still kind of am. But you just... you're different, Eddie."
You pause for a tender moment, legs spreading as you shift your swing closer towards his, so that your knees are brushing against his and you can place a warm hand down onto his lap.
"I feel like you really see me. Not this whole 'ice queen' bullshit or whatever people are saying at school. The real me, the person behind all the walls and defences raised up. You kept on trying to get to know me even when I was pushing you away and being cruel to you. And it was thanks to that that we ended up becoming friends. So... yeah. Thank you, Eddie. Sincerely."
It's hard to shake off the shame now coating his lips, his skin burning and feeling sticky underneath your pure, innocent gaze and soft touch. He forces a smile, fingers uncurling from the metal chains of the swing to pat down on your warm hand, trying his best to maintain the neutrality of his voice.
"Y-yeah. No problem, I guess."
-------------------------------------------
Things shift after that night by the swing set.
Despite the history project having ended, he ends up seeing you even more regularly than before. It's because you end up taking a part-time job at Family Video after befriending Steve and Robin, and also because you start intermittently dropping by to watch his band pratcitce after school or swing by randomly to Hellfire Club sessions, at the insistence of El wanting to see Mike.
At this point, all of Eddie's friends know who you are. It was comedic at first, to see how Gareth nearly choked on his tongue and refused to make eye contact with you in your presence, and how all the freshman boys - Dustin, Mike and Lucas - pretended to be interested in a bunch of random sheet music thrown around the room to avoid having to look at you.
"Relax, kids, you can stare at her." Eddie had to say, laughing as he placed an arm around your shoulder. "Stop scaring them, (L/n)."
You just scowled at that, shrugging off his arm and sighing dramatically.
"I'm not trying to do that! It's just my reputation preceding me. I'm not as mean as I seem, I promise." you emphasized, turning to address the boys face to face. "I'm just here because Eddie promised to let me play for a 'taster' session of sorts."
"You're... joining Hellfire?" Dustin meekly asked, being the first out of the three to gain enough courage to look up at you. To his surprise, you didn't scowl or flip him off, if anything, you looked quite approachable and friendly standing next to Eddie, who was smiling at you with so much pride.
"Not sure if I'm necessarily joining, but... this meathead won't stop talking about this damn game so I wanted to see what all the hype was about."
The other boys loosened up after seeing how relaxed Eddie seemed to be around you, mock hurt on his face as he dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling backwards as if he'd been shot.
"You wound me with such harsh words! Now I can't promise that I'll go easy on you when we start playing."
"Why would that matter?"
"Duh, I'm the dungeon master, so everything you can do in the game is basically up to me. Or what you roll on the dice, but mainly up to me."
"That hardly seems fair." you commented, flashing the young boys a look of disbelief. "Is that really how this works?"
"Yeah, which is why we basically always have to gang up against him." Lucas replied, drawing a genuine laugh from your lips. It was the final straw to break the tension in the room, everyone loosening up and welcoming your new presence in the group.
"Sounds good, freshies. Us against Eddie, we can definitely take him." you winked at Eddie, rolling your shoulders forward. "Watch out, Eds."
It's late spring now, verging on summer. Eddie's lost count of the amount of time you two have spent together, be that in between periods at school (skipping classes together by the bleachers) or sneaking into the cinemas without paying on a tipsy game of truth or dare.
Eddie catches himself fully lost in your presence - watching your hair flip in the wind behind you whilst he drives with his window down, surveying how your delicate fingers toy with the fabric of your jacket when you're deep in concentration, counting your slow breaths as you lean against him in a darkened parking lot out of exhaustion - until the illusion is shattered for him by way of remembrance.
It's a bet.
But it doesn't matter, not really, he'd always tell himself. You two are still friends. And Eddie's not forcing it, being friends with you is natural, spending time with you is something he genuinely wants.
It's a hollow way of consoling himself, but it's the only way he's able to justify continuning to hang out with you and to slyly avoid Jason or his stupid best friends' constant pestering about how the bet is going.
"We're still just friends, Carver." Eddie gritted through his teeth, skillfully stepping past the blonde to get to his van. Jason didn't seem to like that response, one hand reaching out to grab at his wrist and yank him backwards.
"Listen, freak. I'm impressed, not gonna lie, that you even managed to become friends with her. But the bet was over dating her and getting her to go to prom. It's now, what, end of April?" the jock chuckled, tapping his two front fingers against the expensive watch around his wrist. "Time's running out. That said, I lose absolutely nothing if you lose the bet so actually-"
The blonde pulled away, victorious grin on his pink lips. He looked like a coy predator playing with his prey, smug cruelty rolling off of him in waves.
"Yeah, don't make a move. I'd love to win this bet."
Looking down at where Jason's filthy hand was wrapped around his wrist, Eddie roughly shook off the basketball player's grasp, glare fuelled by the heat of a thousand suns.
"I'm going to win the bet, Carver. Don't get too cocky."
"Did you see what Nate did yesterday?" you question him in the present. Eddie's lying down on the carpeted floor of your bedroom next to you, legs bent in a 45 degree angle, hands supporting the back of his head. You're lying down with your feet propped up on your bed, your eyes meeting his in a sly manner.
"Not really, why? What'd he do this time?"
"He tried doing a backflip during the lunch period and broke his left wrist. Cried like a little bitch about it, too."
The image of the tall, overconfident jock wailing like a child makes Eddie snort.
"That's hilarious."
"It's what he deserves too. He's a total creep." you shudder, remembering how he tried to hit on you on your first day of school. "Though, he did cry a bit more when I sprained his fingers because he tried to grab my ass on my first day."
"He did what?"
"Yeah, I know. Real fucking creep. Don't know why he bothered, either, the jeans I was wearing that day were super ugly."
"I highly doubt that." the comment slips out of Eddie's mouth unconsciously, piquing your curiosity enough for you to shift your body to the side to stare at him with confusion.
"What'd you mean?"
"Oh! Just like..." Eddie scratches his neck, avoiding your gaze. "I highly doubt that the jeans you were wearing were ugly. Just like, I don't think anything you could wear could be ugly."
You sit up at that, legs crossing underneath.
"You calling me pretty?"
"Well, uh-" he stumbles over his words, cheeks flushing vibrant pink as he begins to rattle off in an incoherent manner. "Yeah, I mean I always thought that but yeah you are. Objectively speaking. But also like I think you're pretty, is it hot in here suddenly or-" his hands fly up to the collar of his hellfire club shirt, pulling at the sides as if to let in cool air.
"Are you serious?" you sound shocked, in disbelief, which only confuses Eddie in return.
"Of course I am. Why... would I lie about that?"
You shrug, bringing a juice box to your lips.
"Figured if you thought I was pretty we wouldn't still be friends. That's a compliment you give to someone who's attracted to you, not someone who's just your friend."
"Oh." Eddie then comments, pausing ever so slightly. "Who says I'm not attracted to you?"
His daring question lingers in the air for a few baited breaths, the atmosphere in the room shifting in the microseconds it takes for that sentence to leave his lips and for him to suddenly shift closer to you.
"... I'm attracted to you too." you choke on your words, it barely being a whisper, but Eddie catches it nonetheless. His left hand comes to rest on your cheek, eyes staring right into yours that you think he must be able to see through your soul.
"Can I kiss you?"
You don't think you can speak. You're left to nod quietly, hoping that it's enough. And it is. The force with which he kisses you - he blames it on the months and months of pent up adoration - backs you up against your bed, your legs falling backwards as your back meets the soft mattress. He practically crawls on top of your lap, kiss messy and deep, strands of curly hair clouding your hazy vision.
When it's done, fresh air filling your lungs instead of the intoxicating scent of Eddie, muted taste of beer and mint chapstick dancing on your lips, you two stare at each other with wide eyes before bursting into a fit of nervous laughter.
"So... what now?" you question lightly, hands still gripping his forearms.
"Let's go on a date? Arcade after school on Friday?" he suggests.
"We already do that every week, doofus."
"I know, but this time it'll be different. I'll hold your hand and buy you dinner afterwards."
You pretend to think about it, humming quietly before nodding with a wide smile.
"Deal."
You fall asleep in his embrace that night, face squished against his upper chest, body rising and falling alongside your slow breaths. But Eddie can't sleep. The euphoria he's feeling is underlined with sickening guilt, a gnawing clawing sensation in his stomach, a harsh whisper in the back of his mind that none of this is real.
He's lying to you.
But what he feels for you isn't a lie, he reasons, so it's fine. He's driving himself insane with these internal arguments, subconsciously pulling your sleeping figure closer towards himself as his fingers clutch onto your waist tighter.
Burying his head into your hair, inhaling deeply, he attempts to quiet his thoughts. It'll all be over soon. Graduation is looming. He's just got one more part of the bargain to hold up - asking you to prom. It'll be over soon, it won't get worse....
Right?
------------------------------------------
"I'm really glad she's dating you."
Hopper comments two months later, looking over from the driver seat of his truck as Eddie jumps up straight upon being addressed by your godfather. The two men have spent countless times together - whether it be Eddie lounging on the couch in the living room whilst waiting for you or Hopper knocking on Eddie's trailer door to ask why you still haven't come home - but it never stops Eddie from getting a bit nervous around him.
He wants to make a good impression on the police chief for numerous reasons, but above all, because he's your father. Your only parent at this point. So even if it's something as casual as hitching a ride from Hopper the day Gareth had to borrow his van, Eddie's still a bit on edge when he's sitting in the passenger seat next to Hopper.
Upon seeing the younger man's eyes widen in surprise, Hopper chuckles, the sound a low rich baritone.
"Have to admit, the day I picked her up from school that day you two kids got yourselves locked inside and she called you her new friend... I felt that there was something more to that word. Friend. And despite your, um, questionable activities-"
Eddie flushes with embarrassment at that.
"You've always been good to her. And it's doing her wonders, I can tell. She went from this isolated, broken shell of a person to... Someone with friends her age. A job. Someone who smiles and laughs and says yes to spontaneous plans. I know it's not all you but you've been a big part of that so thank you." Hopper grumbles out, coughing awkwardly, not used to such heartfelt confessions. It makes Eddie feel even worse, almost making him want to sink into his seat.
"It's no big deal." Eddie forces out, voice strained and almost breaking because he's choking on recurrent waves of shame, guilt twisting like sharp veins around his chest and squeezing his heart. His mind is still foggy and reeling from the guilt when the truck finally pulls up by his trailer, and you come barreling from the inside of his trailer to hug Eddie.
"Didn't know you'd be here." Hopper comments, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes.
"I think I'm allowed to come over to visit my boyfriend, dad."
"Mmhmm, just make sure you're home by eleven."
"Midnight."
"Ten thirty."
"Eleven thirty."
Hopper pretends to be annoyed, sighing deeply, but he still smiles and ruffles your hair before leaving.
"Fine. See you then, kiddo."
Your legs thrown over his lap half-hazardously, Eddie can't really focus on the VHS tape you've generously 'rented' from your workplace - "Please, as if I'll get in trouble. The only employees are me, Robin and Steve and our boss basically never comes by." - as another character gets gruesomely killed on the screen.
"You're not watching the movie." you complain half-way through the movie, putting down the popcorn bowl to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. He only smiles in response, shaking his head sideways, symmetrical face framed by his long curls.
"Can't focus. You're too pretty." he offers, and you chuckle at that, his whining tone and pleading eyes melting your heart. You clamber on top of him, legs caging his body in between your thighs, as your hands come up to cup his cheeks.
"Aw.... Thanks, babe. But you really don't have to tell me that every day."
"I'd tell you that you're pretty every day just to see you smile like that." he admits softly, boyish grin on his lips and mischievous glint in his eyes. You open your mouth to respond with a sassy comment when someone knocks on the door loudly, accompanied by a furious set of even louder knocks.
It's your sister, El, jumping up and down anxiously before her eyes fall upon your familiar figure.
"El, what's wrong?" you question immediately, climbing off of the couch and rushing to cradle your younger sister's face in your hands. She doesn't look physically harmed nor does she look particularly upset, just anxious to see you.
"I'm bored and Mike canceled on me last minute." she complains, stretching her arms out over her head. "I heard from dad that you were here and I wondered if we could like... hang out. We don't have to, if I'm intruding I can-"
You look at Eddie with a pleading gaze, but you honestly don't even need to convince him, as he's already fluffing up the pillows and shaking off the popcorn crumbs from the blanket strewn over the sofa.
"Nonsense, nonsense! You're totally welcome to join us. Just be careful with your sister - sometimes she screams really loudly at the jump scares." your boyfriend teases, winking at you. El giggles at that and you send the metalhead a harsh glare.
"I do not."
"You totally do, babe. But it's okay, I still find you hot."
"Is there popcorn left?" your younger sister then questions, wiggling out of your grasp to stare at the television with eyes full of wonder.
"I'll make more, why don't you two get comfortable." you quickly suggest, knowing Eddie's kitchen like the back of your hand. You take the quiet moments which follow to admire how Eddie interacts with El, your vision only slightly obscured from behind the counter.
El's rattling off about something you don't really understand but Eddie seems totally entraced by her, delighted smile and eager nodding, gently encouraging your younger sister to continue her story whenever she gets nervous that she's talking too much. Your sister looks wholly relaxed in his presence, shoulders lax and fingers thrumming gently against a cushion she's holding against her stomach.
When he makes a dumb joke and El laughs, the warmth blossoming in your chest worsens. You feel lightheaded, stomach filled with love, eyes glazed over in pink hue. You almost drop the popcorn packets on the floor when you realize what this is.
Love.
You love Eddie.
You're not surprised, concealing the smile on your face as you turn away and pop the paper packet into the microwave. Eddie's your first real boyfriend. First friend turned lover, first friend in Hawkins, the person who introduced you to your new group of friends - Steve, Robin, and now Nancy and Jonathan as they swing by Family Video ever so often.
It was inevitable then that you'd fall in love with Eddie.
It's all you can think about for the rest of the night, in between stupid jokes thrown in by Eddie and comments of awe and shock muttered by El in between mouthfuls of popcorn, until she's practically falling asleep on your lap. Checking your watch, you realize that it's nearly 11:30 anyways, so you'd better get home.
"Do you think you could drive us back?" you question quietly, whispering as you gesture to El's sleeping figure. Eddie nods, turning off the television and gently pocketing his car keys as you lightly shake your sister awake and strap her into the backseat. She mumbles incoherently, asking sleepily where you two are going, to which you only shush her and assure her that Eddie's just driving you two home.
The conversation in the car is light and spare - it's late at night, El's still sleeping in the backseat, and unbeknownst to each other, you both have a lot on your minds.
Eddie's fixated on how much he likes you, how much he's scared of losing you and how it's almost been two months of dating you. You're transfixed on the realization that you love Eddie, the tall metalhead who loves his guitar and D&D, the boy with copious jean jackets and an oddly obnoxious charm that broke down your walls brick by brick. The constant wondering if he feels the same, the worries that you're overthinking it, layered with the euphoric rush of adoration and infatuation makes you almost sick with joy.
When the familiar outline of your house comes into view, Eddie piggybacks El into your house as you open up the front door for him, allowing him to gently tuck your sister into bed before you close the door. You accompany Eddie back out to the driveway, fingers anxiously twitching by your sides as the confession sits on the tip of your tongue. It's burning your mouth to keep it in, heart beating at a million miles per minute.
"What's on your mind, princess?" he gently asks you, the sour expression on your face giving you away in a moment's notice that you're clearly deep in thought. But nothing could've prepared him for what you said next.
"I love you." you blurt out. "I actually, wholly, undoubtedly love you."
Eddie freezes at that, grin falling ever so slightly, eyes wide and unblinking. You take it as a bad sign, fumbling over your words desperately as you try to salvage the situation.
"I-I know that might be kind of quick because we've only been dating for two months, but if you think about it we've been friends for almost like three quarters of a year, so it's not-"
"No, no." your boyfriend quickly reassures you, hand cupping your chin to stop your talking and to focus your attention on him. You realize that up close, you can better make out his features in the dark: he's smiling brightly, eyes fawning and voice gentle. "It's not quick. I realized I loved you many weeks ago. Was just waiting for you to catch up." Eddie adds, winking at you.
You laugh at that, nodding eagerly, tension dissipating from the night air in an instant. The boy then kisses you gently under the pale moonlight, his tongue slipping in to trace your bottom lip when you moan out in surprise, the strength and passion with which he presses into your mouth catching you off guard.
Eddie's kissed you a million times at this point, but this time it feels different to you. It feels like a million unsaid "i love you"s wrapped into one, delicate touch burning golden tattoos alongside your skin as his hand dances up your waist, pleasant melodies ringing in your ears even when you pull away to catch your breath.
"So... you love me and I love you, I guess." you breathe out into the cold air, affirming reality for yourself by speaking out loud.
"Yeah." Eddie replies, licking his lips to chase the aftertaste of your cherry lipgloss.
"Two people in love. How romantic." you joke, smiling.
Eddie doesn't respond to that, only pressing another shaky kiss to your lips before bidding you goodnight, his knuckles turning white with the strength with which he grips the steering wheel on his drive back. His anxiety has snowballed past its tipping point, his head a toxic warzone of jumbled thoughts, nauseous feeling causing bile to rise up to his throat that Eddie needs to pull over to the side mid-drive.
His heart feels like it's being crushed.
He can't stand it anymore - the lying, the secrets, the way you look at him like he's the only thing that matters in this cruel world. And now, it's undeniable. The truth is staring him right in the face.
You said you loved him.
And fuck, he loves you.
It's gone too far. He's fallen too deep. He's sinking into a bottomless pit and he's dragging you down with him.
And for what? Eddie bitterly ponders, smashing his hands down onto the steering wheel with anger. A stupid bet with a jock?
He needs to call it off.
He makes a beeline to the locker room the next morning, frantically tearing through the school hallways in search of Jason. Unfortunately, the best he can do is to run into Oliver and Nate post-shower, flicking each other with wet towels before Eddie coughs and demands their attention.
"Where's Jason?"
"Pissed off the coach so he's doing another lap. Why, backing out of your bet like a pussy?" Nate teases, drawing a howling laugh from Oliver. Not that Eddie cares. It just frustrates him because first period starts in a few minutes and if he's late one more time for chemistry, he knows it's another detention slip being put into his hands.
"Just tell Carver to meet me by the bleachers during lunch. It's important. And yes, it's about the bet."
Eddie thanks god that you don't share any classes with him today. He doesn't think he could stomach it, looking into your innocent eyes and letting you kiss and hold him softly when he doesn't deserve your love.
He feels as if he's in a trance the whole day, going through the motions of life, eyes empty and mind buzzing with static as he nods along to one lecture after another.
The only thing to jolt him awake is when, in between his second and third period, he hears a familiar set of voices whispering from inside the janitor's closet. It's Dustin, Mike and Lucas, with Dustin clearly pained and tired whilst the other two boys whisper frantically amongst themselves.
Privacy be damned, Eddie opens the door and flicks on the light, jaw clenching with anger the moment the small space is enveloped in bright light and he sees the shiny black bruise blossoming on Dustin's forehead.
"What the hell happened?" Eddie quickly questions, closing the door quietly behind him. He's far too tall for the enclosed space, head awkwardly brushing up against the ceiling, his limbs stretching into mops and cleaning supplies, but he can't give a shit. His veins are coursing with anger, worry tightening his chest as he surveys the extent of Dustin's injuries - the curly haired boy only sighing and refusing to meet the senior's gaze.
"Jason Carver happened to him." Lucas cuts in, voice also tense and angry.
"We were hanging out by the entrance and Dustin decided to stand up to Jason and his teammates for bullying us and, well.. he didn't like Dustin's smart mouth." Mike comments quietly.
"So what, that bastard punched you?!" Eddie exclaims, hysterical.
"He didn't punch me, relax. He just knocked me up against the wall and I happened to slam my head against a brick out of place."
"A BRICK?" Eddie screams, causing all of them to cringe at the sudden loud noise. "Shit, Henderson, I'm so sorry."
"It's fine, seriously! I mean, just another Monday, right?" Dustin tries to joke, flashing the older boy a reassuring grin. But it does little to quiet Eddie's fury and guilt, not being able to protect his fellow Hellfire Club members in their time of need.
Lunch time rolls around achingly slow, Eddie munching on his homemade sandwich quickly whilst waiting for Jason to show up by the bleachers. The blonde makes his appearance a full ten minutes into lunch, striding across the green fields in large steps with a scowl on his face.
"What's so important you had to cut into my lunch time, huh?" he growls, clearly annoyed.
"I'm calling the bet off."
"Huh?"
"The bet. I'm fucking over it. I don't care about the money. You win, okay? Now let me out."
Eddie attempts to shove past the blonde but it's like walking into a brick wall, Jason's left hand flying up to Eddie's chest to stop him from walking away before shoving him backwards.
"You're backing out now? When prom's just around the corner and you've already got that bitch riding your dick? I'm surprised, freak." he cruelly comments, cocking his head to the side in fake interest.
"Yeah, I'm out. Now let me go."
"I'm just surprised, that's all. Thought you'd stick by the bet, especially with what happened to that twerp this morning. What's his name, Justin?"
"It's Dustin." Eddie grits, fists clenching by his sides.
"Yeah, whatever. You want to give up the money we bet on, cool, whatever. But a part of our deal was that I'd - along with my friends - lay off of your band of freaks. If you want to call off the bet, that offer is also taken off the table."
Jason's words hang in the air, metaphorical black smoke filling Eddie's lungs and restricting his airways. He feels like he can't breathe, hands clawing at his skin, heart beating at a million miles per minute whilst he mulls over the blonde's words.
All he can focus on is the panicked and scared looks on Lucas and Mike's faces, and the shiny bruise on Dustin's forehead. And Eddie's being given the choice for them to not be bullied for the rest of the whole year, to finally not be terrorized every time they walk into school.
"Still want to call off the bet?" Jason mocks, extending a hand forward. "Shake my hand and it's over."
Eddie stares at the blonde's outstretched hand in silence.
He doesn't shake it.
-----------------------------------------
You can barely sit still, the low humming of Billy Joel flowing from your record player barely settling your nerves as you shift back and forth between your bed and the full length mirror in your room, criticizing every stray hem of your dress. There's a quiet set of knocks against your door and you yell out that you're not ready yet, expecting it to be Hopper.
"It's me!" El announces. "I can help you get dressed, if that's okay?"
Dropping your dress onto your bed, you open the door with a large smile, the excited and eager expression on your younger sister's face too sweet to reject. She sits on your bed with her legs dangling off, watching as you hold up different fabrics up to your chest and ask for her approval. After a several tries and pleas for you to "spin around", you two settle on a nice baby blue doll dress with a sweetheart neckline.
"Can I try doing your mascara?" El then asks quietly, pointing to the mess of makeup littered on your vanity. You laugh, nodding, closing your eyes quietly as her shaky hands attempt to carefully brush through your lashes with the wand. To your delighted surprise, she's a master at it, even going so far as to blend out your eyeshadow perfectly when you hand over your brushes to her.
"What shoes are you wearing?" she asks immediately after that, practically bouncing with excitement.
"I'm starting to think you're more excited about me going to prom than I am, El." you tease, opening your closet and pulling out a pair of sparkly white heels.
"Oh, I can't help it!" she gushes. "It's like all the romantic movies I watched, they always end with the girl and the boy going to prom. It's so romantic." she dreamily sighs, landing on your bed with her back on the mattress.
"Does that make me the protagonist?" you joke, strapping on your heels as you lean down towards your feet.
"Duh. And it makes Eddie your love interest."
"Very handsome, very charming, love interest, I'd like to add." Eddie suddenly cuts in, standing behind your door with a smug smile on his face. It fades into a soft, adoring grin when he sees you in your dress, dolled up and pretty yet still so naturally you. He hopes you can't tell that he loses his cool at the sight, voice slightly strained and tips of his ears flushing pink. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess."
"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." you comment, throwing him a flirtatious wink. It's no lie, he cleans up well - the suit is a little awkward on him in some places, but the clean cut look makes his jaw stand out more, lean muscle straining the fabric perfectly.
"Shall we get going, my dear love interest?" you joke, offering one arm forward. El scrambles off your bed to hold open the door for you as Eddie wraps one of his arms around yours, nodding.
"We shall." he puts on a horrible posh accent, making you laugh at his antics. Hopper asks - no, practically demands - to sneak in a couple polaroids of you two together before you're burning with embarrassment and desperately shoving Eddie out the door, calling out to your father that you'd be back by midnight.
By the time the two of you pull up to the gymnasium, the party's already started. You're buzzing with anticipation and nerves when Eddie gently helps you hop off of his van, eyes burning with so much adoration that you can't even meet his gaze without melting.
"Bet you that the punch is gonna suck." he whispers into your ear, the flashing lights overhead blinding your eyes ever so slightly.
"Meh, that's why I did this."
You hike up the skirt of your dress to reveal a bottle of vodka strapped to your thigh, Eddie watching in awe as you twist off the red metal cap and pour him a shot into a red solo cup.
"God, I fucking love you." he moans, practically whining it against your lips. You smirk.
"I know."
Eddie's not thinking of anything but how beautiful you look - so carefree, hands thrown up in the air, bubbly laughter erupting from your throat when he dips you or tugs you towards the food stand - that he doesn't even register Jason and his boys' persistent gazes throughout the night. It's only when you declare that you need some fresh air that he's broken out of his lovesick trance, his jacket finding home on your shoulders as you two lean against the wall of the school building.
"Having too much fun?" Eddie teases, knocking his shoulders against yours.
"Definitely. That, and the three shots of vodka and all the pizza grease is melting my brain."
"Ditto."
Eddie's shoulders tense when he hears sets of footsteps approach, accompanied by the drunken yellings of Jason and his friends. Hands flying to your waist, he pulls you upwards, unreadable expression on his face.
"Let's go back inside." Eddie suddenly hurries out, clearly panicked. You frown, confused.
"We literally just came outside."
"I-I know, but uh, let's go-"
"MUNSON!!!!! There's the man of the hour." Oliver screams, cupping his hands together to amplify his voice across the parking lot. Eddie freezes in place, trapped, as you scowl and cross your arms over your chest.
"Piss off, asshole." you bark back, stepping in front of Eddie protectively.
"Oh, got your little bitch fighting your fights now, impressive. You trained her well, freak." Nate drawls, practically tripping over his words with how drunk he is. Eddie can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, panic settling in.
"Don't talk about her like that." he manages to choke out, standing up on shaky legs. But he falters under Jason's gaze, green with envy and red hot with anger, as the blonde steps forward in front of his friends.
"Come on, freak, you can drop the act now. You've won the bet, fair and square."
"What bet?" you stumble backwards in shock, frantic eyes flying to Eddie, who is now suddenly refusing to meet your gaze. "Eddie, what's going on?"
"Ah right, of course little miss ice queen would be confused! Let me break it down for you, sweetheart." Jason practically shouts, clapping his hands together with a gleeful smile. "Back in December, your little boyfriend and I waged a bet. This loser thought he could do a better job asking out girls than me, so I said that if he could get your prissy ass to say yes to a date and to prom, he'd win."
"What?"
Eddie doesn't have the courage to look at you. He's sparing himself the trouble of having to see the crestfallen look on your face, of having to actually see for himself the way your hopes come crashing down into a pile of rubble, to be standing in the aftermath of his destruction.
"We're all impressed that he managed to succeed." the blonde jokes, his two friends eagerly nodding from the back. "Guess we underestimated your abilities, freak." Jason reaches forward and punches Eddie in the shoulder, knocking him back against the wall.
"(Y/n), I can explain-" Eddie starts out lowly, but you're not willing to hear any of it. He can see it in your eyes: in a moment's notice, you've pulled back up all your defences, warmth and kindness disappearing behind your walls as your voice drips with venom.
"Fuck off, Munson."
The laughter of the basketball players continuously rings in Eddie's ears as he chases after you, desperately trying to catch up to you as you run across the parking lot.
"Please, just hear me out-"
"NO." you announce firmly, spinning on your heels and staring up at him with burning hatred. You've never stared at him with anything other than fondness and warmth the past few months. It's then gut wrenching that the fury with which you're glaring at him now - the lack of any kind of kindness or playfulness in your eyes - is unprecedented.
"You know, I knew this was too good to be true." you start, voice shaky. "God, you have no idea how many fucking times I found myself thinking throughout the course of our relationship - no, even when we were just fucking friends - that I didn't deserve this. That there was a reason no one wanted to be my friend. But I was a fucking idiot, because-"
You choke on your words, a sob hanging by the edge of your lips, but you bitterly swallow it down. You'd be damned if Eddie gets your tears on top of everything else.
"Because I thought this was my reward. I was thinking, finally, after all these years of suffering, I could get something nice. New friends, new family, a boy who liked me for who I was... But I realize now that I was nothing more than a joke to you. A sleazy bet with the sleaziest douchebags in school."
"(Y/n)-" Eddie tries again, he can feel you slipping through his fingers and it's breaking him, heart aching to just have you in his arms again. But all you do is shake your head sideways, gritting your teeth as you shrug off his jacket and throw the fabric against his chest.
"Don't fucking talk to me again. If you even so much as look at me, I'll ask Hopper to step in."
"At least let me drive you home." he quietly mutters. "You don't even have a car."
"Save it. I'll take the bus."
Eddie stands there staring at his jacket in his hands, your perfume still lingering in the fabric as he watches hopelessly you walk away into the dark woods.
"Fuck." he breathes out, tears stinging his eyes.
He's fucked up. Really, really badly.
------------------------------------
Steve and Robin both glare daggers into Eddie's back as he shuffles through the aisles of Family Video, both of them pretending to be busy when he'd first entered the store and muttered a quiet "hello." They're pissed at him, for good reason, of course, but it's awkward to know that his friends (who are also your friends) have all turned on him.
It's even more awkward having to make excuses as to why you're no longer showing up to band practice or to D&D sessions to the oblivious freshman and his other friends like Jeff and Gareth, who always looked forward to your sarcastic comments and humorous quips to pass the time.
"Just this, please." Eddie says, throwing a VHS tape of Evil Dead onto the counter. Both Steve and Robin stare down at the tape, then at Eddie, before resuming their conversation behind the counter as if they've never seen him. Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a deep sigh.
"Come on guys, this is childish. This isn't even for me, this is for Gareth."
"Then why didn't he come here and rent it himself?" Robin interrogates, tone harsh and dry.
"Got held up doing house chores by his mom. Just scan this damn thing, I'll pay, and I'll be right out of your eyesight, okay?" Eddie's practically pleading at this point and Robin sends Steve a knowing look, forcing the other boy to jump off of his seat and begin to mindlessly scan the tape.
"That'll be $2.50."
In between the painfully awkward and silent transaction, Eddie's looking at everywhere but his friends' faces. Their silent frustration, disapproval and disappointment is too heavy to bear, alongside the heavy guilt and crushing depression he's been experiencing the past two weeks since prom.
"Why'd you do it?" Steve blurts out mid-handing off the tape to Eddie, causing Robin to slap her best friend across the shoulder for his outburst.
"What?"
"I just, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense. I saw - we both saw -" Steve gestures to Robin, sending her a warning glare. "How you looked at (Y/n). How you spoke about her. How much you loved her. What'd you even bet for?"
Pocketing the tape into his back pocket, Eddie sighs slowly, contemplating whether or not to tell them the truth. But hell, he's got nothing to lose at this point, he figures.
"Happened over a weed dealing. I was just talking shit, really, because Jason's ego was bruised after being rejected by (Y/n). We bet over me being able to successfully ask her out to a date and then to prom. If I won, the conditions were that Jason would buy for double - and I knew that Wayne was tight on money, and the trailer's been long overdue for a fix. And he also, uh... said if I won the bet, he'd stop bothering me and my friends."
Eddie doesn't notice it, because he's staring down at his hands whilst rambling, but Steve and Robin exchange a sympathetic glance as Eddie continues to pour his heart out.
"I tried pulling out a million times. But for one reason or another, I could never do it. I was a coward, don't get me wrong, but... when she told me she loved me, I knew it'd gone too far. I was so intently committed to breaking the bet off, consequences and money be damned, but then I saw Henderson had a bruise on his face from Jason roughing him up." Eddie swallows nervously, throat feeling prickly and dry. "I couldn't back out of it then. I didn't want any of the kids to get more hurt when I could prevent it."
"Oh, Eddie..." Robin says quietly, placing a warm hand on his arm. He only shakes her off though, forced grin pulling his lips apart.
"It's whatever. Point is, regardless of good intentions or bad circumstances, I was a fucking coward. And a liar. And an asshole. I broke her heart and I deserve all the bad things in the world for that."
"Does she know any of this?" Steve presses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"No. I haven't spoken to her since prom. Never even so much as drove past her home. Pretty sure Hopper would shoot my tires flat if I tried, anyways." Eddie weakly jokes.
"You should tell her. If not for you, than for her. She deserves to know the truth."
The metalhead only sighs at that, shaking his head lightly in denial.
"She already knows the truth, Steve."
"Not the bet, but the reasons behind the bet. Your feelings through out the whole thing. How you tried to pull out but you couldn't. I mean the whole truth, Eddie." Steve insists, unwavering.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with this loser." Robin dryly comments, flicking Steve's forehead. Steve scowls at that, sending the brunette girl a playful glare before turning around to stare at Eddie.
"Seriously. Let her know the truth. It'll both do you good."
"If I were you though, I'd bring chocolates as a peace offering or something, because I did hear that Hopper got a new rifle last week." Robin adds, swinging her legs off the counter as Eddie rolls his eyes.
"Gee, thanks, Buckley."
"Don't sweat it, Munson."
"....Thanks." Eddie quietly whispers, genuinely touched by his friends' advice. Their words continue to replay in his mind like a broken record on his drive back home and out of the corner of his eyes, Eddie continues to see a phantom outline of you. Sitting next to him, singing from the driver's seat, hair being ruffled from the open window.
You're still haunting him, he still can't stop thinking about you. Mulling it over, he realizes that the least he can do is to try. Try and talk to you, to iron things out.
He just hopes you're willing to listen.
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Eddie doesn't think he's ever felt this nervous before.
Standing by your front porch, throwing small pebbles at your bedroom window late at night, hoping that you notice the odd sounds and look outside. It's weird - a part of him is screaming at him to run away, that this was a mistake and that he should run into his van and drive home right now. But there's another part of him, one which is stronger and louder, reminding him that he has to explain himself to you.
He sees you lean out your window with a confused expression on your face, eyes scanning the night sky and trees before landing on his figure. You roll your eyes and slam your window shut, forcing him to escalate his plan.
The next time Eddie's knocking on your window he's precariously balancing on the slippery roof tiles, gripping onto your windowsill for dear life and hoping you have enough mercy in your heart to let him in. You're still scowling when you open your window back up, but this time there's a hint of care and worry in your eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing? You got a death wish, Munson?" you hiss, careful to not wake anyone else in the house.
"Well you weren't going to let me in the normal way, so I had to do the next best thing." he weakly offers, fingers turning white. "Are you going to let me in so I don't die, then?"
You click your tongue, swearing under your breath.
"Just because I don't want to attend your fucking funeral." you warn, stepping back and letting him climb in through your window. He practically falls onto the floor face first, limbs awkwardly tumbling forward, his left arm catching his fall ever so slightly in an effort to save the bouquet of flowers and chocolate from getting crushed.
"H-here." he shakily offers them by thrusting the items into your hands, which you cautiously take before throwing it behind you on the bed.
"Thanks. You can leave now."
"Wait, wait, wait-" he rushes to block off your access to the door before you can push him out the bedroom, making you stomp your feet in frustration.
"What, Eddie? I'm fucking tired, it's a Wednesday night, for fuck's sake."
"I know you don't want to talk to me. But it's fucking killing me that you don't even know the whole story. Please, hear me, out. Just five minutes, and if you still want me to leave, I... I will."
You should be laughing at his face. You should be your usual coldhearted self, uncaring smirk lacing your lips as you shove him out the front door and throw the flowers and chocolate back onto his chest. But you can't find it in yourself to do so.
Damn Eddie Munson and his handsome face, you think. You also can't deny the lingering affection you hold for him, and fuck... you have missed him. Greatly. The amount of times you've cried in the past two weeks is a testament to that.
The worst harm's already been done, you think. Might as well hear him out.
"Fine. You've got five minutes." you say, and you can see his face light up visibly with joy and relief.
"Thank you. The bet, listen, it... it happened during a drug deal. Jason was pissed that you'd rejected him and I was just trying to push his bottoms and toy with his fragile ego by boasting that I could probably be better with girls than him. He knew that I was having money issues and the trailer needed to be fixed, so he cut me a deal. If I got you to say yes to a date, then he'd start paying double for our weed dealings." Eddie rushes out, speaking so fast that he has to catch a deep breath in between.
"Then I added I wanted him to stop bothering me and my friends at school. Especially now that I got the freshman kids to look out for, I just wanted his word that he'd stop bothering them all. In return for that, however, it was additionally agreed that I'd also have to get you to say yes to prom."
"That's... oddly sweet of you. Kind of." you mutter, thoughts running a million miles per hour at the revelation. You figured that the bet was just a joke to exploit you. Not something Eddie agreed to in an effort to protect his uncle and his friends.
"It's really not, because I hurt you. I knew from the beginning that this was wrong. I had this persistent, sick, stabbing sensation in my stomach all throughout our friendship that this was wrong. I tried to lie to myself that I hadn't done anything bad yet, because we hadn't even started dating, but I knew it was only a matter of time before we became real. And once that happened, I..." he chuckles sadly, gaze lowering to the floor.
"I liked the illusion of us together too much to pull back. The bet was always lingering in the back of my mind, sure. But I liked you too much. I love you too much. So I ignored it. Even if it was fake, it felt real whenever I got to hold you and kiss you."
He runs a quick hand through his hair before resuming.
"And then the night that you told me you loved me, I panicked. It was like I was finally awake, like icy cold water had been dumped over my head and I saw what a fucked up mess I'd gotten us into. I told Jason the next day that the bet was off, but... he held the end deal of our bargain over my head. The part about no longer bullying my friends. And Dustin had gotten a black eye that morning from a rough altercation with Jason and I... I didn't end up backing out of the deal because of that. But I tried to get out. God, I tried many, many times. Maybe not as strongly as I should've, but there were numerous times where I tried to get out of the deal." Eddie affirms, pleading.
"So... all of that. All the lying, all the secrets, all the play pretend... was it worth it?" you whisper out loud, hands clutching at your sides as you hug yourself and look up at him.
"Yes." Eddie responds automatically, confident. "Because it meant I got to have you. And I never faked my feelings for you. Not even once. That was all, always, genuine."
You're left to stare at him in silence, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you reflect over his words, Eddie taking in shallow breaths as he carefully surveys your reaction. He can't read your mind right now, he so badly wishes he could see what you're thinking because your expression is kept tight and neutral through it all.
"Do you... still want me to leave?" he whispers quietly. You don't speak, you don't nod nor deny him, you just continue to stare at him with a blank expression.
It's enough of an answer for him.
"You do, huh?" he chuckles, the sound as hollow as his heart. "It's fine, I uh, knew you wouldn't want me again after this. But you... you deserved to know the truth. Again, I'm so sorry for hurting you. I love you though. And I never lied about that."
He's hoping that you're going to stop him from leaving. That this is going to be the breakthrough moment in those romantic films, where you cut him off from speaking with a fierce kiss and whisper forgiveness against his lips, pinning him against the door.
But you don't even twitch. You just silently nod, unreadable expression on your face, and let him brush past you and walk down the stairs silently.
Eddie's heart stills feels heavy, grieving the loss of you and your love. But his shoulders feel ever so lighter, knowing that he's done the right thing by apologizing and explaining himself. He still feels like shit, he still thoroughly plans on smoking at least two packs when he gets back to his trailer, but he feels like he can breathe a tiny bit easier now.
"Wait."
Your voice suddenly rings out from behind him, your front door hanging open behind you as you've clearly ran through the house in a rush. Eddie jumps up in surprise, bewildered that you've chased him down the stairs.
"Y-yeah?" he stumbles out, pulling away from his van door.
"I forgive you. Sort of, I mean, it'll take a while for me to get over it and to fully trust you again but I... I still love you. Do you still love me too?" you whisper, doubtful.
Eddie almost wants to laugh at that question: that you'd even think for a second that he's spent any moment of the past two weeks being anything but in love with you.
"Of course I do, princess. Never stopped."
"Then that's all that matters."
This kiss tastes and feels totally new. Salty tears, mint toothpaste, your shaky fingers grabbing his as Eddie pulls you in impossibly close.
He's trying to memorize every aspect of you, having been starved of your presence for too long, committing every single aspect of you to memory. How you taste against his lips. How your body fits right against his when he places an arm around your waist. How your hair tickles his neck from this angle, moonlight shining a halo around the crown of your head.
You try to pull away a few times to catch your breath, but he doesn't let you, your giggles being swallowed by another needy kiss.
Eddie doesn't ever want to lose you again. Not even for a second.
a/n: if anybody actually read to the end of this story... thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. This story has been a true labor of love, sweat and tears and countless hours of work. Whilst I was re-editing this I realized I kind of don't like how it turned out but I worked so hard on it and I already announced I was gonna post it so here it goes, I guess.
I've had this concept of a social outcast x Eddie reader with a enemies to lovers trope thrown in for a while so I'm just glad that I got it out my system. Totally nervous and completely unsure of how this will be received (my longest fic to date) but it's out now. Thank you for reading ❣️
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.
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Summary: Heading to start a whole new life in a small Nevada town, especially on such short notice, has left you pretty sure you’re resigning yourself to a quiet, uneventful existence. Maybe you’ll take up birdwatching, or crochet. Something boring.
Then the local crazy-haired car mechanic smiles at you and all your morose plans get completely turned on their head.
Summary: Heading to start a whole new life in a small Nevada town, especially on such short notice, has left you pretty sure you’re resigning yourself to a quiet, uneventful existence. Maybe you’ll take up birdwatching, or crochet. Something boring.
Then the local crazy-haired car mechanic smiles at you and all your morose plans get completely turned on their head.
